Sophie and I set out for a shopping spree the next day. We’re on a mission to gather everything we need for college. We hit up Home Goods, Target, and Walmart, filling our carts with twin-sized sheets, binders, notebooks, bed risers, curtains, table lamps, storage containers—you name it. If it’s a dorm necessity, we’ve got it. We even snag a shag rug after a thirty-minute debate over the color. Sophie’s pushing for pink, I’m holding out for navy, and we finally settle on a vibrant teal.
Three hours in, I’m wiped out.
Sophie, however, is still raring to go. “Let’s go dress shopping!” she squeals as we pass H&M.
I scrunch up my nose. “Yeah, I’ll pass.”
She looks at me incredulously. “Do you even own a dress?”
“Nope, and I plan on keeping it that way.”
Sophie rolls her eyes. “Ugh! You’re too much like a guy.”
I’m too distracted by the store we’re passing to respond. “And I plan on keeping it that way. Why don’t you go dress shopping while I head to Dick’s for some new cleats?”
Sophie giggles. “I’ll let you do anything if you say dick again.”
I roll my eyes, unamused. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that because you’re absolutely ridiculous.”
“Love you too!” Sophie shouts as we part ways. She dashes into H&M while I head into Dick’s Sporting Goods.
I pause at the entrance, taking in the familiar scent of rubber basketballs and soccer balls. This is my kind of store. I prefer the feel of Under Armour clothing to jeans, and don’t even get me started on dresses.
I make a beeline for the shoe department, heading straight for the men’s section. I know that football players are limited to three brands of shoes: Nike, Under Armour, and Adidas. It’s a rule set by the NFL, but it makes sense. The cleats have to withstand the force of the sport and, in some positions, the ability to kick the ball.
I’m focused on the shoes as I walk down the aisle. My eyes scan the brand names until I find what I’m looking for: Nike Men’s Vapor Edge Pro 360 Football Cleats. I’ve been waiting for this series to come out. I’ve done my research and know that these shoes are designed for the fastest players on the field. They offer the flexibility and support of a traditional plate with enhanced traction. I can’t help but admire the shoe on display. It’s white with a black lace mesh overlay.
I reach out to grab the display shoe, but instead of feeling mesh, I feel a warm hand.
“Oh, sorry,” we both say at the same time. I turn to see who’s standing next to me.
“Sorry, you grabbed it first,” he says, running a hand through his dark brown hair.
“Th-thanks,” I stutter, caught off guard by his height and his caramel-colored eyes.
I’ve never felt this way around a guy before. The tingle that shot up my arm when our hands touched was something new.
Embarrassed, I turn my attention back to the shoe racks. I scan the men’s sizes, converting them to women’s in my head, and grab a box.
“You, umm, shopping for your boyfriend?” he asks.
I huff, trying to keep my feminist opinions in check. “What makes you say that?”
He chuckles, as if the answer is obvious. “You’re shopping for men’s shoes…”
“They don’t make this shoe in women’s sizes,” I retort, giving him a pointed look. I’m used to defending myself against guys who can’t believe a girl like me plays football.
“Y-you play football?” he stammers, clearly surprised.
I smirk at his reaction. “I don’t just play,” I say, turning to face him with a confident smirk. “I dominate.”
He stands there, in the shoe aisle, speechless from what I can tell by his expression. I carry the shoes to a seat to try them on, slipping off my worn-out sneakers and taking a moment to admire the cleats again.
I trace my finger along the black and white ghost lacing that looks sleek and, to my delight, gender neutral. I tug at the back of the shoe, mimicking the movement an ankle would make when running. The material gives way, showing flexibility and support.
I flip the shoe over, scrutinizing the cleats. The wide stud placement is designed for ultimate traction, aiding in wide cuts while providing enhanced traction and support during game-changing cutback movements. I slide the shoe on, it fits my foot like a glove.
I stand up and do some simple range of motion exercises. I move my foot front to back, side to side, and full circle motions as if I’m on a BAPs board. The shoe feels perfect. I walk into the aisle for some more space and test the shoe with some plyometrics movements; multidirectional and diagonal jumps, running in a figure eight pattern to a Z-cutting pattern, as well as catching motion, dodging, and weaving movements that are specific to football.
“Wow, you weren’t kidding about playing football.” His voice startles me from behind. I spin around to find the same guy I bumped into earlier leaning against the aisle shelves, arms folded comfortably as if he’s been watching me the whole time.
I feel my skin heat up and I can’t understand why. It’s not unusual for me to be around guys all the time. It’s not unusual for them to watch me dominate their manly sport. But this guy, for some reason, has had a different effect on me since the moment we met.
“I told you. I dominate,” is all I manage to say, trying to stay confident and unaffected by his presence. I sidestep him and sit back down on the seat, taking off the shoes and putting my old ones back on.
“What position do you play?” he asks, still leaning, still watching me.
“Running back.”
“Same,” he replies, and my head jerks up in surprise.
“Really?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Hmm, you look more like a quarterback to me.”
“Oh really? How so?” he asks, his voice filled with curiosity and amusement.
I look back up at him, taking another hard look at his upper body. “Well, for starters, your arms. They’re broad and muscular. Strong enough to break down massive offensive and defensive players, and of course throw the ball with accuracy and distance.” My eyes travel down his body, noticing his athletically well-built calves under his gym shorts. “Or to just take the ball and run with it.” I clear my throat and tear my eyes away from him, tossing the new pair of cleats into their shoebox. He hasn’t moved from his spot.
“Well, looks like I wasn’t the only one checking someone out,” he says, a cocky smile playing on his lips.
“Don’t flatter yourself. Your ego was another dead giveaway,” I retort, walking past him toward the registers.
“My ego?” he laughs, finally pushing off the shelves and following me.
“Yup. It’s written all over your face that you don’t mind being in the spotlight. Being the team’s biggest decision maker, making timely plays and managing the players as captain. Being the hero at the winner’s circle knowing you led your team to victory.” I raise my eyebrows confidently as he takes it all in.
He stands there, shaking his head and trying not to laugh. I find myself staring at him again as he lifts his hat off his hair, running his fingers through his chocolate locks before replacing his hat backward.
“Your total is $120.00,” the clerk says, bringing me back to reality. I hand him my card to pay for the expensive shoes.
“What’s your name anyway?” the guy asks, making my stomach flutter.
Just as I open my mouth to answer, a bubbly voice interrupts from behind me.
“Guess who bought you a dress!?!?!” Sophie squeals, skipping to my side and linking her arm with mine. I manage a weak smile that might look more like a frown at the thought of a dress, but I don’t want to offend Sophie. It was nice of her to buy something for me.
“Ooh…thanks Soph,” I mutter, trying to sound enthusiastic.
I turn to the guy as the clerk hands me my shopping bag of shoes and smile a goodbye to him.
“I’m sure you’d dominate in a dress too,” he comments just as Sophie turns us to leave the store.
I can’t help but turn around and meet his flirtatious eyes one last time. I know he asked for my name, and we parted ways without exchanging any. What would that do anyway? It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.
