“Pretty sure your boy is directly responsible for the traffic this weekend,” Quint says with a grin.
I don’t disagree. “I’m so excited.”
Quint grins over at me. “I couldn’t tell. You’re practically bouncing in your seat.”
“I love the College Cup. My family and I have been watching it every year for as long as I can remember.” A pang of guilt hits me. I haven’t called home in weeks. I've been so consumed with everything that’s been going on. I resolve to call later and check in. It takes a little while to get through security and parked, but finally we’re free. I climb out of the car and stretch.
Evie stretches as well. When she sees me, she grins. She’s been doing that all day. “What?”
“Sorry, I can’t help it. I just love seeing you all decked out.”
“Yeah, Tess. Could you have put Slater’s number anywhere else?” Quint asks.
I ignore all of them. I’m here for my guy, and I don’t care what anybody thinks about me. I’m currently wearing his jersey with his name and number over a long-sleeved white shirt. I’m also wearing two matching number sevens on my cheeks. Stephanie helped me paint them on. She’s actually really good; they look amazing. “At least we’ll be able to find you if we lose you,” Quint says with a laugh.
“You’re just jealous,” I call out as I hurry to catch up with him.
The place is packed, and it puts me on edge. I try not to think about the last soccer game I went to, the one that ended with this particular accessory on my wrist. I push those thoughts far, far away as we work at finding seats. “I’m getting food. Who wants something?” Quint asks.
“We just ate,” Evie reminds him.
“Evie,” he starts, but she waves him off.
“Yes, we know. You're a growing boy.”
He laughs. “Anybody want anything?”
“I’m good, thanks.” I eye the field. The other team is warming up, but our guys haven’t come out yet. I’m anxious to see Slater. I haven’t seen him since Wednesday morning, and he’s been so busy, he hasn’t been able to call or text much. I bounce my leg while I wait for them to come out. When they finally make their entrance, I’m too nervous to even cheer. I scan each member, looking for my guy. My nerves ratchet up with each guy that comes out that isn’t Slater. Then, he finally shows up...the very last one. My eyes run over him as best as I can from this distance. I hold my breath as I watch them start warming up.Only after I see him do his usual warmups do I start to relax. The minutes tick down until the warm-up time is over.
“Tessa,” Zane calls out, catching my attention. I lean forward to see him past Evie. “Slate wants to see you real quick. End of the row.” He nods to the other end, and I make my way that way quickly. I don’t have to be told twice. When I get to the end of the row, I look around, trying to find Slater. And then, he comes bounding up the bleachers, taking them two at a time. He stops inches from me. He's a step below me, and it almost puts us at the same height. He’s still taller, but it’s close.
I’m suddenly nervous. “Hi,” I breathe out.
He smiles, and my heart kicks into overtime. “Hi.” He scans me from head to toe, his eyes lingering on the sevens on my cheeks. “I like the look.”
I grin and mock curtsy. “Thank you.”
His eyes turn serious. “You okay?”
“I’m great.” The last thing I want is him to worry about me before his big game. “You?”
“Fine.” But his eyes look shadowed, and I wonder if he’s been sleeping. But there’s no time to dwell on that right now. “You ready to dominate?” He doesn’t smile, and I wonder how he’s going to do in this game. But I force myself to stay positive. “Show them who you are, Striker. Nobody messes with number seven.”
He stares down at me and then finally nods. “Stick close to Zane and Quint; they’ll make sure you’re safe.”
“I’ll be fine, Slater. You need to focus on the game.” I glance down at the field. “You gotta go. You’ve got this, Slater Thorne.”
He stares down at me a moment longer and then turns and jogs back down the bleacher steps. I watch him go, unease settling in my stomach. That was not the focus that I’m used to from the great Slater Thorne. When I get back to my seat, Zane leans forward.
“How’d he seem?”
I shake my head. “Not good. He’s not focused on this game at all.”
Zane looks down at the field and then back at me. “He is, but more of his focus is up here in the bleachers.”
I grimace. “Should I not be here?”
His eyes widen. “No. That would make it worse. Much, much worse.” He gives me a look of confidence. “He’ll be okay; he’s got this.”
