More Than Friends (Friends, #2)(33)

But tonight, I’m on the sidelines, keeping my boys hydrated. Running around with the other water girl as we try to keep up with the boys as they come off the field. We help tape them up too, Coach Halsey barking at us when a player needs help. Most of the boys try to refuse us but Kyla, the other water girl, is a force to be reckoned with. She won’t take no for an answer.

“Don’t let those boys boss you around,” she told me as we sat on the bench in between the JV and varsity game, trying to rest up. “If Coach says they need to be taped up, do it. If we need to spray their knuckles with Neosporin or whatever, do that too. Don’t let them whine at you and tell you they’re fine.” The look she sent me made me laugh a little. “They’re usually not.”

Our little conversation was interrupted by the reappearance of Coach Halsey, who clapped his hands together and demanded we get ready for the boys to come out onto the field. I watched in awe as they jogged out, the visitor section filled with parents and fans from our school cheering loudly. It was exciting. Exhilarating. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.

I wish I could’ve discovered this water girl job a lot sooner.

Livvy came to the game. She got a ride with one of the other football player’s girlfriend and they’re both up in the visitor stands, their boyfriends’ jersey numbers written on their cheeks in blue and white face paint. They yell and scream and Livvy goes especially crazy when Ryan scores a touchdown, and it’s super hard for me to keep my crap together.

I’m envious of their jumping around. I want to be able to jump around for my favorite player too. But I can barely talk to him, let alone act like a crazed fan. Jordan is kept busy the entire game, going over plays, in the huddle with his team, playing out on the field, sitting on the bench, or taking one of the many water bottles I hand him. He always gives me a nod of acknowledgement, but I know he’s so incredibly focused on the game, he’s barely registering it’s me. Just a few minutes ago he was shaking off Coach Halsey when he suggested they put in the backup guy for a little bit, just to give Jordan a rest.

“Fuck that, Halsey,” I heard Tuttle mutter, and I know he meant business. So did the coach, considering he didn’t reprimand him for foul language. Jordan is so edgy, so freaking intense while playing football. It’s kind of scary.

It’s also really sexy.

So I remain cool. Calm. And busy. Incredibly busy because I sort of know what I’m doing, but then again I don’t. Kyla is the calm in the storm and I hope after a few games I’m like her, efficient and organized. I’m almost thankful when Cannon Whittaker sits with me for a few minutes right before halftime while I tape up both of his hands. He’s shredded his knuckles and while it looks painful, he keeps brushing me off like it’s no big deal.

But I persist and he eventually lets me tape him, all the while giving me some tips and asking a few personal questions—though nothing too personal. He may act like a total dog with the girls, but he’s actually kind of sweet. And he’s also very passionate about football.

And Jordan? He acts like his normal untouchable self. He paces the sidelines, growls at the defense. Oh, and he also growls at his offensive line too, because he’s an equal opportunity growler. He tosses water bottles and slaps guys on the back or the butt and he never, ever wants anyone to step in for him when it’s his turn out on the field.

You’d think the coach would get this by now.

I don’t bother trying to talk to him because that wall is up so high, there’s no way I’m penetrating it. Not right now. The score has remained close through all three quarters. Now we’re in the fourth and final quarter and I’m nervous as crap, bouncing my leg so hard I’m making the entire bench vibrate.

The cheerleaders start up a chant about holding that line and I hate to tell them, but they’re off—we’re currently playing offense. They probably wouldn’t appreciate my correction.

It’s hard not to cover my eyes while watching Jordan play. Not that he’s awful—he’s the farthest thing from it. It’s more that I’m totally nervous. He throws the ball and I’m terrified someone from the opposing team will intercept it. Or one of our players will drop it. We need this last touchdown. It will most likely ensure our win.

But the home team’s crowd is roaring loudly, trying to distract us. They don’t want their team to lose. Though guess what?

We don’t want our team to lose either.

I perch on the edge of the bench as Jordan drives the ball down the field. Coach Halsey is eerily calm as he watches, his expression blank, his gaze never leaving that field. I nibble on my thumb, fighting the nerves that threaten to overload me. Kyla’s pacing, looking at a loss, but that’s because no one wants to be hydrated right now. Everyone’s too tense.

When Ryan catches the pass and runs it into the end zone, I leap from the bench, bouncing up and down, screaming at the top of my lungs. I can hear everyone in the visitor stands behind me yelling and cheering. The cheerleaders are squealing and chanting Ryan’s name.

Jordan runs up to Ryan and they high five, then Jordan slaps his hand against the back of Ryan’s helmet and pulls him in close, knocking their helmets together. I can tell he’s saying something, but what? I wish I knew.

The kicker comes out and they line up to go for that point, and of course they get it. The lead is solid and with what time remains on the clock, the game is essentially over. Our boys won.