Page 117 of For Now, Not Forever


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“You’re welcome!” Maeve calls after me.

I shake my head and smile as I head toward the parking lot.

I’ve been to Boston before, but never to BU’s campus specifically. I didn’t realize how ingrained it is in the rest of the city. I find a parking spot and walk along the street, taking in the buildings branded with the university’s logo. Everything is sleek and new, bustling and busy. I can picture Natalie here.

I should call her. The campus is huge, stretching for blocks and blocks. I have no idea where she lives, which classes she’s taking this semester. I’m not going to just randomly run into her.

But if I call her, I have to know what I’m going to say. I can’t just look at her and try to figure out if she’s happy or annoyed to see me.

Eventually, I find the football team’s practice field. And I must have some good karma coming my way, because there’s a group on the running track around it that looks a lot like a cheerleading squad.

I approach the metal bleachers and take a seat about halfway up, watching as they run through a routine and scanning the group for a blonde ponytail. They’re on the opposite side of the field, so it’s difficult to make out faces from here. Finally, I see her.

Natalie was right. There’s no way I’d ever be able to do half of what cheerleading consists of. Self-absorbed as it sounds, I’ve never been focused on what cheering happens during the games I play in. I’m always fully focused on my role on the field, not what’s taking place on the sidelines or during halftime.

They stop for a water break after about ten minutes. The stands are shaded, but the field is in full sun. One figure breaks away from the group and starts this way. There’s some excited muttering across the aisle. I’m not the only guy watching the practice, and it’s no surprise why.

Natalie is wearing a pair of tight spandex shorts and a sports bra. Her blonde hair is up in a high ponytail, loose strands pulled back with the aid of a sports headband. Her face is flushed from the heat.

She climbs up the stairs, stopping when she reaches the row where I’m sitting. “What are you doing here?”

Maybe I should have called, after all. I can’t glean anything from her expression, no relief and no reluctance.

I say the first thing that pops into my head. “You look hot.”

Her eyebrows rise with surprise, but she doesn’t comment on the compliment. She repeats the question. “What are you doing here?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“Okay. Talk.”

“Finish your practice first. I’ll wait.”

“I usually shower and change after.”

“I’ll wait.”

“And go to the dining hall.”

I smile, because now I’m pretty sure she’s testing me. Trying to figure out how dedicated I am to talking to her. “I’ll wait.”

“Look, if this is about that night, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have called you. I’m sure you’re getting all sorts of shit about—”

“It’s not about that.”

Natalie tilts her head as she studies me, a little suspicious. “You don’t have to sit here. I can text you once I—”

“I want to watch.”

Her eyes narrow slightly. Then she nods. “Okay.”

I’m leaning against the side of the bleachers, watching the BU football team run drills, when Natalie reappears. Her hair is wet, darkening the shoulders of the pink t-shirt she’s wearing.

“Spying?”

“Just observing.” The football team came out shortly after Natalie and the cheer squad left for the locker rooms.

“Shouldn’t you be at practice?” she asks.

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