Page 16

Chapter 16

Emilie

Willow and I walk hand in hand to the high-security entrance. Even though I’ve done this before, today feels different. Charged.

Granted, it is the Upstate Cosmos’ first game of the season, and it’s at home since they’re the reigning Super Bowl champions. It might only be their second season in the NFL but you’d never be able to tell from their fan base.

Seth, Willow’s head of security, walks a few steps ahead of us. Even though the security here is more than sufficient, he needs to be in control. I know he’ll stand outside of the suite for most of the game, just like he always does.

We love him, though.

Since it’s the home opener, I thought Zack’s parents would come but apparently they get too nervous and don’t attend many games.

Today, I get that. My stomach feels like it’s tied in a knot, and with each minute closer to kick-off, it pulls tighter. I went to almost all of the home games last year and yes, I wanted the Cosmos to win, but now it’s different.

We walk into the suite and are greeted by familiar faces—mostly WAGS, wives and girlfriends, of other players. They take me in wearing Zack’s jersey tailored into a dress and paired with a charcoal gray slip underneath, the lace peeking out at the bottom. I’m wearing Cosmos blue glitter boots—a perk to being Willow’s assistant. Stylists, brands, and anything you can think of will send her things to wear on game day, and sometimes I benefit.

I walk to the glass and try to spot Zack. He’s easy to find in the special teams core because he looks like a kernel of popcorn in hot oil. The man’s energy is unmatched—that’s how it’s always been on game day.

Zack stretches with a teammate, and I swear I can hear his laugh from here. Seeing him on the field has my nerves fighting for their life. There’s no denying I'm nervous but also ridiculously excited.

Today’s going to be fun.

The stadium fills with fans, waves of Cosmos blue in all sorts of formats—everything from face paint to custom jerseys. I love the energy before a home game. It’s almost like a living, breathing thing.

The Jumbotron is showing warmups, cutting from one group to the next. Football is bizarre to me considering it’s rough. Dangerous. But it’s also like a carefully choreographed dance, each player with their own responsibility and timing to make it all come together.

It’s fascinating. It always has been. No matter how busy I was during my time at the University of Michigan, I never missed a home football game. There’s something special about The Big House on a Saturday.

I will say, the Upstate Cosmos’ home games are the only thing that’s come close to that feeling.

The smell of truffle popcorn hits me, and I know my favorite snack has entered the chat. I have no idea what they do to make it so addicting; like, I could eat an entire bucket on my own. Hell, I’ve probably done that at some point. I pop some of the buttery, savory kernels in my mouth and look to see Zack on the Jumbotron.

He’s snapping the ball to different teammates. It’s kind of wild to me that his job is this niche—hold the ball and basically get it anywhere from six to fifteen yards to a teammate behind you. Typically, long snappers only touch the field for punts and extra point attempts, but I bet the Cosmos will try and use Zack as a decoy this season.

He has shown he’s capable of legitimately throwing the ball and hitting the intended target. Teams will always suspect a trick play when the ball is in his hands, or if they bring him out for a play, even though it’s just to pull the attention from the actual play call.

The screen cuts to the highlight I'm sure everyone in this stadium has seen: Zack throwing the game-winning touchdown and Tripp catching it. Everyone cheers like it’s happening in real time. My chest warms at the thought of all these fans being proud of Zack and Tripp.

Zack walks near the sideline, his hands gesturing like he’s trying to pull more energy from the crowd, and they deliver. Fans scream and holler when Zack gets closer to their area.

That’s when he sees the suite. He goes from getting the crowd hyped up to putting his hands on his hips, weight on one leg.

He’s looking right at me. My breath catches in my throat and it’s as if he knows what he’s doing to me because he waves toward the suite. Anyone in here who is paying attention starts to clap while some put their hands on my shoulders, playfully jostling me.

And then Zack blows me a kiss. Not only does the suite get loud, but the Jumbotron cameraman has his lens on us. Just in time to see me smiling, ear-to-ear, and putting my head in my hands.

Willow reaches for my hand, squeezes, and catches my eyes. She smiles—knowing and pointed—in a way a friend does when they have something to talk to you about, not now but later.

How in the fuck is the camera this good? My blushing cheeks, almost matching my crimson hair, are on display for 76,000 fans. The stadium erupts in cheers, and Zack joins in, clapping and walking back toward his teammates .

Before he gets too far, he looks back at me, that Zack Andersen smirk at full voltage. The same lips I was begging to kiss. The same mouth I wanted on mine a few nights ago.

The same man who has an innate ability to make me question things I thought I was sure about. Like, how I couldn’t date Zack for real. Out of the question. Not in the realm of possibility.

But now? I’m not so sure.

The Upstate Cosmos win their first game of the season. My cheeks ache from smiling, and my bones are a happy kind of exhausted. It was the screaming fans that really drove this home; the energy surges to the tip top before dipping and coming back again, sometimes all within a single play.

Since Zack is a special teams player, his performance is measured in mistakes, which is sort of brutal. There are no yards to rack up, points to score, or receptions to aim for. Today, it doesn’t matter because he was perfect.

I find myself standing alone, taking in families finding their player, in their own bubbles. Willow and Tripp already left—I said I’d get a ride with Zack.

I pretend to focus on the toes of my boots. Glitter reflects the light and it’s like a disco party on the tile floor. There’s no issue with me spending time alone; it’s more that I don’t want to encroach on anyone’s moment.

My solo-disco-party is short-lived when arms wrap around me.

“One and oh, baby!” Zack picks me up, my back to his front, and his chin finds a spot in the space between my shoulder and neck. My stomach flips like I’m at the top of the rollercoaster, waiting for the drop .

