The Hard Count(49)

Nico snickers, and I cross my arms over my chest. He pushes forward from the wall, taking a few steps toward me. On instinct, I take one back, but not far enough from his reach. He reaches for my hand again, and I hug myself tighter, tucking my fingers under each arm for protection. I’m throwing a fit now, but I’m this far in, there really isn’t any way to undo it.

Nico holds my elbows when he’s unable to get to my hands, and realizing how ridiculous I would look spinning out of his hold, I give in and let him. His touch is gentle and warm, and I wish I could just get over myself and take his hands back in mine. But I’m scared. My bottom lip shakes with nerves. Nico’s eyes glance at it, so I pull it into my teeth. I want to hide every weakness from him, but eventually I’ll have to curl up inside myself. I have too many.

“Why are you mad at me, Reagan?”

He says my name, and the word falls from his lips soft and sweet. No judgment, no challenge. My lip falls loose from the hold of my teeth and my eyes flutter shut for a long blink. I open again to find him waiting, still looking at me.

“I don’t know,” I say, with a small shake of my head.

“But you are,” he says, and I nod with the same slight movement, sucking in my bottom lip and breathing through my nose.

“Yeah,” I say, my lip falling away and my eyes only able to look at his cheek.

“Would you still go to that dance with me?” he asks, and my eyes crinkle with the short laugh that escapes me, my face tingling, my arms held hostage in this strange cradle because that’s all I was willing to give him. “Even though you’re mad at me, which…I’m willing to get to the bottom of, will you let me take you to a dance?”

I pause, holding my breath, my mind racing through every aspect of what this means—Izzy, my father, Noah…Nico.

“Yeah,” I say, my eyes trailing back up to meet his.

I’m holding myself tighter than I ever have, my fingers actually digging into my sides, my nails rough against my skin through the fabric of my gray Cornwall sweatshirt. Nico doesn’t flinch once. His eyes stay on mine when I give in, and his expression doesn’t shift from the gentle, sweet one he’s held.

His right hand lets go of my elbow, moving to the few strands of hair resting against my forehead, falling over one eye. Nico takes them with his thumbs, moving them behind my ears, his eyes watching his movement then settling back on mine.

“You’ve worn your hair down ever since I said I liked it,” he says.

I breathe in long and deep, letting myself feel this moment—all of it. I have worn my hair down. I did it hoping he would touch it, but never once actually thinking he would.

“That’s how I knew,” he says, and my forehead crinkles. He smiles on one side, repeating the gesture and moving the long wave of blonde hair from my face again. “That’s how I knew I was more than just some guy you wanted on your dad’s football team.”

My pulse drums against my ribs. I don’t respond. I don’t need to. Nico is right. He’s more than some guy. He’s more than a great story. I swallow under the intensity of his stare, and my lips grow numb in anticipation. I want to be kissed right now, out here in the high school hallway. I want the clichéd moment in my mental scrapbook, and the more breaths I take, the surer I am I’m going to get it.

Nico steps back quickly, and I linger in my bliss, oblivious until he speaks.

“She’s coming, Mr. Vernon. Her bag slipped, and we were just picking up her equipment,” Nico says. I blink once, then glance to my left where my ancient civilization teacher is hanging from the doorway, a clipboard propped against his stomach with one hand.

“All right then,” he says. “I figured it must be something like that. I’ll write you a note, Nico, for helping.”

I chortle a laugh to myself, and Nico nudges his foot against mine.

“You liar,” I whisper.

“I believe you mean dickhead,” Nico says, leaning into me. I flush and wince all at once, but regardless of my crush being out in the open, I’m never letting Nico Medina completely get the best of me.

“That, too,” I say in return, which only makes him laugh.

“You like me,” he says, winking as he steps by me, my bag held in his hand, his forearm flexed. I take it from him as he reaches for the late slip from Mr. Vernon. “Thanks, Mr. V.”

“Anytime, Nico,” our teacher says.

Nico’s dimple is the last feature I take in before his eyes slip from their hold on me and he heads toward the other end of the hallway, hands in his pockets and nothing on his back. I’m not sure where his stuff is, but I know that he planned on waiting me out. I could have shown up an hour late and Nico would have been there. Because he wants to take me to the dance. Not Izzy. Me. And that feels…





12





“So are you going to tell me he asked you to the dance? Or are you just planning on showing up with him and bobbing between me and your hot new boyfriend all night, hoping I won’t put things together?” Izzy asks.

I’m trying out a new lens on my still camera outside the gym. I asked Izzy to pose for me, so I could use her as my test subject. She’s meeting the rest of the cheerleaders here so they can all pile into the van for the game tonight on the north side of town. Her question comes out of the blue. Izzy and I haven’t talked much this week, and I haven’t seen Nico other than at practice or in class, so I haven’t had to contend with the two of them being in the same place yet. I was going to tell her, but I was also afraid.