Page 36

Liza

O n top of the world doesn’t begin to describe the feeling coursing through my veins.

Hartley flew my sister in to make sure this night was everything I imagined.

I never mentioned the idea of Willow coming down because I knew it would be virtually impossible with her school schedule and her visit not too long ago, but he did it.

My mind swirls in a lustful frenzy with Hartley on my arm as I knock elbows with some of the most influential people in the Florida art community. I introduce myself to each one and direct them to my exhibit.

“I need to see it.” Hartley turns on his boyish charm as he sticks his hands into his dress pants pockets. “You can’t hide it forever.”

“Let’s go.” Nodding my head to the back room of the exhibit, we make our way through some of my classmate’s art pieces.

Intricately painted pottery pieces, huge watercolor canvases, and woodwork line the walls creating a masterpiece at every turn, but my stomach churns when my exhibit comes into view.

In a small cut out corner lies some of the best pieces I’ve ever created.

The title of my collection of art hangs on a glass plaque with vinyl lettering:

More Than the Game sketched and painted by Springs U sophomore visual art student, Liza Wilde.

Hartley leaves my side and beelines straight toward the sketches I’ve spent months perfecting with him as my muse. He’s close enough to see every speck of paint I used on the canvas and every small imperfection if he wanted to.

Slowly cozying up to his side, I cross my arms over my chest and eagerly wait for his response. “So. . .”

“Baby. . .” His voice trails off. His eyes never leave the art hung on the wall.

He focuses solely on the piece I drew of him in the locker room.

One of the first ones after we made the deal to help each other out.

I focused the most on his facial features that day.

His intense eyes show flicks of light as he concentrates on his gloves.

His carved muscles outlined by his practice shirt, that dimpled grin drawn across the canvas waiting to jump out at anyone that looks its way.

I should have known back then how far gone I was for him, but staring into the art I created, it hits me how much denial I was in.

“You’re talented.” He gulps down. “I don’t think anyone’s ever seen me like this.” His voice drifts off, focusing on the emotions deep within himself. “More than a football player.”

“You’re everything,” I answer without hesitation. “In fact, being a football player may be the least interesting thing about you.” His head tilts to meet my lazy gaze full of promises I intend to keep.

I catch a red hue spread across his cheeks. “How so?”

Tapping my finger on my chin, I pretend to mull his question over. “Let’s see, you care fiercely for the people in your life. You make sure I feel like the only girl in a room full of people, and—” A smile spreads across my face. “You’re mine.”

He lets out a soft chuckle and laces his fingers with mine. “I want to hear it again.”

“What?”

“What I am to you.”

“Everything.”

His hands cup my cheeks and my eyes seal shut, rolling to the back of my head. Without opening my eyes, his lips land on mine and everything else ceases to exist. Time stops. It’s just us in a fancy room by ourselves, surrounded by my work, completely connected to the boy I love. Woah.

“Liza! Oh my gosh, this is amazing!” Emberly and Violet both chant as they enter my little corner of the exhibit.

Jolting from the warmth of his lips, my hand nervously flies through my curls as I’m hit with the reality that we aren’t alone.

Hartley’s hands grip my hips so tight it’ll probably leave marks. He breathes out with his eyes locked on me, refusing to let go. “Why’d you stop?”

“We have company.”

“My question remains.” He’s closing the distance again as his rough hand cradles my jaw. He tilts my chin to meet my eyes with a mischievous smile. “Why did you stop?”

Shaking my head and letting out a loose chuckle, I reply, “You’re unbelievable.”

“Sorry!” Violet backs away as she gnaws on her already short nails. “We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Shimmying out of Hartley’s forcefield, I join my best friends across the room. “Absolutely not.”

“Sorry I’m late,” Mason gasps as he runs into my nook of the exhibit. “Didn’t think it would take me that long to make it across town.”

