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“Yes, he did,” I respond.
I’ve never understood why me not liking football is such a difficult concept for people to understand. It seems logical to me. Spend enough forced time around anything, and you start to resent it.
Strangely, the one person I’ve met who immediately surmised how I felt about football was a football player. It stood out to me at the time, mostly because of Noah’s willful oblivion. But it’s even more surprising now that I know Will plays football. That he loves football. I have a dozen photos of the expression on his face when he got subbed in to play.
And…I’m thinking about him. Again.
“Plenty of other guys out there,” Saylor says. She doesn’t sound even the least bit out of breath while my calves are burning as we head uphill.
“I’m thinking about a dating hiatus. I’m focusing on me for now, not guys.”
“Even better,” she tells me. “Just enjoy the end of college. It’ll be over before you know it.”
I nod.
It’s the truth; I am focusing on me. But I picture Will frowning at the haystack painting, and it sounds a little like a lie.
THIRTEEN
WILL
Itake a step back. Tilt my head, the chemical scent of paint burning my nose. “I hate it,” I decide.
Sophia snorts.
I glance over at her. She’s studying the same spot on the wall that I am, arms crossed.
“What do you think?” I ask.
“It’s terrible,” she says cheerfully.
“This was your idea,” I remind her. “Will, your apartment is boring. Will, your apartment needs color. Will, let’s paint the bedroom.”
“Your imitation of a German accent is even worse than your German,” she tells me. “And you picked the color.”
I grin, then set the paintbrush down on the tray and cover the container.
I texted her last night, impulsively, asking if she had suggestions on where to get furniture from. After my goal last weekend, some of the guys on the team have warmed up to me a little. But after the day we spent together, Sophia still feels like the closest I have to a friend in this city. She replied, saying she needed to see my place first.
Ten minutes after arriving at my apartment, Sophia told me exactly what I just recited. So, we picked up the paint when we went out to get pizza, and now, I’m stuck with a blue splotch on a white wall.
“You hungry?” I ask.
We decided to test out the paint before eating, which was probably a mistake. Maybe it’ll look better on a full stomach.
“Starving,” she replies.
“Well, at least now, we don’t need to worry about painting the rest of the room,” I tell her, taking a seat on the mattress, which is still the only furniture I have.
Sophia kicks her shoes off and takes a seat cross-legged on the bed. She’s wearing another dress, and I avert my eyes as the hemline creeps higher up her thighs.
“I can’t believe you’ve been living like this,” she says, taking a slice of pizza and glancing around the empty bedroom.
My suitcases are piled in one corner since this place doesn’t even have a closet. Normally, there’s also dirty laundry flung across the floor, but I cleaned up a little before she got here. It makes the place look even emptier.
I shrug before standing and heading into the kitchen. “I don’t need a lot of shit. Beer?”
“Yeah, sure.”
