Twenty-Four
I’ve never met a guy who needed two weeks just to plan a date.
To top it off, Theo won’t even tell me where we’re going, insisting that everything be a surprise. He, at least, tells me to wear something casual with comfortable shoes, and to change into something fancier for the evening portion of the date. On Saturday afternoon, I decide on jeans and a black T-shirt with white running shoes that haven’t lost their color because that’s how rarely I wear them.
I’m still not sure that an honest-to-God date is a good idea, but I’m also curious about what Theo’s idea of romance is. My brain keeps turning over what he said weeks ago, until there’s a ringing in my ears like alarm bells.
Isn’t the whole point of a rebound to prove to yourself you’re still capable of feeling something for someone else?
I have feelings for Theo. Not just sexual feelings, but real, full-blown romantic feelings. There’s no denying that anymore. I might finally be getting over Ben, but that left me with a whole set of new problems. Which is why it’s better that we end whatever we are sooner rather than later, so that we don’t hurt each other worse down the line. That’s what I have to tell myself to get through today.
When Theo arrives outside my front door, he’s wearing jogging pants and a hoodie, his hair mussed from the cold wind outside. The weather is almost enough to make me back out, but then I look over his outfit again. Now that he’s dressed like Rocky during a training montage, I’m not sure jeans were the right call.
“You ready?” He steps inside when I make no move to step outside.
“Not in the slightest,” I say, looking him up and down. “Does this involve any amount of running? Because you should know right now: I don’t run.”
“It might involve a little bit of running.” He’s unconcerned as he wraps a big arm around my shoulders and leads me back to the door. “Come on, you’ll be fine. You might even like it.”
I highly doubt that.
The car ride lasts about ten minutes before we arrive at our destination. The Northside Football Stadium is completely deserted when we turn up. His eyes are sparkling mischief as he puts the car in park. I let out a loud groan, but he just laughs in my face.
“For the first part of our date, I’ll be introducing you to my favorite pastime and everything it entails,” he says as we walk toward the iron gate. “Starting with the tailgate.”
He stops beside a closed food truck, taking a key from his pocket to open the back door. The truck is painted cerulean, with lighter shades of blue dotted in an asymmetrical pattern to create the logo directly under the window: Marco’s Taco Truck. I look back up at Theo, surprised. He shoots me a wicked grin as he opens the door, and I follow after him. Inside, the delicious smell of carnitas wafts under my nostrils. My stomach grumbles in approval as he hands me a red basket with two tacos inside. “We can’t play without a pregame snack first.”
“Mm-hmm,” I mumble in agreement, nodding as I take my first bite. “That’s a good rule of thumb.”
“And no pregame is complete without alcohol.” He reaches down to the mini fridge and pulls out two Angry Orchard ciders. “You like these, right?”
My first thought shouldn’t be Ben, but the label calls him to the forefront of my mind. He knows I hate beer, so this has always been our thing when he visits my apartment. A near decade–long tradition. But my second thought is of Theo’s thoughtfulness. I’ve never told him Angry Orchard is my favorite brand. He’s just seen them in my kitchen enough times to know. My chest twinges as I realize how much he’s really gotten to know me.
I clear my throat as I twist the cap, forcing a smile over my racing pulse. “Cheers.”
We clink bottles and sip.
“Actually, I lied. I went to one game freshman year,” I say, suddenly remembering. He perks up but rolls his eyes when I emphasize the one game fact.
“And what was the verdict?”
“My friend and I got so bored, we left at halftime to get drunk in the parking lot.” What I don’t tell him is that the friend was Alice, back when we were still close. He lets out an exasperated groan and rubs both hands over his face. “I always imagined the best part of any football game would be tailgate and halftime.”
“Oof, I think my soul just died a little.” He puts a hand over his heart as if in physical pain. “That’s it. Rebound over, you were right. We were doomed from the start.”
“Shut up!” I yell, hitting his arm. He catches my fist with one hand and brings it up to his mouth to kiss my knuckles. The gesture is so sweet, it makes my heart twinge even more. “Okay, fine! I take it back.”
“Glad to see you come around.” He actually winks. How can he make a cheesy move look so sexy? “Okay, come on. Finish your tacos so I can show you what we’re doing next.”
When we finish eating, he takes my hand and leads me out to the field.
“Please don’t tell me we’re actually going to play a game.” I raise myself to my tiptoes to get a better look at the field. Luckily it seems empty, just a vast space of green turf that goes on forever. An entire stadium reserved for the two of us. “I really don’t feel like embarrassing myself in front of other people today.”
“Do I count as other people?” Theo asks, raising a perfectly arched brow.
“Nope,” I say with a grin up at him. When he starts to pout, I add, “No, this is good! That’s how you know you’ve made it to the inner circle. You don’t want to be other people.”
“If you say so.” He returns my grin as we reach the gate, then walks me over to a rickety wooden bench outside the white painted lines marking the field. “Don’t worry, Marcela, it’s just us today. I’m going to teach you how to play football.”
I stare up at him blankly.
“I think you need to rephrase that.”
