wasn’t ready to make a four-year commitment, plus, in high school, I was a bit of a drama geek.”
“Rose mentioned you still do drama.”
She nods.
“Yeah, it’s always been this…” she shakes her head.
“I need a translation for that,” I tell her.
A smile is quickly chased by a laugh as she leans back in her seat. “I love it. I love everything about drama. I love pretending to be someone else and taking on their issues and their identity. I love being able to use different accents and believe that Mr. Darcy and Romeo are head over heels in love for me, and Mr. Gatsby is throwing elaborate parties just to catch secret glimpses of me. The costumes. The makeup—” she sighs quietly. “It’s magical, all of it—except for the whole getting up in front of every one part.”
“Stage fright?”
“Stage fright is for amateurs. I have stagephobiaitis.”
My laughter is dwarfed by the sound of the arena, but I still hear hers, the ease that has replaced her hesitancy as her smile calls to my own, making it grow to match.
“Seriously, though,” she says. “It contributed to my dislike of sports as well. I’ve never liked it when everyone’s watching me, which is why I am the greatest understudy in history. I get my creative needs fulfilled and can help the lead, and I’m never bitter over not being the star.”
“You’re a bigger person than me because I’m feeling like the understudy lately, and it’s killing me—fast.”
“That has to be hard. But, no, the audience doesn’t fill my cup—it straight up drains it. You probably feed off their energy and feel empowered when they scream your name.”
“I might be known for my pre-game dance moves.” I raise my hands and dance in place to prove my point.
Olivia’s cheeks flush a light pink as she laughs. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
The emcee steals our attention and begins announcing the Jazz players. Then, the Portland Mascot comes out, and the lights dim. I feel a dose of the adrenaline I feel before a game crash through me as they begin announcing each Blazer’s player with a short line of their individual stats, and for a minute I forget about curses and bad luck and my upcoming appointment and everything else as I ride the energy of the game like a wave.
Olivia watches the game closely like it’s a film to study—a game to be appreciated.
And when I sing along and dance in my seat, she laughs and turns her attention to me. Time with her passes easily—unlike the stories Lincoln shared about Raegan early on in their relationship, which was a constant push and pull.
“Oh no,” Olivia gasps when a player is fouled at the three-point line and falls, bringing my attention back to the present. He rolls on the floor, his hands gripping his knee. She swallows as she looks at me, her lips parted and face ashen as the game comes to a full stop and, medics rush to his side.
“Did it hurt a lot when you hurt your knee?” she asks.
“Not half as bad as I thought it would. I’m sure the adrenaline helped numb it. Honestly, rehab has sucked way more.”
She nods. “I hear that a lot.”
They get the player off the floor, and the arena breaks into applause. The player leans on two men, his face strained with discomfort and pain and concern. I understand those feelings—every single one of them.
“I’ll be right back,” Liv says, glancing at the scoreboard. “I’m going to run to the restroom before halftime and see if I can beat the crowds. Do you want anything? Something to eat or drink?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m good. Thanks.”
She takes her purse and disappears.
I check my phone for the time, and like I’m starring in the movie Groundhog Day, ice-cold liquid falls down my back and shoulders, the hoppy scent of beer drowning my senses.
“Oh, shit, man. My bad! I’m sorry!”
I lean forward, craning my neck behind to see a guy in a pair of glasses holding an empty beer cup.
“I’m so sorry, dude,” he says, shaking his head. “What can I do? Want me to see if they have towels? Get you a shirt?”
I shake my head, releasing a long sigh. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You sure?”
I nod. It was bound to happen, and truth be told, I’d prefer a cold beer down my back than a flat tire or something worse. The guy offers another apology before going back to his seat.