49. Simone
Simone
I’m equally scared to be going out tonight and excited. Both feelings pertain to seeing one specific person.
I’m here to have fun. I’m here to have a good time with my girls—and Bash and Erik. I’m here to represent my house at the first game back from break.
I’m not here for him. He just happens to be here. Yet, my eyes betray me as soon as we walk into the stadium—going straight to the sidelines…looking for him.
I easily find the jersey with the number seventeen on it, and eight big white letters calling my attention to them: SINCLAIR
He’s down by the wall, talking to someone in the stands before running off, back into the tunnel.
I hate that I can’t take my eyes off him. How can I be so mad at someone and also hurt by them…yet still want to be around them, still miss them like some sad little girl in love with the one guy who doesn’t even want her outside of sex.
I hate that I still want to know why—why I wasn’t worth a single call all break, or even the month before that.
And still, if he were to walk over to me right now, hug me, and talk to me like nothing even happened…
I would be the stupid girl to go along with it, happily at that, because I just miss him.
That’s how I know this isn’t a healthy thing between us.
Maybe it’s better that he’s ignoring me. He’s saving me from myself, really.
Lydia bumps my shoulder as we walk through the crowd of people. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie quickly. “Just feeling…a little overstimulated today.”
She makes a face like she gets it, and then she smiles. “Let’s find our seats. Bash got here early to save us some down front.”
I smile and shake my head. Of course he did. He always does everything in his power to make her happy, no matter how small it is.
She deserves it more than anyone in the world.
But damn, I want that too. Selfishly, I want that too.
Alright, God. When is it my turn? You think you can send me someone who can love me without hurting me? Preferably soon? I don’t wanna rush your plans or anything, but…chop chop, please.
I’m so happy for her, really, though. She’s finally letting herself be cared for the way she deserves, letting herself slowly learn to trust again. Even when I know it’s scary for her, she’s doing it. And that makes me so proud of her.
I see the way she’s still cautious. How she hasn’t let herself fully fall—or hasn’t admitted to it yet, because she’s scared to, scared falling will come with pain again. But I see the way she calms around him, the way he’s slowly becoming a safe space for her. I only hope she lets him.
She’s still healing, still coming out of a very dark place. I’m not sure she could handle anything else crushing her right now. But I trust him. I trust him with my girl. She just needs to learn to trust herself now.
We find Bash and Erik down in one of the bottom rows, squeezing past people’s knees and bags and drunk guys who keep yelling, “LET’S GO!” when the game hasn’t even started yet.
Bash kisses the top of Lydia’s head and says something to her quietly that makes her smile.
I love seeing her like this.
Lani scoots in beside me, making sure she’s in the farthest seat away from Erik.
Sometimes I feel bad for her. I know she puts up with him being around for Lydia, and I wish I could hate the guy on her behalf.
But he’s so…nice. I just—I don’t get it.
I don’t think any of us ever will unless one of them gives us the full story.
I’ve stopped pushing for it, though, knowing if and when she wants to, she’ll tell us.
The lights flash, the band starts up, and then the announcer’s voice booms over the speakers, calling out players like they’re superheroes around here instead of just a bunch of college boys who eat frozen chicken tenders for dinner and forget to wash their sheets most of the time.
My stomach twists in anticipation, waiting for them to call his name.
“AND NOW…YOUR STARTING OFFENSE—”
I try to focus on all of the players, cheering for the ones I know, and even the ones I don’t.
Don’t make your pathetic obsession obvious, Simone.
But then—
“MASON SINCLAIR!”
The crowd erupts, and my attention goes to him instantly. He jogs out with his teammates, helmet in his hand, shoulders broad under the pads, and everything stills. It’s like everything pauses, like my brain is watching a movie scene, only he’s in.
I almost stick out my tongue and gag—disgusted with myself.
Erik leans over toward Bash. “He’s back starting?”
Bash nods. “Yeah. Coach finally cleared him before the break.”
I try to ignore them as they continue to talk about him, about meeting up after the game is over. But my heart does that stupid, hopeful thing, thinking about getting to talk to him…getting to just see him.
I catch myself laughing at one point during the game when Lani yells, “OPEN YOUR EYES, NUMBER SIXTY-THREE!”
She gets so heated during games. It’s very entertaining.
I catch Erik glancing over at her and smiling like he’s proud, like maybe he had something to do with that fierceness inside her.
