The night after the gala blurred together like a kaleidoscope, the same image of Joe and I dancing in the ballroom mirrored and distorted in a dream-like state as we drove home. We didn't kiss or anything, nothing changed in the way we spoke or acted around each other except for that initial awkwardness after confessing. And yet, while things were seemingly unchanged, I felt so free, both of us liberated from these secrets we'd been sitting on for however long.
On the way home, when the excitement from the gala had fizzled out, Joe reached over and placed a hand on my knee as he drove. I wished the ride home was longer; we hadn't had a moment alone. I looked over at him, smiling curiously.
"Next week is gonna be busy for me. But I was thinking, when we both have some downtime... we should get something to eat after work one of these nights," he said. Of course it was going to be busy for all of us — we were still in preparation for the league's biggest game after all. Having a playground crush throughout all of this seemed so silly, and yet so fitting as far as the timing went.
"Okay," I said, nodding. "That sounds good. Honestly, Joe, there's no pressure. I know there's a lot more important things going on than... whatever we are."
Boyfriend and girlfriend? Dating? The last person who was interested in me like this was Dennis Milton and we'd never gotten farther than attending prom together. He had a puppy dog crush on me that I didn't reciprocate, thankful that college had separated us before I had to break the news to him. In college, I'd never been the object of anyone's affection. I wasn't in a sorority, didn't party, and hardly socialized outside of class and my minuscule friend group. I never ended up crossing paths with anyone I liked in that way, and with my mind laser-focused on my career anyway, I didn't worry.
Golden boy Joe Burrow, though, was probably the opposite. Surely he had girls lined up that he could pick and choose from. That was why I found it so unbelievable that he'd confessed what he had just hours ago. An athlete like him with plenty of choices, I half-expected him to dodge what I had said in the interest of having his options open — but instead, he was succinct.
"I only like you," he told me. "The thing is — realistically, you're right. It doesn't make sense for us to rush into anything with so much going on right now. I just couldn't keep it to myself for any longer."
I chuckled. "I'm glad you told me. I wouldn't have been upset if you waited. I wasn't even sure you even felt the same about me, anyway."
He scoffed at that. "You're amazing. I knew it when I met you months ago."
I remembered that.
-
It was the day I was interviewing for the job and of course, it was raining. All the preparation I'd taken into actually doing my hair for once had been foiled by the humidity and I walked into the office looking like a frizzy monster. I had been carrying so much crap that day — my laptop bag, my dripping umbrella, my tote, my lunch box, my water bottle. It was a wonder how I'd hauled it all.
Frazzled by not only the weather, but also by the fact I'd been a little later than I wanted to be — 10 minutes early instead of 15 — I unknowingly walked into the wrong department: the coaching staff. No one had looked up from their computers to give me the time of day, except Joe, who had been in the conference room adjacent to the main set of cubicles in the department, probably going over plays with his coach.
I remembered being confused and doing a quick scan of the room to see who I could bother. I think Joe saw me before I saw him, because he had walked over to help me at the same time I turned to walk out of the apartment; we crashed into each other, my things tumbling to the ground in a pile. My photographs, which were once tucked neatly in a manila folder, spilled onto the carpet, droplets of rain from my umbrella contaminating them.
"I'm so sorry about that," Joe said, rushing to stack the photographs and hand them over to me. "I hope those aren't ruined. They're awesome."
A quick examination told me no harm was done to most of them, except a few of them had specks of slight discoloration. Nothing that couldn't be explained, even if it was upsetting. "Thanks. It's not your fault, I probably should've put them in a safer place," I said, gathering my things before we both stood up.
I only realized then, when I could see his face, that he was none other than my dad's favorite quarterback. "Of course," I muttered to myself, letting out a laugh.
"What was that?" He asked me. Had I said that out loud?
"Oh, nothing, I, uh..." Should I acknowledge that I knew who he was? It was going to be awkward if I had a late reaction, and it would have likely been even more awkward if I backtracked and told him how much my dad adored him. "I was just wondering if this was the, uh, public relations department?"
I was a total dunce. Was it rude to not have been like, 'Oh my God, you're Joe Burrow'?
"No, this is the coaching staff," he said. At that moment I thought he was absolutely making fun of me in his head, or at least he should have been — but instead, he was quite kind. "But I could walk you to PR if you wanted."
I quickly glanced at my watch. Time was ticking, and I'd let myself get too overwhelmed at the prospect of being late to pay attention to where the hell I was going. I could walk away and try to backtrack, wasting time, or I could take the quarterback's offer and get to my interview with just enough time to try to do something about the bird's nest on my head. I decided to take his offer.
"Actually, that'd be great," I said, throwing my bag over my shoulder again. I had positioned myself to hold things a bit easier, shoving things where they could go. Everything felt like it was slipping, but I would make do.
Before Joe led the way, though, he took some of my things. "Let me help you," he said, freeing up some space in my arms, and by that, letting me take a breather before my big interview.
As we walked through the massive headquarters, I realized I'd gone the total opposite direction. I was totally embarrassed, laughing at myself as soon as I saw the sign that I had last read. "I went the complete wrong way."
