CHAPTER SEVEN          twitter trending

"Look, you don't owe anyone here anything."

THE REST OF THE WEEK flew by- I was able to adjust to my new job. I'm familiar with my coworkers and even found a friend in a player or two. And today's the day.

The first game of the season. Shayla and I arrived before sunrise, splitting once we reached the field. I felt so professional, flashing a badge to security to let them know that I'm allowed on the field.

I was so nervous- I tried keeping as busy as possible, but that wasn't necessarily hard. Making sure interviewers were able to get in, the media had the room they needed, checking in with the camera crew, reporters knew their spots, and clearing up any last-minute confusion.

The stands start filling up quick- a vast sea of orange and black, purple sprinkled in throughout the crowd. I take my spot near the edge of the field, waiting for them to come out. I pull my baseball cap low, trying to blend in.

They finally come jogging out of the tunnel, the bright orange of their uniforms stealing all the attention. I spot Joe among the rest of the team, his shoulders square, his eyes fixed ahead. I can't but help watch the way he moves- demanding attention, with confident, fluid motions. He scans the sidelines, his step faltering when he spots me. I quickly look down at the clipboard, trying to remain inconspicuous.

The whistle blows and the offense takes the field. There's the slightest thing off about Joe- I can't explain it, but it's almost like he's unsure of himself. In the first quarter, he's a mess. Missed connections, passes thrown slightly off-target, and even took a bad hit. I bite my nails, silently cursing him. What in the world is his problem?

By half-time, we're down by six. I check my phone, making sure everyone is still content. "This is your fault." I jump, looking for the voice.

Shayla leans over the railing, a Sprite in her hand. "You're in his head. His games off," she points out. "And that's my fault, how?" I ask, taking the can from her and taking a sip. I raise it back up for her to grab. "You're giving him an existential crisis. Have you guys even spoken since the whole Mr. Burrow thing?"

I shaky my head, tapping my pen against the clipboard. "Exactly. Oh, there they come, gotta go!" Shayla slips away.

Joe seems more focused in the second half- while his movements are still tense, he's more fluid and dialed in. He manages to throw a perfect snap. Ja'Marr catches it, taking it directly into the end zone. I glance at the clock- we're out of time, 24-21.

The players all gather along the sidelines, and I search for Marren- basically my partner in crime. She's my camerawoman.

"Talullah, let's grab Burrow and Chase," she calls, pushing through the crowd with her camera. "Ja'Marr!" I call, trying to shuffle through the players. They're all so big, it's easy to get sucked into their crowd. I try to push through them, but it's no use. They're rock solid.

Someone pulls me out of the sea and back onto the sideline. "You were looking for me, Ms. Bennett?" Ja'Marr asks, wiping his forehead with a towel. "Yeah, are you down for a quick interview?" I ask, hopeful. "Of course."

I flag Marren down, who pulls the wireless microphone from her belt. I try to keep the interview short, knowing Ja'Marr probably wants to see his family.

"And finally, what is your go-to post-game snack?" I smile, turning the microphone to him. His hands rested on his waist as he looked up, thinking. He leans down into the microphone- "Anything my mama cooks."

I laugh, nodding. "Good answer. Great game, thank you for your time, Ja'Marr."

Marren cuts the camera and Ja'Marr nods a goodbye. The crowd has dispersed slightly, and I finally catch a glimpse of Joe. I nod to Marren, signaling for her to follow me. I tap on Joe's shoulder, putting on a pretty smile. He turns to me, his jaw clenched. My face immediately falls.

"I just wanted to ask if you wanted to-"

His eyes narrow and he snaps, "No, I'm not in the mood, Talullah." I blink, caught off guard by the venom in his voice. Before I can even respond, he adds, "Maybe you should've thought twice before trying to treat me like some sort of media puppet. Don't think I don't know what you're really here for."

His words hit me like a ton of bricks, and I swallow. I try to keep my composure, but the betrayal and embarrassment are weighing down on me terribly. Heat rises to my cheeks as I try to choke out a response. "I- I didn't-"

"Gosh, just drop it, Talullah!" he spits, pushing past me. I stand there speechless, my shoulder now throbbing, the microphone hanging in my hand. Marren stands there awkwardly. "What was that about? He's never freaked on me like that. Does he not like you?"

My throat is too tight to respond, and my eyes are suddenly burning. "I- I don't know, excuse me," I mutter, shoving the microphone into her hands and rushing away. I can feel the tears that threaten to pour over. "Talullah!"

I pretend I don't hear him, trying to get inside the stadium so I can find a restroom. "Talullah," Tee repeats, grabbing my arm softly. He pulls me towards him, "Did you like your first game?" His face softens when he sees me. "Wait, why are you crying?"