When Zack sets me down, I turn and wrap my arms around his neck. “Everyone was great today. Good job,” I beam.

It’s not lost on me how natural this feels. Him picking me up. Me hugging him like I’ve done it a thousand times.

He grabs my hand and steps back. The man spins me in a circle, letting out a long whistle, like we’re on a movie set.

“You look so fucking good,” he says, “Like, it’s unfair.” And just when I think my cheeks couldn’t get any redder, he looks to the people around us and asks, “When has this jersey looked better?! Anyone? Nothing? Right. Just as I suspected.”

The people around us laugh at Zack. Some of them start to clap, and if I could show someone a ten-second clip which encompassed Zack Andersen as a person, I’d show this one.

He’s wearing a salmon pink suit and a white dress shirt, with the first few buttons undone. Most guys change into something more comfortable or choose to do something leisurely, but Zack loves a fashion moment. His bangs fall forward—this is what I call the ‘heartthrob hair cut’—and his eyes are bright blue, just like the jersey I’m wearing.

“Let’s take a selfie.” He pulls his phone out.

I step into him, putting one hand on his stomach, and it’s met with hard muscles. My throat is dry—I need water. He tips his head closer to mine, makes sure we’re both in the frame, and takes a few pictures.

“Turn around. I want a picture of my jersey.” He smiles in a way that makes it impossible to tell him no.

I turn, my back on full display.

“Can’t get enough of yourself, can ya, Zack?” a teammate asks, all in good fun.

Feeling like I gave Zack enough time to get the picture he wanted, I turn back, just as Zack says, “When you get someone this gorgeous in your jersey, you soak it in any way you can. ”

Charming as fuck. He always is.

“French fries and ice cream?” he asks.

There’s only one answer to that. “Absolutely.”

Zack intertwines his fingers with mine, and warmth spreads over my entire body. It’s his hand in mine. Him calling me gorgeous. Him looking at me like that.

We walk to the exit, and Zack reaches for the door but pauses before he opens it. He doesn’t ask if I’m ready or warn me about what’s on the other side. Instead, he looks me square in the face and says, “Fuck. I can’t get over you in my jersey.”

When he opens the door, the first thing anyone sees is me beaming at him—a million watts, no shame. He’s looking at me like I’m something special, something to keep. His eyes fall to the lace, where it hits mid-thighs. Now he’s looking at me like something he wants to devour.

Get it together, Emilie.

My mind zones out the sound of the press vying for Zack’s attention, asking borderline inappropriate questions about the two of us. It’s almost like everything is muffled and my brain has run out of room—no computing power left.

That’s what his fucking smirk does to me.

Right as we’re through the paparazzi, a blonde woman—someone I don’t know—is standing there with her hands on her hips, clearly waiting for Zack.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans as soon as he sees her.

She’s hard to miss, considering she might be one of the most beautiful humans I’ve seen in real life. Model status. The kind of features that people dream about, the kind artists paint.

“Baby, you never called me back,” the blonde woman says, taking a step toward him, like he’s not holding my hand.

Does she not see me standing right here ?

“No, I haven’t.” Zack looks at me, reinforcing the point, and she turns, recognizing my presence for the first time. Bold.

“I thought we had fun,” she pouts—like actually puts out her bottom lip.

Zack squeezes my hand, obviously uncomfortable. “We did have fun, but I thought I was clear, no strings.”

“Thought you didn’t do relationships?” she asks, looking not at me but at our hands intertwined.

The call out to Zack not doing relationships stings. To be fair, I’ve never met one of Zack’s girlfriends or dates who managed to stick around for more than a week.

He shrugs. “Guess that changes when the right person comes along.”

“I found us a third, if you ever change your mind. She’s the Calvin Klein model that’s all over the city right now.” This bombshell offers up a threesome like she has an extra coupon for a free coffee and is trying to give it to a stranger. Also, I think I know what model she’s talking about, and all I can think is ‘wow.’

Zack laughs. “I’m going to pass, Cassie. Thanks, though.” He starts walking past her.

“Here,” she says, putting an envelope into his chest. Where the hell was she keeping that?

He looks at her, and her hand touching him, before he takes the envelope and we keep walking.

Zack doesn’t say anything as we get situated in the car—the envelope is sitting on the console.

“So, that was Cassie. She seems fun.” I clap my hands and set them in my lap. “What do you think she gave you?”

“Don’t know. Don’t really care.”

“She waited for you in a parking lot with an envelope. You’re not at all curious? ”

“Not really. I’m not interested,” he says, his voice calm and level. “You can look if you want.”

And because I have no chill and have been curious since I saw the envelope in her hand, I take him up on his offer.

Kind of wish I hadn’t.

In my hand are three nude photos—actually printed on paper—one of them has a lipstick kiss on it. I need to wash my hands.

“That’s Cassie for you,” Zack says, like we’re talking about if it’s going to rain or not, but we’re planning to stay inside no matter the weather. Like it doesn’t matter

“Does this happen a lot?” I ask, not sure if I really want to know the answer.

“I mean, yes and no. I get a lot of pics sent to me, digitally. Printed nudes are kind of aggressive, but I’m not dumb enough to throw them away. I’ll shred them when I’m home.”

“Two things. One, you and I have very different lives. Two, this is kind of disgusting.”

“I’ve not been texting her. She sent me a nude the other day, when I was working out, and I just deleted it and moved on. No big deal.”

I nod in agreement. Because it shouldn’t be a big deal. I mean, for someone like Zack who has experiences like this often?

But why does it feel like I’ve been sucker punched?