When I came back here in the fall, the deck would be reshuffled. I’d be where I was always meant to be — on that field, in that jersey. Closer to her.
And then? Then I’d do it right. I’d take my time. Play the long game.
I’d make her see that one night hadn’t been enough for either of us.
All I had to do was wait.
Easy, right?
***
Although it was only April, the air was thick with the sticky promise of an early Georgia summer. It was already heavy with humidity that clung to my skin like a second layer.
Even in this small town I’d called home my whole life, the scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the delicate, fleeting sweetness of dogwood blossoms. The distant buzz of cicadas had just begun its nightly chorus.
I’d been back for days, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her. What started as infatuation was twisting into something darker — an obsession I couldn’t control. Sierra was everywhere.
In my thoughts, in every quiet moment, in every shadow, every stolen second that should’ve been mine to think straight. The best night of my life was probably just a blip on her radar.
Maybe I was losing it. Maybe I was already too far gone. I knew I had no right to be disappointed, but the truth was, it didn’t matter. Nothing I could do now wouldn’t push her even further away.
Depressing.
As promised, I had committed to BRU, a decision that came as no surprise to the people who really knew me. Of course, I’d tried to squeeze the most out of the recruiting trip — toured the campus, sat in on a couple of classes, even hit the weight room with the team for an unofficial lift.
They ran me through a few drills, nothing formal, but enough to get a feel for their pace, their grit.
Before leaving with Sierra that night, I spent just enough time with the team to see what their brotherhood looked like off the field. I’d watched how they moved, how they talked, how they treated each other. That told me more than any coach’s pitch ever could.
But truthfully? I’d known for a long time that this school would be my choice if I ever got the shot.
I raked a hand through my hair, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel like the rhythm might keep me grounded.
My eyes stayed fixed on the parking lot and the familiar faces that suddenly felt like strangers. I’d always been one of the oldest in my class, but now the gap felt wider, as if I’d crossed a line no one else had noticed.
That trip hadn’t been some noble epiphany. It wasn’t clarity.
Fuck, who was I kidding? I might have been able to bullshit just about anyone else, but not myself. Not even I was that good.
It was her.Sierra. Sharp-tongued, unapologetic, and addictive as hell.
She didn’t just ruin me; she redefined me. Now I was stuck in limbo, pretending to relate to people who cared about prom drama and who was hooking up with whom. Meanwhile, I sat there wondering if she ever thought about that night as hard as I did.
I couldn’t bear it anymore. Before I knew what I was doing, my phone was back in my hand, her IG profile on my screen. Just like the other countless times since, I’d woken up that morning in a deserted bed in an empty hotel room.
Considering all the information I’d gathered about her, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to find her. One visit to the BRU website, and I found her headshot on the roster of the women’s volleyball team.
No big deal. Neither was the fact that I could recite her information off the top of my head.
Sierra Johansson, Outside Hitter, Sophomore, 6 ft, #97
And she still had no fucking idea who I really was, while she was traipsing through my head rent-free 24/7.
You brought this on yourself, asshole. What did you think would happen?
I shook my head as I scrolled through her pictures. Every single one was perfect. Not just because she was perfect, but every one of those pictures was perfectly staged. Not a hair out of place, flawless makeup, clothes to match.
A far cry from the bratty girl with wavy, wet hair and slightly smudged mascara that I’d gotten to know.