"I was going to say so, but I didn't want to make you feel bad," Joe chuckled. "So are you new?"
"Not new. Not even working here yet, actually," I said matter-of-factly. "I'm interviewing for a job as one of the photographers."
"That explains the pictures," Joe said, nodding. We were in front of the open entryway to the department now, stopping in our tracks. He brushed his hands together as he spoke, something I now know to be a habit of his. "I don't know much about photography, but I think your pictures are great. And I'll go in there and explain to Elena what happened to them if they get any more water damage."
"You don't have to do that." I viewed it as an unfair advantage to the other applicants to get the quarterback's approval.
"It's fine. It was my fault," he insisted.
I remembered going into that interview apologizing profusely that Joe had talked to my now boss, Elena, about my photographs. But she had made a remark that stuck with me to this day, even if it was delivered with her head tilted up at me as if to assert her dominance: "Your pictures speak for themselves, whether or not Joe Burrow has vouched for you."
I thought I had totally blown the interview, so her compliment — despite being backhanded — came as a surprise to me. She didn't let me get a word in before offering me the job. "You're gonna practice taking some shots with people in it," she added. "Start with Joe Burrow, since you're already so friendly with him. Your first day is next Monday."
-
And here we were, about half a year later, in this car, in this mess, again, somehow, together.
My intuition told me Joe was being cautious, his confident demeanor switched out for something more down-to-earth. This was a side of him I only saw when we were alone together like this; it was the raw version of him, the one I'd only half-encapsulated with the photo essay I'd been so protective of.
"What's going on in your mind?" I asked, hoping to look underneath that layer of coolness.
It took him a second to respond, and his face looked as if he'd been exploring the answer.
"I wish we could just fast forward to after the Super Bowl. Us with our rings. You and me, out for a pizza at Funky Anchovy. Maybe we'll change it up and eat somewhere Cajun. Never been able to find a good Cajun place ever since leaving Louisiana," he rattled off. "I love it. I love football. But the pressure's on, and I gotta be the person that keeps everybody afloat, you know?"
We stopped at a red light. The color washed over him as I looked over at him, his expression visibly worried. It was strange to see him this way, not at all falling apart but his confidence faltering a bit. I supposed the energy he'd received from tonight's gala wasn't comforting enough for him; I didn't blame him.
"You're awesome."
He looked over at me. "What?"
"I mean it. You're... so awesome." It was what he'd told me that first day I met him, my body so riddled with nerves that it was visible in every wrinkle of my clothing, wet spiral in my hair, and dripping umbrella. Joe's words brought me solace that day and I wanted to return the favor for the first time I'd ever seen him shaken up.
He chuckled. "Just between us..." the next words he seemed to struggle saying, "I don't always feel that way."
"Of course you don't. You're human," I said the very first words that came to my mind. "I know you don't want to show that side to anyone. But you don't have to hide anything from me."
He gave my knee a soft squeeze. It was what I hoped was a wordless gesture displaying trust. To show that I felt it for him, too, I placed my hand over his own. This vulnerability was unlike either of us, but at the same time, it felt comfortable to be like this with each other.
"Thanks for everything, Avery," he told me as we pulled up to the entrance of my apartment complex.
This was the part I didn't want — the goodbye. I knew when we parted ways tonight that our special, solitary moment together would end, and I wasn't ready. Deep down, though, I knew I had to be. I mustered up a smile.
"You're not supposed to be the one who says that," I said, chuckling. "Remember what you said to me earlier tonight? Thanks for asking me to come with you."
He smiled at this, visibly relieved. "You had a good time?"
"Of course I did," I said, loosening up too. "That was, like, the fanciest meal I've ever had. And this dress... Where am I supposed to put this thing?"
We laughed. He helped me get out of the car. This late at night, there was hardly anyone around, which I was thankful for. The city slept in preparation for the work week, the only sound being the occasional whooshing of a car passing by us.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Joe."
"Wait." Joe took hold of my forearm before I turned to head inside. I stopped and turned back to him.
If he was going to kiss me, I was going to lose my mind.
"Yeah?"
He dug into his pocket for his cellphone and held it up. "Picture?"
I broke into a smile, and nodded. I did not like pictures of myself, but I would take one with him. "Okay."
He held his phone camera in front of us, and pulled me in with his arm, cozying us up both together. His arm stretched out to grab as decent of a picture of us as he could of our outfits, even if mine had been concealed with a jean jacket. We both cheesed.
After taking the selfie, I looked down, feeling myself stepping over my dress. I muttered about it.
"Sorry, I just—" I glanced back up at him after fixing it.
He was giving me the kind of look you gave someone right before you kissed them, and I bet I'd been giving him the kind of look you gave someone if you were about to lose your mind. In the mere seconds of this, another sound filled my ear; my heart beat so loud I bet it could wake up the city if I held a microphone to it. I swam as quick as a lap as I could in his eyes, ultimately drowning in the deep blueness of them when we finally kissed. His lips were a life ring.