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I’ve stared at my dad’s photograph in this room hundreds of times over my years with the TU Titans, thinking about how it must have felt for him to sit in this room just like I am, analyzing the photos of the captains before him. When I was growing up, my dad always talked about how proud he was to lead this team; he never took the opportunity for granted and considered his teammates family.
I look so much like him. The same eyes, the same jawline, the same smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say my mom had no part in my genetic makeup at all. Like me, my dad stood at 6 foot 3 inches, with chestnut brown hair and freckled skin. His smile in the photo is so wide that his eyes are practically closed, his deep dimples carving craters into the sides of his cheeks. I scan my eyes further down the wall until I reach my own photo, still glossy from the printer.
I'm dressed in the same maroon and white gear as my Dad, wearing the same dimpled smile – but something is missing. I don’t look truly happy like he was. Probably because, when my picture was taken, my dad was already gone.
“Knock, knock.”
I glance up at the sound of the woman’s voice, instantly recognizing that it doesn’t belong to Ms. Gretchen.
“Natalia? What are you doing here?”
I shift in my seat uncomfortably as Natalia Bryer saunters into the room. Her dark brown hair is curled and pinned halfway back with some sort of clip. She’s dressed in burgundy scrubs, if you can even call them that, given that they’re so tight they’re practically bursting at the seams.
“What do you mean?” she asks innocently, her big blue eyes blinking in confusion. “I’m your physical therapist, silly.”
She walks over to me, bending down to place her clipboard on the table in front of me and flashing her ample cleavage in my direction.
“The fuck you are. Where’s Ms. Gretchen?”
“Why all the hostility, Henry?” She shoots me a deviant smile. “Ms. Gretchen is out today. I’m a PT student, remember? Daddy – I mean, Coach Bryer – said I could take over for her as part of my training. Now let me take a look at that shoulder.”
She lifts up a manicured hand and gently grazes it along my injured arm, her touch uncomfortably intimate and soft. The smell of her cheap cherry perfume is nauseating, and I groan from discomfort.
“Does that hurt?” She whispers, her lips curling into a half smile.
“No.”
“Why don’t you take off your shirt for me, Henry?”
“I know what you’re doing, Natalia, and I already told you – I’m not interested.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she coos, smiling, and attempts to lift the hem of my shirt sleeve.
“I know you’re treating Watson like you’re fucking lackey and told him to hurt Georgia. I swear to God, Natalia, if I wasn’t captain of the team–”
“You’d what, big boy? Spank me for being a bad girl?”
I roll my eyes and yank my sling back over my head, standing up quickly to leave.
“Excuse me for wanting what’s mine!” she calls after me, just before I reach the door. “You know she couldn’t handle you, Henry.”
Her tone is condescending and her eyes glimmer with malevolence. My stomach churns just looking at her.
Why did I ever let this girl touch me?
“I’m not yours, Natalia. And I’m never going to be.”
24 | Georgia
“YOU KISSED HENRY Anderson?!” Eleanor squeals, grinning from ear-to-ear.
We’re parked in her car just outside Henry’s apartment, where I agreed to meet him to finish our interview.
“Yes,” I admit, unable to hold back a smile.
“How did this happen?! How was it? God, he’s so fine. I need every detail.” She grabs my hands and faces me towards her, her eyes glimmering with excitement as she awaits my response.
“Well… I was asking him my typical interview questions and he sort of switched it up on me and asked me about myself. I told him about my parents and he was just so sweet about it… so I kissed him.” I shrug, attempting to seem nonchalant.
