Chapter Eleven

For a second, it felt like a standoff. A million thoughts went through Lucas’s head. Did Avery have a boyfriend? And if so, was this him? Should Lucas introduce himself? Why did Avery look so surprised to see him? He did have the correct day, right? Or was she surprised to see the other guy?

Wait, did Avery really have a boyfriend?

A weight settled on his chest as he looked between them.

No wait, the dude was wearing a Sonic uniform, and he was clearly about the same age, so obviously he went to the same high school—it being the only one in the county.

“How ya’ doin’?” Lucas said to the guy, moving past him to Avery’s table. As soon as he pulled the plastic seat back to sit down, the guy went back to the counter. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what had just happened.

“Did I just interrupt…?” He pointed between the guy and Avery.

“Oh God, no,” she said, her gaze firmly set on her straw circling in her drink.

Lucas looked back at the guy, who was now cleaning the counter, sneaking looks at Lucas and Avery. “Well, there’s obviously a story there,” he said, unwilling to wonder why he was pressing her instead of ignoring the weird situation he’d walked into.

She sighed and sat back in her chair. “He’s my ex. Blaine.”

Relief pumped through him. His muscles relaxed, surprising him, as he hadn’t realized that he was tense. Ex-boyfriend was okay. More than okay. “Really?” he said slowly, turning back to take a good look at the guy. This was the kind of guy she liked? Tall, blond, lean, and clean cut. Something pinged inside him when he realized he couldn’t really be more opposite to Blaine in every way. Except being tall. Lucas was dark, a bit scruffy—at least that’s what his mom had always said—and not so wiry.

“Stop looking,” she hissed at him.

Lucas spun around, unable to help himself grinning at her. “Why is he your ex?” Why are you interested, dude? Ha! You know why.

“He dumped me,” she said with a blank, slightly accusatory look on her face. “Happy now?”

Oh shit. Had Blaine-or-whatever-his-name-was hurt her? He’d like to freaking… What? Hit him? What’s wrong with you? Drop the subject. Drop the damn subject.

“Are you sure he hasn’t changed his mind? The look on his face when I came in was something, I tell ya.” He couldn’t help but look back at him again. What was wrong with the guy that he’d dumped her?

“Oh my God, can you just stop? We’re here to talk about football,” she said, pushing a set of cards over to him.

The fact that he was torn between switching to football and finding out why Avery’s relationship had broken up surprised him. He obviously waited too long thinking about her and Blaine, because as his hand grabbed for the cards, she was already pulling them away. His hand landed on hers, and he froze.

So did she.

Her hand was warm under his, and although by any measure of normality both of them should have snatched their hands away, neither of them did. They just stared at each other, basically holding hands.

Should he take his hand away first or just enjoy touching her for as long…

She pulled her hand away but left the cards in place. He cleared his throat and pretended nothing had just happened.

“What are these?” He pulled them to him and flipped them over.

“Dad’s playbook. The plays that Colin calls the most. I thought it would be easier for you to remember them if you used flashcards,” she said, her gaze now fixed on the cards in his hand.

There were about twenty cards. On one side was the name of the play, and on the other was the diagram of the play. All the plays were named after towns. Jacksonville, Clarksville, Austin, Amarillo. She had marked his position with a red cross on the diagram. No shit, this was going to help a lot. Like a whole lot.

“This is amazing. Thank you.” He didn’t know what else to say. When he’d asked for her help, he’d figured she would tell him the kind of thing her father liked, how to get on his good side, but this was far above and beyond. He’d have no trouble learning these before the game tomorrow. “What made you think of doing this?” he asked, holding the cards up.

There was a strange beat of silence before she replied. “My mom made me SAT vocab flashcards—okay she made like, some SAT flashcards. She, er…she didn’t get further than ‘e,’ but my dad reminded me about them yesterday. That’s all.”

“You took your SATs?” he asked, not really knowing how to talk to her about her mom.

