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I shut my mouth, staring across the table as she laughs at me some more.
“My dad is the coach. I’ve been around the game my entire life. I probably know more plays than you do, and I definitely know the purpose of a wide receiver.” She starts laughing again, pointing at me, then covering her face like I’m the world’s biggest idiot.
My eyes narrow and all I can do is clench my jaw, then point to myself and mutter, “Okay, I get it. Sexist bastard. Girls know everything.”
She giggles. “No, we don’t. And the only reason I know so much is because my dad has been living and breathing the game since he could walk. It’s like a generational thing.” Tipping her head, she studies me like I’m her favorite piece in an art museum. “You weren’t trying to be sexist, but damn, boy, know who you’re talking to.”
The pizza arrives as I’m forming a lame excuse, so thankfully I don’t have to think of one.
“Thank you.” Nylah grins at the waitress, her eyes rounding with delight as she pulls a steaming slice of pizza free, licking her lips while wrapping gooey, stringy cheese around her finger. “Yum!”
I watch her take her first bite, my insides yearning for a taste of those lips.
Shit. Look away from her mouth! It’s off-limits, dude.
Clearing my throat, I shuffle in my seat again and pull a slice of pizza free. It’s damn good, and I devour the whole thing before she’s even halfway through her piece.
“So, let’s talk about Saturday’s game. Damn, that was brutal, right?” Nylah’s eyes light, like the more intense the battle, the more she loves it.
I stare across the table at her, kind of lost for words as she analyzes the game with the same thoughtful insights as her dad. I shouldn’t find it a turn-on, but she’s fucking smart and doesn’t miss a beat.
“Dad really hated coaching the Titans in the end, you know? I heard him talking to Mom about it sometimes. Going on about how there was so much potential on the team, but the guys were unruly and disrespectful. The head coach didn’t care as long as they kept winning, which pissed Dad off. ‘It’s not just about the game.’ He’d say that all the time. When he got the chance to coach at Nolan U, he jumped all over it. Mom always says it was an answer to prayer, you know?”
I go still, watching her chew… unable to reach for another slice.
Her dad is good man.
He might be a hard-ass and easy to hate on sometimes, but at the end of the day, he really cares about his players. Not sure I’m included in that equation, but shit… he’s gonna have my head.
I should leave.
I should walk the fuck away right now.
But I can’t.
Because being around Nylah makes me feel better in ways I can’t even explain.
So screw the fact that I’m gonna get decapitated. It’ll be worth it if I just get to finish these pizzas with her.
CHAPTER15
NYLAH
Hanging out with Carson is like being on a roller-coaster ride.
One second he’s fighting a grin, the next he’s looking all morose, then he’s scowling, and now he’s leaning back trying to look bored, although I can totally tell he’s listening to my every word.
I can’t decide whether to be confused, amused, or entertained.
Maybe I’m all three, which makes time tick by in fast-forward.
Refusing to be swayed by any of his switching moods, I keep chatting about everything from inane movie facts to the Insta-reels I watched in between classes (people coming home and surprising their families are the best!) to the fact that I used to be a cross-country runner.
He seems fascinated by it all, which is interesting. The guy obviously likes the sound of my voice, and although he doesn’t say much, I can tell by the sharpness of his gaze which topics interest him the most.
I’m just trying to wrap up this long-distance running conversation. I kind of dove into it without really thinking, and now I’m having instant regret because he’s leaning on the table, moving closer and obviously concerned that I’ve had to say goodbye to something I used to love.
“It’s no big deal.” I wave my hand through the air. “I mean, yes, I wanted to complete the Boston Marathon one day, and yes, I?—”