Westerman's body is ripped, more than I'd like to admit. I watch his muscles pulsate when he launches the ball with a quick, flawless pass. I mean, it's no surpriseâI've seen him up close, with his popped biceps and defined shoulders, which are easily visible with any fitted shirt. I don't have to see him shirtless to know what's under there.
His leg muscles flex as he sprints down the field, avoiding tackle after tackle. He always knows where his teammates will be before they get there. The crowd erupts when he yet again assists a touchdown, finding his running man at the last second as he crosses the line.
"And that's game! UFN adds another victory to go five for six!"
I watch as the teams huddle up, and Stephan gets pulled to the side for a post-game interview. Like he needs the attentionâit's hard to ignore the many faces with the letters 22 drawn on with blue paint. He pulls off his helmet, showing off his damp, messy hair that he somehow pulls off, again more than I'd like to admit, eye black smudged down his face, and his hands resting on his hips while his chest calms. He handles the reporter's questions with his usual confidence, playing the whole "there's no 'I' in team" spiel while flashing that dimpled smile that seems to have an effect on the reporter as well as the crowd.
"Stephan, incredible performance out there today. What was going through your mind during that last play?" The petite redhead, with a surprisingly assertive voice, asks through the microphone.
He wipes the sweat from his brow. "Well, it's all about teamwork. I saw an opening and trusted Demarcus to be in the right spot. He never disappoints."
The reporter nods. "You've been having an outstanding season so far. What do you attribute your success to?"
Stephan's eyes flicker toward me with intention. Well played. He continues, "Hard work, dedication, and a great support system. I couldn't do it without my coaches and teammates pushing me."
I roll my eyes at his humble-bragging. He's good; I'll give him that.
As the interview wraps up, Stephan jogs over to me, his grin widening. "Heyâ" He's abruptly cut off as some of his teammates pounce on him, delivering a few ass smacks and helmet clashes for a job well done.
"Atta be, Westerman!" Demarcus Trent, their captain, calls out as he approaches. Noticing me, he quickly shoves the other guys away.
"You can spit game after," Demarcus says with a sly smile. "Don't want to leave Truman waiting for PGC." He gives Stephan a nudge before walking off, and my eyebrows raise.
"PGC?" I question.
"Post-game chat," Stephan explains, glancing at the rest of his team walking by. "I'll meet you outside the showers," he adds with a nod before following his teammates to the locker room.
As I head toward the lockers, I catch glimpse of Peter Marcus wearing a black hoodie with the baby blue stitched UFN logo on the front. He looks good. His hair, the same unique sandy brown color, falls just right, and his cheeks slightly sink in as he smiles. And it pangs my chest when I see who he's looking atâsomeone else, not me. The feeling worsens when our eyes catch for a millisecond, and he continues on like I don't exist.
+++
I've overthought this a lot. More than I should. I changed my outfit four timesâfour damn timesâand I'm not even going to count how long it took me to put my hair half up, half down for the whole sweet girlfriend facade. I look down at my outfit and wonder if this is even good enough: mom jeans paired with some Boston clogs and a black knit sweater. Shit, it's a bit cropped. God, this is a mistake.
"Did you watch the full game?" I'm pulled out of the turbulence in my mind when Stephan walks over, now clean, dressed in jeans and a black hoodie, unironically not planned, unironically making me feel better.
"I did," I say, getting up as we walk toward the parking lot.
"Andâ" he starts, and I cut him off.
"And what? You need another confidence booster?"
"So, you think I played well?" His voice is smooth, and he shoots a dimpled smirk.
"Everyone thinks you play well," I respond.
"Not everyone." His tone grows serious as he looks ahead to his dad getting into his car and leaving.
"Anyway," he says, diverting, "let's get this over with, shall we?" We walk over to his car, which, not surprisingly, is a new-looking jet-black Jeep. He opens the door for me, and I slide in, shutting it as he hops in on the other side.
The ride is quiet. I mean, we don't necessarily have much to talk about; our two civil interactions last week were enough for both of usâor at least, I know it was for me after I left his apartment wearing his shirt and had to listen to Jordan's never-ending rambling about his pizza gesture.
He then places his hand down on my knee, and my eyes jerk to look at him in response.
"You'll be fine." He presses down, stopping my leg from bouncingâsomething I hadn't even realized I was doingâbefore placing his hand back on the wheel.
