Page 16 of Hard Count (Newhouse University #4)

DREW

GAME DAY WEEK THREE

I haven’t been able to get my knee to stop bouncing since halftime started. If Frankie didn’t currently have me loaded with snacks, I’d probably be on my feet pacing. I wish I could get away with sneaking into the locker room and checking on Nash.

He’s been laser focused on every play. When he does hesitate or miss a pass, he shakes it off and gets right back to work. My notes were thorough but they only had two days of practice to prepare for this game.

I push around the toppings on my loaded tater tots until I make the perfect bite. “Did you tell them I wanted mild sauce?” I ask, grabbing my water and taking a big gulp to put out the fire burning down my throat from the hot sauce.

“I did.” She takes a small bite of my meal and levels me with a look. “That is not hot. ”

“If you say so,” I reply as I shovel more into my mouth. This time I make sure I get enough ranch to counterbalance the heat. “When are auditions?” I ask when she silently begins reciting her lines.

I’ve noticed this cute little habit of hers. Most people sing at random—she does that too—Frankie recites lines from musicals and plays.

“Two weeks.” She bites down on her bottom lip.

“I can help you practice if you want.” My acting skills are subpar and reading out loud makes me cringe but I’m good at helping with repetition and muscle memory.

“I’ve been practicing with Elijah but I can use all the help I can get. I need to be the best since Ian is directing,” she says the last bit in disgust.

“How did your ex weasel his way into that job?”

“Believe it or not when he’s not working the graveyard shift as a low-life cheating son of a bitch he’s actually a decent writer and director.” She tears off a piece of her salted pretzel and pops it in her mouth.

“I would like to dig him a grave and bury him alive for the way he treated you. And now he gets a say in your future. It’s kind of fucked.”

“I know.” She sighs. “I don’t have a choice. I have to be a part of the production to graduate. I refuse to let him ruin anything else in my life,” she says, watching Eli and the rest of the team run back onto the sideline after halftime.

“What’s the deal with you two?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.

“We’re friends.” She shrugs. “There’s not really much to say.”

“You’re wearing his jersey,” I point out.

“He’s my friend. Why would I wear a jersey for someone I didn’t know when I can support him? That would have to be a strike on our friendship or something. You’ve got the name Pierce plastered on your back. What does that mean?”

“It came with the tickets.” I already have one of his jerseys hanging in my closet at my dad's house. It's been awhile since I've worn it. I was planning on buying a new one at the campus store but this jersey was waiting for me when I got home from work with my tickets and a note.

Wear this for me.

Nash

“It came with the tickets,” she repeats in between laughs. “This is going to be so much fun. He keeps looking at you.”

“Well he shouldn’t.” I finish the last of my buffalo tater tots and slide the trash under my chair. “He needs to pay attention to the game.”

“He’s standing on the sidelines. He can look at you if he wants.”

I’ll admit I like that I’m the girl getting his attention but I don’t want his focus split.

I don’t want to be the reason his head isn’t in the game.

He has a job to do. There’ll be time for fun later.

Ignoring the heat of his stare, I keep my eyes on the field.

Newhouse kicks off to start the third quarter.

Number eighty-four on Alabama is notorious for running the ball back .

Our guys should be prepared. He tends to run down the right sideline if he can find a hole.

Frankie grabs my hand when he catches the ball and takes off like a rocket.

Come on. Stop him. If he’s a rocket, then Eli’s a freight train.

He barrels into the guy so hard they both slide out of bounds and into the player’s benches.

“Damn, he railed him good,” I say, as number eighty-four takes a minute to stand from that hit.

“It isn’t fair that the guys are the only ones getting railed hard. I could use a good railing too.” Frankie pushes her lips out in a pout.

“I bet that could be arranged. You could probably ask Eli and he would step up without any hesitation. I see the way he looks at you too.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

I want to ask why when it’s pretty clear to me he likes her. I’m still getting to know Frankie but she’s open with her feelings and enjoys the drama. If she wanted to talk about it she would.

The defense is able to stop them on downs and forces the punt.

