Tallulah Throughout the first half Nash looked up at me four times. That’s all I had seen. Him. I’d watched him the entire time. Studied his stance, how he interacted with the others, and hoped this wasn’t as difficult as it appeared it was. Not to anyone else. He was slapping guys on the back. Talking to them about plays and cheering them on. It was when he had to look back at me that I knew this was killing him. His needing my reassurance and support said more than any acting job he did on that field. The team had gone into the field house, and the fans were up talking, getting snacks, and I was alone. No one really knew me. I was used to this. Being without a group of friends. What I wasn’t used to was people noticing me. I felt eyes on me. I was no longer ignored. Needing to get away from the crowd and all the chattering, I went to find a quieter spot. Take a breather and not feel as if I stood out, sitting there with no one around me. No one to talk to. When you reached the bottom of the stands, to your right was the concession stand and restrooms. The herd was headed that way. Filling in every available patch of grass. I went left. Fewer people, more room to move. I k ept going until the back gate that led to the overflow parking lot was in my view. No one was there. I walked over to the gate to wait for the crowd to move on and there was no one around. It was darker back here, and there was no view of the field. Not a popular place to be unless it was two teenagers
making out. “This place is whacked, and you sitting up there all alone is just fucking sad. What did you do? Kill the town’s favorite pup?” The masculine voice startled me. It wasn’t familiar nor was it from around here. There was no accent. At all. Nothing. Weird. And possibly unsafe. I spun around to see a guy leaning against the fence farther in the shadows. He was alone. From what I could make out, he had longish hair, and it was such a light color it reflected the moonlight. I didn’t know him. And I’d seen enough CSI to know this wasn’t the best idea, to stand out here alone with this stranger. I began moving away. He laughed. It was a rich, amused laugh. “God, could this place be any more cliché?” I paused. “Football on Friday nights, fucking cowboy boots on with a blue-jean skirt, lettermen jackets on girls’ shoulders, and it’s still eighty goddamn degrees out here. Oh, and the cowbells. Can’t forget the cowbells. Those are priceless.” He ended his rant and pulled out a lighter. When the small flame lit, he held a cigarette to his lips. “Don’t call for the cops, Daisy May. It’s just regular ole nicotine.” I should have gone, forgotten this completely. But he shifted, and the light that was pe eping over the stands from the lights on the field illuminated and I saw him clearer. He didn’t seem dangerous. He was tall, slender; something caught the light on both his ears, and I saw that his white-blond hair was much longer than I had thought. It was tucked behind his ears. The clothes he was wearing stood out the most. He wasn’t dressed like a guy from Lawton. He
reminded me of someone from 90210. And he was calling us cliché? “Which one of those meatheads do you belong to? Gotta be one of them. You can’t take your eyes off that field. I’d have noticed you anyway because you’re a stunner, but you know that already. I’ve seen a lot of beautiful women. Not like you’re unique. But I do notice when people behave out of the norm. You’ve got on your Daisy May costume, but you aren’t acting like the others. You don’t care that you are alone, nor do you check to see if people are watching you. Hell, I watched you for over an hour, and you never looked my way. Fascinating as fuck.” I didn’t like this guy. Walking off was the best idea. But he was right. I was alone, and I would have to go right back up there while they all talked excitedly about the two-touchdown lead we had and stuffed their faces with nachos. “Who are you?” I asked instead. He chuckled, took a couple more st eps into the light. I could see him clearly now. His bright green eyes were unnatural and had to be contacts. If not, he was an alien, or possibly a vampire, and I’d just st epped into one of my paranormal books I loved so much. My bet was it was simply contacts. “Do you still need an answer, or do you know?” he asked. How the heck would I know who he was just because he was standing in the light? “We’ve never met. I’d remember your fake eye color and diamond-studded earrings,” I r eplied in a more annoyed tone than I meant to. He ran a hand over his face and muffled more amusement. “This place really is antiquated. Tell me—do you all have smartphones, or is it still flip phones? Or better yet,
landlines?” I had never had a more confusing conversation in my life. He was jumping from one subject to the next. Halftime was about to end, and I needed to get to my seat. This was a waste of time. I turned and started to walk away. “The one with the limp, that one’s yours,” he called out. I wasn’t convinced this guy was safe. He was a bit cre epy with his knowledge. Stalker like. “He’s the only one on that field who wishes he was somewhere else.” I agreed. But then I had been studying Nash all night. Paying attention to his body language. Worrying about him. I glared back at the guy one more time. “Who are you!” I demanded. He tilted his head and ran his hand through his long hair like some model in a commercial. It was odd and annoying all at once. He really liked himself. He was the male version of Blakely. Exc ept I would guess he was smarter. This conversation had been the weirdest one in my life to date, but he hadn’t spoken like an empty-headed ditz. I was beginning to worry he was a serial killer, with his de ep observations and interest in people he didn’t know. “You ever watched You Tube? Or do the folks down here know what the Internet is?” The way he asked the last part was with a very bad imitation drawl. Like he was making fun of the way we talked.
“You’ve got to be the rudest person I have ever spoken to,” I r eplied. “Of course we have smartphones, we use personal laptops in the classroom, our textbooks are all online, and although I don’t watch You Tube, I do know what it is. My mother watches cooking tutorials on it all the time.” After I said all that I wished I could take it back. I should have walked away. This guy was not stable. He was sketchy. And I needed to shut up and go on. The scoreboard buzzed, ending halftime. “I have to go,” I said before moving away from him, and quickly. He didn’t call out anything else. I made it to the stairs and headed up to my seat, not once glancing back to see if he was following me. When I reached my seat and sat down, I was suddenly thankful to be surrounded by all the people. It was comforting. I found Nash, and he turned to look up at me just as I spotted him. He smiled. I let out a sigh of relief that I was here and back where I was supposed to be. He gave me a small salute and went back to talking to Ryker, who was in full pads standing beside him. For the first time all night I took in my surroundings. I saw the groups of people and noticed the cowbells being shaken loudly from the stands. Blue shakers covered the place, and cheers for the Lions rang in the air. I started to return my gaze to Nash when my eyes locked on the guy. He was at the bottom, in the farthest left corner. He wasn’t sitting, and no one seemed to notice him. His focus was on me. When he saw me looking back, he smirked and nodded his head toward the field in Nash’s direction, then ducked out. He was gone, and I was more than glad to see him go.