“No. Later this year,” she said. “Anyway, do you want to go through them now for a few minutes?” She looked at her planner and punched a button on her phone then corrected herself. “Seven minutes?”

He really wanted to talk to her about how she planned her time. Was that why she and blondy had broken up? Because she scheduled time with him right down to the last second and then bailed to go do something else? “Sure,” he said. “That would be great.”

She picked up the cards and fanned them in her hand and picked one. “This is the Hail Mary. Jacksonville Five. I can’t remember the last time it was called. It’s only used when we’re up against the clock and tied, but it’s probably the first one you should learn.” She flipped the card over, and his eyes boggled at the complicated play. It was like a draw play. A fake-out throw down the field and a hand pass to the running back, who then threw it tight down the line to the receiver while Colin got sacked. It was a sacrifice move.

“Yeah, you see why you need to learn this first. If you”—she looked around and dropped her voice to a whisper—“fuck it up when Colin’s taken a hit like that, you will never hear the end of it. Probably never play again.”

She was right. Colin was agile; he could run and scramble and still keep his eye on where the ball was supposed to go. Linebackers probably spent the game gagging to rush a QB like that. If Colin gave them the opportunity to, they were going to take it, leaving the running back wide open to take a good few seconds to throw the ball without anyone around to intercept. He gave a low whistle. “Yeah, got it.” He memorized his position. “Jacksonville Five. Got it.”

She showed him Austin Eight next and then Williamsburg Ten. With each one he learned, he actually felt as if he were becoming more a part of the team. He looked up at her and just watched as she talked through every play, sometimes animated, sometimes joking, enjoying how the different tones showed on her face. She was telling him the times the play had gone wrong and why and how they’d fixed it for the next time. All he could concentrate on was her mouth. The more she talked, the more he wanted to be pressing her against a wall, kissing the hell out of her.

“You’re not listening to me, are you?”

It was a second before he realized that she’d stopped talking him through the cards. “Of course I am.” He scrambled. “I was just wondering how hard LeVonn hits the defense? Hard enough to stay down or so I still have to keep an eye on them?”

She paused, and frustration flashed across her face. She knew his mind had drifted and was pissed that he could pull a legit question out of thin air. Frankly, it was the first impressive thing he’d done since he’d arrived in Hillside. Maybe he hadn’t lost all his mojo.

She leaned over the table and squinted her eyes slowly at him. “You’re lucky. I would have been out of here so fast…” She sat back up. “But you don’t get up when LeVonn tackles you,” she said with a half smile as if she knew something about LeVonn’s strength.

He grabbed the cards and read through them fast, appreciating the time and effort they must’ve taken. “How can I thank you for this?” But even as he said the words, he had an idea how he could thank her. It would take some time and some studying—maybe a trip to the library—but he was prepared to put the work in.

She put her hands over his and the cards. His blood rushed through him, and for a second, all he could hear was it pumping in his ears. Was she going to ask him out? Maybe. He’d be saying yes, whatever she asked.

“Play well, and win for…the Hammers,” she said, squeezing his hands briefly before removing them.

Damn. Was she going to say “win for me?” Because he was all over that.

“I will or die trying,” he replied, suddenly serious. He’d study those cards until he couldn’t see straight. Whatever it took to prove himself worthy of her time.

Suddenly her eyes widened, and she pressed a button on her phone. “Oh my God, it’s nearly seven.” She grabbed her planner and pulled it toward her.

He tried to see what was written in it. Was he in there?

She flipped a page frantically. “Oh my God, I lost track of time. I’m late for dinner, and I left Dad deserted at school with no car. I was supposed to have the car back by six p.m.” She jumped up, grabbing her bag with one hand and sticking the planner under her arm, and took three strides toward the door before she turned around. “Oh. Good luck tomorrow.”

Good luck?

Oh. Shit.

Tomorrow was game day.