Page 26 of Your Rule to Break
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 snappersonly 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 wintheir 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.