My knees begin to bounce again. I snatch a napkin from Frankie’s lap and wipe down my hands.

It has to be the heat outside and not my nerves causing me to sweat this much.

I don’t think I’ve been this nervous watching a game live since I was in high school.

And it wasn’t even my team playing in the game. I had nothing at stake.

But he did. He’s the common denominator with a lot of my feelings lately .

Football might be a fall sport but not in Alabama.

It’s still eighty degrees outside even with the sun hovering on the other side of the stadium.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the stadium wasn’t designed with the sun’s movement in mind and in favor of keeping the home team in the shade for most of the game.

Nash breaks their huddle and gets everyone lined up. Once the ball is snapped, he fakes a pass and hands it off to Adrian for a gain of five yards. It isn’t much but we’re moving the ball.

They repeat the play. This time for a gain of eight yards and a first down. The chains get moved and Nash signals for the next play. “Dammit,” I mutter, when I notice the shift in the defense. They’re going to blitz. I stand and start swaying back and forth.

“Why are we standing? What’s going on?” Frankie asks, oblivious to what’s happening on the field.

“They’re going after Nash.”

“Isn’t that the point? He gets pushed around every play.”

She’s right. He isn’t going to leave the field without some cuts and bruises. “He’s going to throw down field and the defense is going to rush him. If he hesitates at all he’s going to get sacked.”

“How do you know?” the guy beside me asks. I spare him a quick glance before going back to the game.

“Because I do,” I answer with slight irritation. He and his friends have left us alone most of the game besides the occasional bump of an elbow. They aren’t as obnoxious as some of the students sitting a few rows in front of us .

Sure enough Nash drops back and takes a second too long to find someone near the end zone and gets sacked. I don’t breathe until he’s standing on two feet again. Come on, Nash. Shake it off . He calls everyone into a huddle and then they line up in the same formation.

Biting down on what’s left of my thumb nail, my eyes bounce from the jumbotron to the field and back again. The ball gets snapped and Lucas takes off down the sideline.

“Come on. Come on. Come on,” I chant. Alabama’s defense loves it when Nash steps back on his left side. They know it’s where he’s weaker and takes his time with the ball. He’ll usually end up throwing it away or allowing an interception. One or the other happens fifty-six percent of the time.

They won't be getting that version of Nash today.

Not this time. He's been working too hard.

We took a play they've been practicing since the summer and adjusted it to work no matter what spot he throws from. I saw the play for the first time I showed up at their camp. Instead of having Lucas stay on the left side of the field, he cuts a hard right at the ten yard line. It’s risky because the timing has to be perfect.

Nash doesn’t wait for him to get into position. He steps back and launches the ball to an empty spot near the ten yard line trusting Lucas will get there in time. The guys beside me curse and Frankie gasps as the ball soars through the air.

Lucas slides past their cornerback and speeds up his run just in time for the ball to drop into his arms. The crowd erupts, cheering for him as he runs into the end zone. The marching band starts playing the Newhouse U fight song and Frankie starts singing and dancing, making me laugh.

I can’t stop smiling and clapping as Nash, Lucas, and the rest of the offense celebrate the touchdown.

That’s the Nash Pierce I know. Pure fucking magic on the field.

I have to hold back tears. The game has always made me emotional.

Seeing someone you care about play well and live their dream heightens everything I’m feeling inside.

He removes his helmet as he runs toward the sideline. He points to me and smiles bigger than I’ve ever seen. I shake my head and point back to him. That wasn’t because of me. It was all him and he knows it.

“Definitely looks like there’s nothing going on between the two of you to me.” She nudges my shoulder with hers. “Are you going to sit down?” Frankie asks.

“I don’t think I can.” We might be up by ten at the moment but it isn’t enough of a gap. Not when you’re playing one of your rivals. They aren’t going to let us take the win without a fight.

“Sit.” Frankie pulls my arm and forces me into my chair. “You’re making me edgy with the way you keep bouncing around. They’re playing well. They got this?” Her statement comes across more like a question.

“They are. They do.” I’m afraid to say anything else out loud and jinx it.