Lydia cheers when our defense gets a stop, and Bash lifts her off the ground for half a second like they’re in some stupid romance movie. She yelps as she smacks his chest, and he grins.
She deserves someone who looks at her like she’s not too much to handle. And Bash does. I can see it in his face. Not in a dramatic way. In a quiet way. In a you’re my person, and I’m not going anywhere way.
It’s probably the safest kind of love there is. And it’s so unfair that it took Lydia almost dying to land in it.
I look back to the field just in time to see Mason cut across the middle, fast like a precise blade, and the quarterback hits him clean. He catches the ball as he goes down, and the crowd loses it. I lose it too, cheering until I realize just how hard I’m going and rein it in.
Lani side-eyes me. “Why’d you stop cheering?”
“Shut up,” I mutter as my face gets hot.
She shrugs like she doesn’t care, but the corner of her mouth twitches.
Lydia leans in. “He looks good out there tonight.”
I don’t answer.
Because yes—obviously he does. He always does. That’s the problem.
He’s good at everything he does—even pretending.
The second half gets messy. It’s close for a while, but we eventually pull ahead, then the other team scores, and the crowd gets tense.
Mason makes another catch, but gets tackled pretty hard, dropping the ball.
My stomach turns, wanting to see him do well.
We end up winning by a last second touch down, and everyone goes crazy—hugging, screaming, and acting insane like this was the Super Bowl or something. School pride is not something to be messed with.
Lydia throws her arms around Bash’s neck, laughing, and he spins her. She squeals, and it’s so girly it makes me giggle.
Erik looks to Lani—inviting her into his arms for a victory spin too.
She just glares at him.
I’m right in the middle, and I can feel the tension radiating off of both of them.
My face goes hot, and I can’t help the uncomfortable laugh that comes up.
I quickly turn and lift Lani up in a victory spin instead, sticking my tongue out at Erik. “She’s mine, back off.”
He just laughs and shakes his head at us. “Maybe you can share her one day.”
Lani goes stiff and crosses her arms. “You might like to be passed around…but I don’t.”
I still, and my eyes go wide.
Okay, Erik—church boy, Jesus lover…and man whore?
Wouldn’t have pegged him for that label.
I mean, looking at him…I get it, you know? But if you’re around him for more than five minutes, you’d know he’s not just the rough exterior that you see.
Erik just stands there, nodding like he deserved that.
“Well,” Lydia starts, breaking the silence. “As much as I’m living for all this tension between you two…it’s starting to feel a little awkward from over here.”
Bash stands behind her, placing his hands on her shoulder, making her look up at him with her innocently mischievous expression.
I just keep my fingers over my lips, trying not to laugh when it would probably be inappropriate to do so at the moment.
Lani switches right back into her bubbly, happy self like a complete psychopath—one I love dearly.
“Let’s go, guys!” she says with a sweet smile. “The stands are clearing out.”
Nobody else says a word.
We start making our way down towards the field, because of course everyone wants to crowd the railing and yell at the players like they’re celebrities. It’s pure chaos down there.
We end up near the edge of the field where a cluster of girls from Greek row are already gathered—some of them talking about the game, some of them taking selfies, and some of them talking about literally anything except football because this is also just social hour for them.
There’s a conversation happening about Breakaway—some big worship night on campus that everyone seems to go to like it’s a concert, a church service, and a social event all in one.
Lydia looks up to Bash. “Y’all always go to that, right?”
He looks at her cautiously, almost like he doesn’t wanna scare off this conversation. “Yeah, we do. It’s a good time.”
Lydia looks over to me. “Maybe we can all go next time?”
“I’ve never been,” I admit. “But…I’d check it out. With y’all.”
Lydia’s face brightens. “Really?”
“Yeah,” I say, shrugging. “Why not?”
Lani pops in, too. “I’ll go.”
I look at her. “You will?”
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t make it a thing.” Then she stares dead at Erik. “As long as I’m not too close to him. Wouldn’t wanna get struck down or anything.”
It’s getting really hard not to give in and laugh at her constant theatrics with him.
Erik just smirks at her. “Good thing I’ve tested that myth out a couple of times now. Many churches, no strikes yet. Guess I’m not as evil as you think.”
“Yeah,” she says, “doubt that.”
Bash snorts. “I can’t wait to be his best man one day at y’all’s wedding.”
Lani turns and makes a gagging noise so loud that a couple of people look over. “Don’t mind me. I’m just gonna throw up right over here on the turf.”