We pull up to a large grey stone house with black accents. The driveway is white stone, with a white Audi and a red Mercedes parked alongside the Jeep. We get out of the car, and I feel even more intimidated as we walk up the three steps to the larger-than-life door with its crystal window. Stephan's hand gestures out, and I reluctantly intertwine my fingers.
We walk in, and the house feels even bigger inside, though it maintains a homey feel with warm undertones.
"Come on in." Stephan's mom whips around the corner in an apron, a bright smile on her face. I let go of Stephan's hand as she offers a quick hug.
"Delezar, my mother," Stephan pauses. "Mom, this is my girlfriend, Del."
"Sofia." I correct, eyeing Stephan and she laughs in response
"Natalia," she introduces herself.
Their resemblance is uncanny. Although her features are lighter, with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes, they share the same dimples and exude similar energy.
"You didn't tell me she was a looker," she whispers, her poor attempt at being quiet making me laugh as we walk toward the kitchen.
"Woah." I hear and turn around to see what looks like the younger version of Natalia, with lighter hair and piercing green eyes.
"Sloan." She puts out her hand, and I shake it in response.
"Sofia." I nod.
"Oh, I know who you are, and you're way too cool for my brother." I laugh as Stephan shakes his head.
"Be nice and sit down." Natalia rolls her eyes, placing some vegetables and pasta on the table. Another figure walks in, and I know this is when the real test begins.
"James, did you get the pie I asked for?" Natalia's eyes narrow, and he greets her with a small kiss on the side of the head while she takes off her apron.
He and Stephan look the same: the same sharp features, sheer stature, frame, and height. Even at his age, it's clear he hits the gym.
"Of course." His sharp green eyes now look at me, and I feel nervous under his gaze. "It's nice to meet you." He smiles briefly before taking a seat, while Stephan pulls out my chair for me.
It's hard to ignore the tension between Stephan and his dad, considering they're sitting right across from each other. Thankfully, I get to look at Natalia's warm gaze and Sloan at the head of the table to my right.
"Dig in, please," Natalia starts, passing around the food.
For the first twenty or so minutes, we're eating in relative silence, with small chatter surrounding my program and what I want to go into.
"So, how'd you two meet?" Natalia's hands intertwine with each other as she eagerly looks at us.
"The school cafe," I start.
"I grabbed her drink for her."
"So, love at first sight?" She awes, and there's no way he's getting it that easy.
"I thought he was up to no good." That comment earns a tug at the mouth from James and a laugh from Natalia.
"And now?" Stephan turns to look at me.
"Still deciding." I respond softly and turn when I hear a throat clear.
"We can assume you'll be at the Brutes and Bellas," James speaks up, and as much as I'd like to comment on how outdated and degrading the name is, I decide against it.
"Yes," I say when he speaks up again.
"And the upcoming away tournament?" His eyes look coldly at me, although I haven't seen his gaze soften since he greeted Natalia.
"Yes, she's coming." Stephan's voice is firm as he stares back at his dad, and the table falls silent.
"So, does this mean I can start going to your games?" Sloan speaks up, breaking the tension.
"Of course, the more support, the better."
"When's your next one?" She asks eagerly.
"Uh, tomorrow mid-afternoon."
"Can I go?" She looks at her parents, and Natalia laughs.
"You have school, Sloan."
"It's grade elevenâ"
"That's an important year," James states.
"I've done all my work; I'd miss one day. It'd be my chance to see the best team in the nation." She pleads, looking at her mom, and I can see Natalia give in.
"I have no issue with it; it's up to your father."
"Daddy, please?" She hits him with puppy eyes, and he exhales.
"Fine."
"I can come back and get you before the game tomorrow," Stephan offers.
"Nonsense. What time are your first classes?" Natalia asks.
"I just have an 11 a.m. lecture after practice." Stephan states.
"And you?" She looks at me.
"I don't have anyâ"
"Perfect!" She claps. "You two can stay for the night and head out in the morning with Sloan." That makes both Stephan and me tense up, and my eyes flicker over to James, who intently watches our reactions.
"I'm sure Sofia would rather stay in her dorm," Stephan adds quickly.
"Dorm?" Natalia's eyes widen slightly, as if it's crazy that someone isn't in a three-thousand-a-month apartment. "Your room's big enough for the both of you." Natalia finishes, but my gaze can't leave James's skeptical look.
"We'reâ" Stephan starts.
"Sounds perfect." I finish.
Real fucking perfect.