I push the heels of my palms into my eyes, trying desperately to erase any sign of emotions. "Nothing, it's stupid, I'm okay."

He gives me a skeptical look but doesn't dig. "Look, whatever it is, you know I got you, right?" He puts out his fist and I bump it with my own. I give him a small smile before rushing to the nearest bathroom.

I lock the stall behind me, my breath immediately hitching. I let the salty tears roll down my cheeks. The accusation, the weight, the anger in his words keeps falling over me like a wave. What I'm really here for? Did he lie when he said he believed me about the rumors?

I cover my mouth with my hand, trying to keep quiet. The bathroom is too quiet- so quiet, I can hear my own heartbeat in my ears. I allow myself to calm down before leaving the stall. The mirror reflects a saddened girl, with a slightly swollen nose and eyes.

I try to fix my hair and makeup before leaving, but it's pretty much useless. I check my phone for the first time today, but my heart sinks when I click on the link Shayla sent me, alongside a 'wtf'.

It opens up to Twitter, with the caption, "Burrow goes off on Bengals reporter". You can see where Joe turns around to tell me no, and where he begins yelling. The video cuts when I shove the microphone into Marren's arms.

The camera zooms in on my face while Joe's yelling. The worst part is you can see everything. The hurt and confusion, like a gut punch. I put my phone away, looking down the walkway that leads to the field. If I go out there, everyone will see me and know that I'm the girl from the video.

I grab my hair by the roots, trying to calm down. The tears start up again, and I have to get out of here. I dial Shayla's number, pressing it to my ear as I walk as fast as I can to the exit. I keep my eyes down- I have one thing on my mind: getting the hell out of here.

I pull the phone away when I hear the voicemail trill. I'm a crying mess, and I need to leave. I dial Shayla again, but I'm forced to stop, because there he is. Joe.

I freeze, my phone still trilling in my hand. He stands there, still in uniform, the same frustrated crease between his brow that he held from the moment he stepped off the field. His eyes frantically search my face, and I see his hesitation. "Tally- Talullah," he corrects himself, breathless. His jaw clenches but he says nothing. I can see him working up to say something, but he doesn't. I avoid his eyes because I'm too upset to even give him that.

"Talullah, I'm sorry," he says, hardly even a whisper, defeated. He steps forward, shrinking the gap between us. His hand reaches out, his thumb swiping under my eyes. "I made you cry?" he asks softly, tilting his head, a guilty frown tugging at his mouth.

"Joe, stop," I plead, grabbing his hand and pushing it away. "I'm just trying to apologize," he says, his hands falling to his sides. "No," I begin, the hurt slowly churning into anger. "You don't get to do that- to act how you've been acting, blow up on me, and then embarrass me for everyone on the internet to see."

He furrows his brows, lifting his hands in confusion. "What do you mean, for the whole internet to see?"

I rub my temples, eager to end the conversation. "Of that. You acted like I was some... leech. Trying to get a reaction out of you. I was doing my job, Joe." He tugs at the collar of his jersey, swaying anxiously. "I know, and I'm-"

"Talullah."

I turn my head to Tee, who's walking down the hall with his phone clutched in his hand. His gaze shifts from sympathetic to firm as his eyes travel from me to Joe. "You okay? I just saw the video." He asks, crossing his arms as he stands beside me. Joe's eyes flicker nervously between the two of us.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Tee." He doesn't seem to be satisfied with my answer. "Look, you don't owe anyone here anything. You don't gotta put up with disrespect from anyone," he states, turning to look at the blond pointedly.

"I know, I just... Can you give us a second, Tee?"

"Yeah, alright. I'mma text you tonight." He spares Joe one last, wary glance before disappearing back down the hall.

I turn back to this guy, a stranger, who's driving me crazy. "Joe, I don't know what kind of game this is to you, but I can't keep doing this."

He slowly reaches his hand out, grazing my arm, his fingers resting above my elbow. Warmth spreads up my arm, goosebumps prickling my skin, despite my resolve to stay angry. Joe takes notice of his, the smallest smile twitching at his lips. He pulls his hand back quickly, clearing his throat.

But then he looks up, his gaze an intense mixture of intense and vulnerable. "It's not a game for me, Tally. I-I don't know, there's just this thing about you, and I can't..." he trails off, letting out a frustrated laugh, running a hand through his hair. "It's confusing me, you're confusing me." I take notice of the red that tints his cheeks after he finishes.

His words hang heavy between us, both trying to figure out the next step. I watch his body react to the shift in the atmosphere; his shoulders slump and his hand twitches at his side.

"I don't need... whatever... this is. I didn't sign up for this," I finally speak.  The hurt is still lingering, and I can't just push it aside, regardless of how he feels- well, that is if he even knew how he felt.