Page 49 of Spiral
“Do you have feelings for him?”
“I don’t know if I should. I mean, I just broke up with Patrick, who I lived with, and who cheated on me and yelled at me and called me names…”
“But do you have feelings for Henry?” Her tone is serious, her words terse. She knows I’m trying to beat around the bush.
I pause for a moment to think. I recall how apologetic he was when he hurt my feelings one time by calling me a snitch. Patrick never apologized like that. I remember how he organized that game at Mason Field to help teach me about football, how willing he was to help me with my article, how he punched Patrick just because he hurt me. How he saved me from getting pummeled by their wide receiver, and tried to warn me that I could get hurt. How right it felt when he kissed me…
“Yes,” I squeak out, burying my head in my hands. “I do.”
“Eeeeeek!” she squeals. “You finally admitted it!”
“I–”
“You have to tell him, Georgie.” Her eyes sparkle with excitement as she speaks.
“No – definitely not.” I shake my head defiantly, hoping that’ll be the end of it.
It’s not.
“Girl. He kissed you. Twice! He punched Patrick for you and saved your life at a football game. He obviously feels the same way.”
“It’s not about that, El.” I lean my head back against the pillow, one arm slung over my eyes in defeat. “If I tell him I like him – then what? We become boyfriend and girlfriend? We move in together? I mean, he’s already been chosen by the Mavericks. Do I follow him there? What about my career as a journalist? What if I don’t want to be a football wife, carrying around his future football captain children?”
“Whoa,” she interjects, staring at me wide-eyed. “Nobody said you have to have his football babies, G. We’re talking about going on one date. Or just admitting to him that you think he’s fine, which he is.”
She raises one eyebrow dramatically at me, knowing she’s right.
“You could tell him after the big game,” she concludes. “Didn’t the Coach confirm he’ll be playing or whatever?”
“The physical therapist did, yeah. He’s officially playing this weekend.”
“That’s perfect! You can get the information you need for the Tribune, then run up to him on the field and kiss his perfect face. Like a rom com.” She sighs dreamily, blinking her eyes up at the ceiling and smiling.
“You’re crazy.” I laugh, pushing her to the side to break her out of her daydream.
“Hey!” She grins from ear-to-ear, pushing me back and knocking me straight onto the floor.
We crack up, and I can’t help but feel a sense of… relief? Calmness? Eleanor and I had shared a room in high school and spent more than our fair share of nights on the floor in tears from laughing so hard. This moment feels just like that – it’s nostalgic. Warm. Comforting.
After a minute or so, we finally manage to collect ourselves, and Eleanor reiterates her point while wiping away tears.
“I mean it, though, Georgie. After the game is the perfect time to tell him. He’ll have that post-game high that athletes get.”
“How would you know that athletes get that?”
“It’s in all the novels I read!”
“You mean the smut stories?”
She picks up her book and throws it at me, because she knows I’m right.
“This is fantastic, Georgia. Truly a great background on Mr. Anderson here.”
Dr. Randie gazes at me warmly, her signature half-smile on full display.
“Really?”
My tone is hopeful, excited. I had been working to perfect this article about Henry’s history with football for weeks. It’s gone through 3 or 4 revisions with Dr. Randie, plus approval from Coach Bryer. I swear, I’ve never put more work into an article in my life. I mean, it helps when you get to make out with the hot interviewee.