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 literally drowning in TrueBlue.
Not just splashes of it here and there—fucking flooded. Jerseys, face paint, flags, someone in a full-body TrueBlue morph suit and a handful of terrifying white silicone horse masks. And that's just the UC student section. The rest of the crowd—those with mortgages and jobs to return to come Monday—are just as if not more chaotic.
Floodlights cast everything in sharp white and blue beams, the band is playing what I swear is Travis' Scott's Fein, and Victory—the giant white stallion mascot—is doing backflip after backflip down the sideline at such a speech that it's even making me dizzy.
Every seat has a butt in it, every voice is raised, and the sound rolls like thunder from the lower bowl up to where we are in the VIP section. We're back in the same open-air balcony seats amongst the same VIPs—alumni, donors, staff—all with too much money and not enough hair.
Everyone all bearing witness to what tabloids are saying is the biggest home playoff game in years.
The weather had shown up today too—barely any wind, cloudless skies and a crisp winter coolness that's not match for the heat generated by the crowd. The suite is behind us and up the stone steps, separated by glass walls, where—for some godforsaken reason—some people prefer to watch the game on the screens.
Out here is so much better. Okay, yeah it smells like sweat and concession fries—but not even a bag of premium cocaine could give this amount of energy. And after having spent two years being trampled in the student section and loosing the feeling of my butt from crappy plastic flip-chairs—I'm taking full advantage of the plush leather seats.
We're all here, all lined up. Scarlett, Jude, Yasmine, Kiki, Tasha and Liam—gorgeous little duckies all in a row. I'm between Scarlett and Jude, clutching both of their hands for dear life every single fucking time the Georgia Bulldogs make a play.
We're on the defence at the moment—after a crucial fumble from sophomore linebacker Josh Garrison. And I know that's going to play on his mind for the next month because that was literally me when I showed up for my doctor's appointment but was informed it was actually the following week.
It still haunts me.
Just like the huge LED scoreboard: Bulldog 7, Colts 9.
It's still early in the first quarter but Georgia had come out swinging, marching down the field with relentless efficiency. They had their first touch-down with in minutes—clearly spooking both the Colts and their fans.
And hence why both Scarlett and Jude have little crescent moons imbedded in the skin of their hands. Whoopsies.
The crowd erupts as the Colts' offense finally jog onto the field for their first drive.
Scarlett cheers, letting go of my hand briefly to clap them on with everyone else, "Let's go!"
"Here we go—here we fucking go!" Liam claps, rising to his feet at the other end of our aisle—he literally got down on his knees and prayed after that first Bulldog touchdown and that mans only God is money and his girlfriend.