Frankie leaves to get more snacks at the end of the third quarter. It seems she’s a nervous eater. I don’t blame her. I should consider eating real food instead of my fingernails .

When Eli sacks the quarterback near the end of the fourth quarter to force a fumble, I finally feel confident that we have this game won. Frankie and I both start jumping and screaming as soon as the ball is recovered by Trey.

He snatches the ball off the grass and takes off toward the end zone.

Eli and a few of the other defensive players make some key blocks to open up a running lane.

The jumbotron replays Eli’s sack but my eyes are glued to Nash as he congratulates his best friend and the rest of his teammates.

He even finds enough comradery to slap and shake hands with Trey.

He catches me staring at him but I don’t care. I scream and cheer louder. I want him to know I’m here for him. He’s the only person that could get me to walk into this stadium. I’ve celebrated with my old team in Florida but it never felt like this.

Winning a game back home was like checking a box on your to-do list. You felt satisfied with the accomplishment but it was simply a thing you needed to do in order to move on to the next item.

Watching Nash win is a rush. It always has been.

Except now he’s more than just a player on the field.

He’s the man I’m starting to like. Probably more than I should.

That doesn’t stop me from wanting to get to know him better.

Who is the man under the helmet? What’s he like when he’s not playing football?

The Alabama quarterback throws a last ditch hail mary to a receiver waiting near the sideline.

He makes the catch but the clock runs out just before one of our guys brings him down.

Even if they were able to get a touchdown, it wouldn’t have been enough.

I can’t blame them for trying. That seventy yard reception will look nice on their stats at least.

Students start storming the field and celebrating with the team.

I jump into Frankie’s arms and give her a victory hug.

When I let her go, I lock eyes with my dad.

I didn’t tell him I was coming. I’m not sure I wanted him to know.

I give him a curt nod and a smile that almost feels real.

He nods back and walks toward the middle of the field to shake hands with Alabama’s coach and do a post game interview.

“What do we do now?” Frankie asks, as we gather our stuff.

“I have to go have dinner with my dad,” I reply. I wouldn’t say I’m looking forward to it but I’m not dreading it knowing I get to drag Nash with me.

“I think someone’s trying to get your attention.” She elbows me with a big grin on her face.

In the middle of the sea of Newhouse students, Nash is waving me down to the field.

I shake my head. No way am I going down there.

He got us great seats on the fifty yard line but we’re a few rows back.

I would have to fight everyone leaving the stadium or climb over all the seats to get down there. I’m not doing that.

He signals for me to come down again and huffs in irritation when I deny him a second time.

“I think someone has a crush on you,” Frankie says when Nash hands Eli his helmet and starts high stepping over each row of seats to get to me .

“What makes you say that?” I ask, looking for some kind of proof to her hypothesis.

“Because that's not a look you give to someone who's just a friend.”

“Hi,” I say when Nash is within earshot. “You played great,” I add, when he doesn’t respond.

Without a word he lifts me over the row of seats separating us and into his arms. I hold onto him around his neck. It’s a little awkward with his pads, but I don’t mind.

“Thanks.” His eyes flick from mine down to my mouth. I swipe at his cheek, removing some of the eye black that dripped down his face.

“Will you wait for me by the locker room?” he asks, giving the side of my thigh a squeeze.

I nod. I’m not capable of forming actual words while he’s holding me in his arms wearing his uniform and covered in sweat after a hard fought game.

“Frankie, you should come too. Eli will want to make sure you get home safe.”

Nash puts me down but not before taking one more look at my lips.

He wraps his hands around my neck and leans forward.

“I would kiss you right now but I have a feeling you would prefer the privacy of the bathroom over publicly in front of half the school,” he says, before kissing me in the middle of my forehead.

My skin tingles and flushes from his touch.

With his hand in mine, he leads us down the stairs and back toward the stadium locker rooms. We can only walk a few steps at a time without someone stopping us to congratulate him. He squeezes my hand as we weave through the crowd. Occasionally he looks over at me to make sure I’m okay.

He handles the attention like a seasoned pro. It makes me wonder why he’s picked me and if I’m even good enough to be the one that walks by his side.