18. Violet

18

Violet

Liza: Wyd?

Me: At the apartment working on assignments. Why?

Liza: I’ll be there in 5. Throw a football shirt on and meet me outside with your assignments.

Me: Where are we going?!

Liza: You’ll see ;)

L iza always comes out of nowhere with cryptic plans. She knows I would say no If she gives me too much information, so I guess it’s for the best–less to overthink.

Lifting myself off the floor, I gather up my assignments, pens, and highlighters to put in my bag. I throw my hair together in a half-up half-down pony and toss on Ryan’s practice shirt he left here a few nights ago. Ryan and I have been official for a few weeks now, and I couldn’t be happier. I was nervous what the added attention around campus would bring, being the Ryan Shane’s girlfriend, but he always treats me like I’m the only one in the room. Multiple honks blare through the apartment, indicating Liza’s arrival. I sling my backpack on and take a few deep breaths before I run down the apartment stairs to hop in her car.

“Hey, girl!” Music blasts from the fruity-scented car, but she turns it down to talk to me.

“Am I going to regret this?” A laugh escapes, and for a moment, I wish I could be as carefree as her. She has genuine fun and doesn’t care what others think of her. She makes decisions on the whim instead of overthinking her every move. Life would be more enjoyable that way.

“Absolutely not.” She winks and backs the car out of the parking lot. “We’re headed to football practice. I have a sketch assignment I need to complete for my portfolio. It needs to be a place on campus with different elements.” She keeps one hand on the wheel and talks with her other. “The field with players’ movement will be perfecto !” Liza is an art major and possesses serious talent. She drew me once for a portrait assignment, and I couldn’t believe how detailed and beautiful it was.

“Ok.. Why am I going?”

“Moral support. Duh, and your football hottie will be sweaty eye candy.” Laughing and doing a little happy dance while driving, she says, “You know they practice shirtless, right?” She sticks her tongue out and fans herself.

“I’ve never been to a practice. Do you think Ryan will care? Let me text him–”

Liza cuts in and swats my phone out of my hand. “No! He’ll die when he sees you in the stands. Guys go all primal for the stuff.”

I clench my fists tight, a grounding technique. Spur-of-the-moment plans are overwhelming. I run through a mental checklist of things that could go wrong: The wind could blow my papers around, I won’t have enough space to lay out the articles, so I can use multiple sources at once, I’ll have to keep putting my pens in and out of their zipper case so they don’t fall. My hand flies to my forehead, and I begin twirling the baby hairs up top.

Liza reaches over to pat my lap. “I promise it’ll be fine, Vi.” She grins sympathetically. “If you feel uncomfortable, we can leave, and I’ll come back another day to sketch.”

I hate that I’m like this. I wish my mind would turn off and enjoy the moment with one of my best friends. “I’ll survive. It’ll be nice to see Ryan in his natural element.”

“That’s the spirit!” Her hands fly in the air, off the steering wheel.

“Woah! Don’t get us killed.”

We continue the short drive to the field and pull into the almost empty parking lot. We enter through the breezeway and head to the empty bleachers. The sounds of whistles blowing and players yelling ring through our ears. Liza and I travel up and down five different flights of stairs to find the perfect angle for her sketch, and she decides on a seat in the top corner. Setting my bag down in front of me, I kick my legs up and cross them. I’m on the hunt to find my man, and it doesn’t take long to spot him. Covered in ink, he squirts water from one of the shared Gatorade bottles into his mouth. He pours some on his head and shakes it off. Liza was right. He’s shirtless, sweaty, and undeniably hot.

It doesn’t seem like he sees me, and I don’t want to distract him from practice, so I take out one of my assigned reading articles from my bag and begin annotating on my lap. Liza stands on the bleacher seat, her tongue caught between her teeth as she focuses on her work. She scribbles ferociously with her fancy art pencil. As much as I try to focus on my article, my attention is constantly brought back to the field.

Every time Coach yells, “Shane!” My head pops up with interest.

“This is going to be great for my portfolio.” Liza turns to me and flashes her initial sketch of the field.

Leaning over to get a closer look, I’m shocked by the details she included in such a short amount of time. The texture of the grass, the depth of the benches in comparison to the open field, and small pieces of equipment scattered across the sidelines. “It’s incredible, Liza. Are you sketching any of the players?”

“Umm. Yeah. Just one, though.” She tucks her chin down and begins scribbling again.

“Who are you drawing? You are more than welcome to use Ryan as your muse. The tattoos would really bring this piece to the next level,” I chuckle and stuff my article back in my bag. There are too many distractions here to get any work done.

“Actually, Hartley volunteered to be the male lead in my portfolio. I need to capture the same person in different elements, and I knew he would be perfect for it.” She stares onto the field and plasters a shy grin across her face.

“I’m glad he’s helping. I’m sure he loves the attention. He lives for stuff like that.”

Her brows furrow, and she shakes her head before responding, “You know, Hartley. The entertainer.” She keeps sketching, but something seems off. I don’t know what I could have said to upset her, so I shut up as she continues her work.

“Ladies! To what do we owe the honor?” Hartley yells at the top of his lungs. The players are taking a break. Some are hydrating, stretching, or sitting and talking. Ryan swings around to face us and waves to me. I stand from my seat and shyly wave back. My face is sweltering, but not because of the cool October weather.

“Getting some work done up here!” Liza yells.

“Why are you so far away? Come sit closer to the action.” Hartley motions for Liza and me to move to the first row in front of the benches.

“Nope. The angle here is perfect!” The echo of Liza’s voice travels down to the field.

The whistle blows, indicating that their break is over. Ryan motions for me to check my phone, and Hartley continues babbling about how Liza should move closer to get better details.

“Hartley!” He blows the whistle louder. “Shane!” he screams. “Would you two lover boys stop flirting with your girlfriends and join the rest of the team? Socialize on your own time.”

“Not my girlfriend, but I’m flattered that you think I’m pretty,” Hartley mouths back to his coach before turning to join him at midfield.

Ryan gestures up to the stands and points directly at me, “She’s mine, and I know she’s so far out of my league, it’s not even funny.”

“Yeah. I don’t know what girls would want to date two buffoons like you, but consider yourselves lucky.”

They continue to banter until the drills begin. I’m entranced by Ryan’s body and skill. His muscles ripple each time he gets a handoff from Mason. His strength is put on full display when he plows through the offensive line, creating space to run his route.

“Ready, girly?” She places her sketch pad in her bag and gestures to the exit. “Looks like they’re almost finished.”

“Yep. Let’s go.” We walk down the stairs and back through the breezeway. I remember Ryan asking me to check my phone, so I whipped my bag around to fish it from under my papers.

Ryan: How am I supposed to practice when you’re in the stands looking like a vision in my practice shirt?

Giggling at the text, I respond.

Violet: How am I supposed to work on my assignments when you’re running around shirtless and sweaty?

I know he’s in a practice debrief, so I won’t hear from him for a while, but that doesn’t stop my heart from fluttering without permission at a simple text.