Cameron Cole has a plan.
After yet another relationship ends because of certain shortcomings-literally-Cameron decides it's time to swear off dating and focus her energy into her junior year at the University of Charlotte. There's an internship up...
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The Iron Pasture is alive.
It's not my first rodeo at a Charlotte Colts game, but it's still a shock to my system every time I step foot in Mercer-Hayes Stadium.
The stands are packed, a sea of trueblue and silver with scattered bursts of golf and black from the Army fans. The air hums with energy—cheering, chanting and the occasional ear-bursting blast of music from the speakers.
The Armer Forces Tribute always brought an extra edge to Friday Football at UC.
The Colts were decked out in their color strip: blue helmets, blue jerseys and white pants that gleamed under the stadium lights like polished steel. The Army Black Knights stood on the opposing sideline, their black-and-gold uniforms cutting stark silhouettes against the green field.
The enormous American flag that stretched across the field during the national anthem was still fresh in my mind, the crowd roaring as fireworks exploded overhead.
The Patriot Guard Riders had done their pregame motorcycle lap, flags streaming behind them as the announcer thanked every brand of the military.
And then the game begun.
Scarlett and I sat in the prime section of the lower bowl in comfy leather seats, just high enough to see the action clearly but close enough to feel every hit and tackle reverberate through the stands.
Unfortunately Logan Aberdeen and his merry band of terrible humans are also here, loudly betting on every possible aspect of the game.
How Scarlett—gorgeous, intelligent, stunning, lovely, sexy Scarlett—is dating the sad likes of Logan, I'll never fucking understand.
"I'm telling you," Logan drawled, leaning back with his arm slung of Scarlett's chair, "Reed's gonna choke tonight. Everyone hypes him up, but when it really counts? He's all talk."
Scarlett didn't even flinch, her expression cool and detached, but I could see the tension in her jaw.
"Do you know him personally, Lola?" I ask, my tone sweet enough to rot teeth.
It's just a little joke between us. I call him Lola, he calls me devil incarnate.
So cute.
He glances at me, smirking. "Nah, but I don't have to. Guys like that are a dime a dozen. Flashy, but no follow-through."
"Because your in-depth analysis from the comfort of your cushy seat is totally comparable to, oh, I don't know... actually being on the field."
Scarlett's lips twitch, and for a moment, I think she might laugh, but Logan doesn't notice. He's too busy showing off for his friends, who are just as insufferable as he is.
Every time I try to understand how Logan scored Scarlett, I end up just giving myself a migraine.
Scarlett is calm, effortlessly poised even in the chaos of the stadium, while Logan is the exact opposite—loud, jittery, and too invested in whatever bets he's placed.