“To what? Here.” He hands me a navy jersey, the number 29 in white on the front. When I turn it over, his last name is splayed above the number. Young. The material is worn, like it’s been through a few cycles in the wash.
“Oh my god, wait. Is this your actual jersey?” He nods, meeting my eyes with a vulnerability I’m still surprised to find him capable of. I hold it out over my torso to gauge the fit. “Wow. You might be the first guy I’ve dated I can actually share clothes with.”
“Promise you’ll still love me when all my muscles turn to flab?” His smile is adorably sheepish, whether from the thought of letting himself go or using the word love so casually, I can’t say.
I know exactly which part makes my pulse stutter.
I avoid answering him by pulling on the jersey over my head. It is, indeed, a perfect fit. He runs out onto the field backward so he’s still facing me, tossing the football between his hands. “We’re gonna start you out with something easy.”
“Easy for you, or easy for me?”
He ignores my question and points to the line in front of him, a foot away from him. “Stand on that white line.” I run out to where he indicates, but not without a grumble. “I want to see how far you can throw.”
“You will be sorely disappointed.”
“I’m not sure that’s true,” he says. “Come on.”
The first time he throws the football, I lift my arms to cover my face. He shouts something I can’t make out as the ball hits my funny bone. The vibration shoots from my elbow to my wrist, until I’m left with a fuzzy feeling up and down my arm. “Ow.”
“One more time.” He jogs after the rogue football, which landed by my foot. “And this time, try to catch it.”
“And what do I get for catching it?” I ask in a suggestive tone.
One brow arches, equally suggestive. “I think we can come to some sort of arrangement.”
“Keep talking.”
“Can’t.” He grips the football with two hands, readying a second throw. He almost makes football look sexy. “Don’t wanna ruin the surprise.” My brow quirks up as he returns to his white line. Surprise? Before I can ask what he means, he says, “All right, get ready.”
I hold out my hands in preparation for the unexpected.
“Bend your knees a little,” Theo tells me. “And keep your arms closer to your body.”
“Why don’t you come over here and show me?” I bat my eyes innocently. “Let’s reenact that part of the rom-com where the guy teaches the girl how to do something sporty, so he has an excuse to put his hands on her, all romantic-like.”
“Are you saying I need an excuse to put my hands on you?”
“No,” I admit. “But maybe I need an excuse to tell you I want you to put your hands on me.”
“You definitely don’t.” But he relents, closing the space between us and coming around behind me. I lean back into his chest with a sigh. His fingers trail up and down my arms, featherlight. Goosebumps rise on my skin as if woken by his touch. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his hair tickling my nose. I raise a hand to run my fingers through his hair.
“Focus,” he admonishes, even as he plants a kiss on my shoulder. “Keep your shoulders straight.” I adjust my shoulders, as he instructs. He lowers my arms and brings them closer to my chest. “Now ready your battle stance.”
“Come again?” I turn to look over my shoulder. “What is my ‘battle stance’?”
“Keep your knees bent,” he says, rolling his eyes when I smirk at him. “Be ready to pounce at any given moment.” I pout when he moves away from me, running back to the line. “I’ll throw the ball straight at you to start, but this will get progressively harder. You ready?”
“If I say no, can we stop?”
He laughs. “Not a chance.”
His arm bends back, but he brings it forward slowly. The ball arches perfectly my way, and into my hands. I surprise us both when I spring forward, cradling the ball to my chest as I dash past him. He calls after me, asking where I’m going when I run for the white goalpost. I turn my head to smile at him, but it drops open when he breaks into a sprint after me. When I screech, he lets out a booming laugh from his diaphragm.
“You’re never gonna catch me!” I increase my stride, running as fast as I possibly can. But I’m no match for a former NFL player. I’m breathing hard, sweat dripping down the side of my forehead, when Theo reaches me. But he doesn’t try to stop me. He runs beside me, matching my pace until I reach the goal and throw the ball between the poles.
“Touchdown!” I scream at the top of my lungs, dancing in circles over the fallen football. “I made a touchdown!”
Theo howls his approval, and it’s such a distinctly primal sound that I can’t help but laugh. I jump into his outstretched arms and he spins me around, his arms crushing me to his chest as he lifts me off the ground. We’re both laughing and screaming. He kisses me as he settles my feet back on the ground, and I wrap my arms around his neck.
“That was amazing!” he says. “Not technically a touchdown, but amazing nonetheless.”
“Yeah?” My cheeks warm. “Am I worthy of a real football player yet?”
“You’re a worthy opponent, indeed, Marce.” He kisses the top of my head, and I almost melt on the spot. “Come on, let’s do it again!”
I’m not sure how many hours pass. We play for so long, we only come to a stop when the sun begins to set, turning the sky a vibrant orange. The afternoon ends when he wraps his giant arms around me in lieu of a tackle, and I force us both to fall onto the grass. Our limbs tangle together in a way that’s only unfamiliar thanks to the dirt and turf grass covering our bodies. When Theo plants his mouth on mine, I almost wish we didn’t have to leave the field.
Maybe football isn’t so bad after all.