The Hard Count(43)

“Okay,” I say, the breeze picking up and blowing strands of my hair over my face. I left it down again today. I haven’t put it up again since Nico said he liked it this way.

I glance at the screen for my camera, our eyes meeting this way—in black and white. Nico blinks slowly, eventually shifting his weight and looping one arm over the side of the chair, sitting with one of his legs pulled in. I notice he’s still only wearing socks, and the sweetness of it makes me smile. He’s at home here.

With me.

“How about we talk about football?” I ask.

“That sounds good,” he grins.

“Who taught you how to play? I can tell…you…what you do, rather. It isn’t just street ball,” I say. “Where did you hone your skills?”

Nico leans forward, rubbing his hands together with a smile.

“My uncles,” he says, through a chuckle. “My dad…he was never really around. I don’t even remember him, really. But my mom’s brothers more than made up for it. They had a ball in my hands from the time I was a tiny kid. We had a team in West End, like…Pop Warner or whatever. We held carwashes for uniforms and all of that. I played until I was ten or eleven, and then my Uncle Joe had a heart attack. I kind of lost interest after that. So did Uncle Danny. I played for fun…ya know…with Sasha and the boys? But…I was done with the real thing.”

“Until now…” I say, my smile pulling up on one side.

Nico’s expression mirrors mine, and he settles back into his chair again.

“Well, there’s this girl…” he starts, and my heart doubles its rhythm. “She can be kind of…persuasive.”

“Ha!” My laugh comes out automatically. “I wish I could persuade you. Nico Medina, arguing with you has been the bane of my high school existence.”

His smirk lingers, and his eyes close in on me.

“You love arguing with me…and you know it,” he says, his tongue pushing out the side of his mouth, just below his lower lip. I bite the inside of my cheek and stare him down, eventually shaking my head with a sigh.

“So your Uncle…Danny?” I glance back up to confirm I have his name right. Nico lets me loose from his stare and nods, looking down at his hands again, pressing his fingertips against one another and flexing. “Did he come to your game?”

Nico’s smile grows fast.

“He’s coming Friday. He lives up near Metahill, up north. My mom’s going to pick him up and bring him,” he says, his cheeks colored with a hint of pink. I think he might be nervous about having his uncle watch him.

“He’s going to be so impressed,” I say, and Nico shrugs my compliment off, twisting uncomfortably in his seat. I’m starting to learn that as comfortable and confident as he is with his academic talent, he’s exactly the opposite with athletics. Maybe it’s just because he’s out of practice. I know it’s not because he’s lacking on the field. As smart as he is in the classroom, he’s twice as smart out there.

Nico leans forward, and all my camera is capturing is the top of his head. I can tell he’s starting to feel less comfortable in the hot seat, so I stand and turn the camera off.

“I’d like to meet him,” I say, unsnapping the camera from the tripod and folding up my equipment. Nico glances up at me with one eyebrow raised and a half smile that I’m starting to fall for…a lot.

“I’d like you to meet him, too,” he says.

Our eyes lock again in that space we’ve grown used to. I wonder if it makes Nico feel the same? I wonder if he’s wishing I’d look away, or if he’s hoping I don’t. I swallow from the intensity, and he blinks a few times, his focus falling to the camera and equipment in my hands.

“You need me to help you with that?” he asks.

I lift it up and down a few times to show how light it is, then chuckle.

“I’m not that weak,” I say.

“Oh, I know you’re not. I’ve carried your school bag,” he laughs, standing and stretching toward the rooftop gutters. His fingers grip the edge lightly, and his shirt raises enough that his stomach shows. I turn to face my car quickly.

“I should probably go,” I say, not wanting to leave at all, but very much out of excuses to stay. “Tell your mom I said hi.”

“I will,” he says, following me to my car. “She’ll be bummed she missed you. She wants to get to know you more. Mom likes to keep up on all of my stalkers.”

My eyes flash wide, and I laugh awkwardly.

“I’m sorry. Next time I’ll ask before I come,” I say, glancing in his direction, my eyes not making it all the way.

I fumble with my keys and unlock the car, dropping my equipment in the seat. I reach to unwrap my shirt from my waist, but instead of covering things, I just toss it on top, not wanting Nico to see me have such a low opinion of his neighborhood. When I turn to face him again, his hands are in his pockets, and his eyes are down.

“Do you want my number?” he asks, gazing up with a brow raised.

“Yes,” I answer quickly, my chest expanding fast and my inner voice reminding me to be cool. “That’d be nice.”

I pull out my phone and swipe it on to type, but Nico reaches and takes it from me, typing in his contact info. He hands it back, but doesn’t meet my eyes.