The Hard Count(77)

“This one,” was what I told her. She responded with a surprised “oh,” and that was the last question she asked.

“Nice to meet you, too, Mrs. Prescott. Thank you for coming to our game,” Nico says.

My mom’s head tilts to one side, and she keeps his hand in hers. Her gaze comes to me, and I smile tightly, widening my eyes, mentally begging her to let go of his hand. She finally does, but looks back to him.

“I don’t miss a single game, Nico. Haven’t in years,” she says. “I have to say, you’ve given our family a reason to be hopeful this season.”

“Noah’s shoes are hard to fill,” Nico says. Without my coaching, he says the absolute best thing he could ever have said to my mom, and I can tell he’s won her for good by the look in her eyes.

“Well, yes…but you bring some pretty nice shoes of your own out there. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen someone run the hard count out on that field,” she says, and I chuckle lightly to myself when I see Nico’s head tilt in surprise. “Honey, I’ve taken in a lot of football games in my lifetime. Pretty sure there isn’t a single thing you can do out on that field that I won’t recognize.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, laughing lightly.

“Lauren is fine. Ma’am…that’s too old, and my hair color is too good for you to think I’m old,” she says, giggling.

My eyes flash wide and meet my brother’s, who has walked up to join my dad. My mom is falling into flirty behavior now, so I step in before it becomes embarrassing.

“Mom, can you take our picture? I promised his mom we would send her one,” I say, handing my mom my phone and Nico’s. She smiles and nods, obliging and taking several photos of both of us, and then some of me with my dad and brother. Noah is wearing his best gray suit, the pant leg pulled down taut over his cast. It takes me a few minutes and photos to realize that Katie hasn’t shown up to take pictures with us, and before I can ask, my mom does the honors.

“Is she meeting you here?”

My brother’s brow lowers and his mouth grows rigid as he blinks a few times.

“Katie and I aren’t together anymore,” he says, and instantly my mind goes to my best friend. This is Izzy’s chance!

“Oh, honey…” my mom says, falling into her doting habit.

“I broke it off; it’s okay. We just…I don’t know, she’s like really into clothes and shoes and shopping. We’re too different.”

“So you’re coming…alone?” I ask, my head leaning to one side as I ask.

“Uh…yeah…why?” my brother asks.

“No reason,” I respond quickly, my answer clipped. He pinches his brow, and I wink, now wanting to sprint to the gym, to find Izzy and tell her the good news.

I kiss my parents on their cheeks, leaving them with my brother while I take Nico’s arm and walk toward the gym. I drown in his scent, a mixture of soap and cologne, and something else that is always so distinctly him. I’ve come to recognize it, noticing when he’s near and missing it when he’s gone. It feels silly to love the way someone smells so much, but I do with him.

He stops me at the corner of the building, taking both of my hands in his, lifting the one with the corsage slightly higher.

“I hope it’s okay…the flower. My mom insisted I give you one, and she said blue would match your eyes,” he says, laughing out the last few words and shaking his head, embarrassed. When he looks back up at me, he bites his lip. The silence is unsettling, but in the best possible way.

“What?” I ask.

“You look really pretty,” he says.

I suck in my bottom lip and stare back at him.

“Thank you,” I say, the words coming out in a whisper.

Nico looks over his shoulder as a rush of couples walk by, a few saying “excuse me,” and causing him to step in closer to me to let them pass. He takes advantage of the nearness, sweeping my hair back on one side and leaning in to press his lips just below my ear.

The feel of his hand sliding down my arm grounds me, and when his fingers meet mine, I flex them open, everything falling into place when his knuckles glide against mine and fit where they just belong.

We walk side by side to the gym, Nico handing a pass to the students at the table, guiding me through an archway made of balloons, and bypassing a row of tables near the entrance, leading me straight to the middle of the floor. Nobody has started to dance yet, but a slow song is playing. It’s country, and I don’t recognize it, but I can barely hear it over the thumping of my pulse rattling my entire body.

I can feel eyes on us, people watching to see who is moving to the dance floor first. I was hoping we’d sit for a while, maybe work our way up to a slow dance or two, but then I remember Nico’s warning—that I’d spend the night here with him, in the middle of the floor where everyone can see us.

“They’re all looking at us,” I giggle nervously in his ear, and he draws me close. His hands rest on my hips, and I link mine around his neck, our cheeks close while my eyes snap around the room, tallying up where people are, who’s watching, and deciphering if anyone really cares.

“They’re all looking at you,” Nico says.

I pull back and tuck my chin, glaring at him.