The Hard Count(72)

“Yeah, well…you tell your brother any of this and I’ll cut you,” she says with a straight face. I laugh at first, but stop when she isn’t. Her eyes dart to me in the mirror, and a few seconds pass before she winks. I laugh then, but still am not certain she was kidding about her threat.

I follow Izzy out of the bathroom, and Nico jumps up from the floor where he’s been sitting with his back against the wall.

“Hey, you okay?”

His eyes are lowered, and his brow is pulled in.

“My shirt smells like pizza and cheap powdered soap. Other than that, I’m good,” I say.

He tugs both of my wrists forward, my body following until my head falls against his chest.

“I’m sorry about that. I went out with Lexie our freshman year, and I was immature and maybe didn’t end things well. She’s been a little possessive of me ever since, and…”

“And I’m a stupid white girl,” I say, going for self-deprecating, but when I hear the words out loud, I realize how ridiculous they are.

“One, you are not stupid,” Nico says, pulling me forward and kissing my forehead softly. I blush when I notice a few girls walking by in the corridor spot us and whisper to each other with a giggle. “And two, I wouldn’t care if you were green. Me liking you…you liking me. That’s kind of our deal, and that’s all that matters, okay?”

He slides his hands up to either side of my face, his forehead rolling against mine. The hallways are beginning to fill up with the rush after lunch while students hurry to class, and I know people are looking at us. I’ve never really been affectionate with someone in public, especially here at school. Maybe being coach’s daughter has always put me off limits in some way, but standing here, being held like this by Nico—being adored…

My face reddens from the attention I know we’re getting, but my tummy warms because for once, it’s me standing in the hallway like this with a boy. It isn’t some girl with Travis, my brother and Katie, or some other girl he’s been dating, Izzy, one of the cheerleaders—it’s me. The blush is good.

“You like me,” I tease, biting my bottom lip.

Nico chuckles.

“Yeah, I more than like you, Reagan. I asked your dad if I could take you to homecoming, and we were all alone,” Nico says, and my breath stops with his confession. That’s what he was doing this morning.

“Oh my God…” I say, my eyes falling shut, the blush growing hotter. “What…what did he say?”

The warning bell sounds, and the flurry of activity grows louder as students begin to rush to the next period. Nico steps back, and I worry when I look at his face that his expression isn’t going to be very positive. I’m almost shocked when I see the dimple.

“There was a lot of silent staring, which was…well…let’s just say I lost my first staring competition,” Nico chuckles.

I cringe.

“No, no…” he says, lifting my chin. “He gave me a bit of a lecture. He wanted to know what car I planned on driving, and I took him out to the lot, to see my ride. He kicked the tires. He flipped the hood up and pulled on a few things, then sat in the driver’s seat.”

“That’s…okay, I guess…that’s good?” I say, hopeful.

“I think it was good. He told me if I wanted to ever throw a football again, that the seats better stay in the upright position, which made me want to die a little,” he says.

“I think I just did…die I mean,” I say, my brow pulled in so far it’s practically folded.

Nico takes a step or two back, his backpack over one shoulder and his eyes on me as he winks. “You just worry about making sure that you wear comfortable shoes and a dress. I plan on admiring you in my arms all night—so no sitting in the dark corner and hiding at a table. You and I are going to dance to every shitty song that gets played.”

I swallow, because…dancing. But I also grin. It hurts my cheeks, and when I turn around, not a single person cares about any of it.



Practice had a certain air to it today. I want to think that it’s just the old adage what a difference a day makes, but I think maybe it’s something more. Players seem to be responding to not just Nico, but my dad. The same drills that were nothing but disastrous yesterday, seem effortless today. I’m about to chalk it all up to the flu or a miracle when Noah takes the bench next to me again and points out the real reason.

“You see ’em?”

He gestures to the far corner of the field on the away side, four men all dressed in maroon and white sweatshirts and polos sitting with sunglasses gleaming the sun from their faces.

“A&M?” I ask.

“Yup,” Noah says, adjusting his position next to me, jutting his leg out.

I watch the four men, and while they talk to one another, they don’t talk often. Their conversations stop the moment Nico has the ball. There are a few seconds of phones coming out, notes perhaps being typed, but other than that, their presence is subtle.

Subtle, but felt like the goddamned Goodyear blimp.

“Thank God everyone’s got their shit together today…so far,” I say, holding my breath while Nico steps back and pumps the ball once before releasing it deep to Travis. The catch is effortless; the throw is perfect. The reaction is…restrained.