“Why is Mason here?” Emberly whispers into my ear and grips my elbow as Hartley meets him halfway to shake his hand. “I didn’t know he was invited.”

Confused about her snippy tone, I wonder why she cares if Mason is here or not. “I’m sorry, chica, I didn’t think it would be a big deal. Hartley invited a lot of the guys.”

“It’s not a big deal.” She shakes her head, ridding her mind of whatever took over moments ago. “Sorry. I’m overreacting. Tonight is supposed to be about you.” She quickly covers her worry with a fake smile, but I don’t want her to be uncomfortable.

“Is there something I’m missing. . .” My voice trails off in question.

“Em,” Mason’s commanding voice runs a shudder through her core as she blinks repeatedly before glancing his way.

“I’ve got to go.” She takes a few steps back before darting to the bathroom.

“I’m coming, too!” I dash behind her as we weave through the crowd to the one-stall restroom.

“What was that?” My worried voice echoes in the empty bathroom as I twist the gold lock behind me, trying to figure out why we just ran away from Mason in the middle of my art exhibit.

“And don’t you dare say nothing because that little stunt was far from nothing.

” Tapping my foot on the marble floor, I wait not-so-patiently for her to spill the tea.

“Mason and I. . .” She takes a deep breath, and I notice her hands shake at her side as she struggles to get through the story. “Have history.”

I inch closer to her as she grips the granite counter of the sink, not surprised by her admission. It seems like everyone has history around here. “History?”

“Yep, and that’s where it’s staying. In the past.”

“Are you sure about that?” My hand reaches for her back. “History has a way of repeating itself.”

“Ours won’t,” she snaps.

“Okay.” I back off, realizing she’s not ready to talk about it yet. “I’m here when you’re ready to talk about it.”

“Thanks, Liza.” She gives me a forced smile. “I’m sorry for making this about me. Let’s go back and celebrate you and your killer art.”

Nodding my head, we hook arms and meet the rest of the group where we left them.

Violet and Hartley argue over whether the clay creation they’re staring at is a dog or a wolf.

Willow’s taking selfies with my sketches and posting them to her Instagram story.

But what catches my eye is Mason off in a corner, away from the rest, running his hand over his freshly cut hair and flattening his large palms over his Armani suit.

Mason's eyes catch mine and I give him a sympathetic smile and a shrug, wishing I knew more to help. Emberly makes no attempt to be in his vicinity, so she shoots off to occupy her time with Willow’s unhinged posting.

His eyes trace her every step and pain travels over his hazy irises.

His hand flies to his chest as he rubs back and forth across the rich fabric.

It dawns on me that their history is bound to become a part of the present sooner or later.

My shoulders sag as I see Mason alone in the corner. I sneak away from the group to see what’s up. “You’ve got it bad, my friend.”

“What?” Mason asks quizzically as he continues to stare googly eyed at Emberly across the room. She’s ignoring him like a pro, her back facing us while her laugh echoes across the room, as she points at different works of art for Willow to pose by.

I shake my head. “You’re love sick.”

“Me?” His eyes scrunch up as his jaw drops open in protest. “Nah.”

Shaking my head at his oblivion, I retort, “I call it like I see it.”

“What do you know?”

“That there’s history between the two of you, and it doesn’t take a genius to see that.”

He scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “She hates me and wants nothing to do with me anymore.”

I tap my finger on my chin, pretending like I’m mulling his epiphany over. “And Hartley is nothing more than an annoying friend.” I reach up to pat his broad shoulder over the sleek fabric of his expensive pressed suit. “Looks like we both know how to lie to ourselves, huh?”

“And what do you suggest I do?”

“Every girl wants someone to fight for them.” My eyes wander to my boyfriend as he chuckles with Violet. A smile spreads across my face when I catch a glimpse of him. I’m thankful he didn’t stop fighting for me. “Looks like you need to suit up for the battle.”

Nodding off, his eyes wander somewhere else far away from the room we’re in. “We’ll see.”