Page 21 of Hard Count (Newhouse University #4)

NASH

Drew pauses the tape and scribbles a few words on the pad of paper in front of her. She’s right handed. I make a mental note of my own. She also has a scar on her elbow—likely a broken arm—and a line art heart tattoo that’s split in half on the inside of her right wrist.

Her eyes drift off her paper and she catches me staring. She blushes as she bites down on her bottom lip while her pen continues to move across the page.

We’ve been sitting on the floor so long my ass has gone numb. Drew is thorough if nothing else. I check the time on my phone. We’ve been working for almost three hours. Well, she’s been working. I’ve spent most of the time with my eyes on her.

I snap a quick picture of her laptop screen where she has one of her spreadsheets pulled up. It tracks the players on every team in our conference. She has each stat broken down in various pie charts and bar graphs in every color imaginable.

“What are you doing?” she asks, eyeing my phone with suspicion.

“Sending a picture to my friend.”

ME:

My girl’s spreadsheets are better than yours.

WYATT:

Not Bad.

But no one does spreadsheets better than birdie.

I laugh when a photo pops up on my phone of Wren mid eyeroll holding her laptop like a freshly caught fish.

“What’s so funny?”

“My old roommate, Wyatt, and his girlfriend, Wren. They moved back to his hometown of Rivers Bend after they graduated last year. They’ve been rehabbing his family’s farm.” I show her the photo of Wren and scroll through a few more of the play area they’ve been building over the summer.

WYATT:

Your girl huh?

Who is she?

“It looks fun,” she says, as I blacken the screen. “Are you going to answer his question?” She presses play on the remote with a hint of a smile on her face. It’s been almost two weeks since we’ve officially become an item. I think she likes being referred to as my girl as much as I do.

“Maybe later. If I text him now, he won’t leave me alone. And that would make me waste my time with you.” I twist a few strands of her hair around my finger.

“We still have one more game to watch.”

I groan and drop my head back against the couch. “Is it really necessary? You already have a lot of intel. At this rate, we’ll be able to out score them by the first half of the game and let our third string finish them off.” I flip the pages of her notebook.

“Yes, it is.” She shoves the notebook out of my reach. “If anything, the game from last week is the most important. We need to see if they added anything new.”

“Is this what you do every week?” A pang of guilt hits me for pushing her to take this on. It consumes so much of her free time. When does she relax or have fun?

“Yeah. It’s not a big deal. I watch most of the games anyway. It’s just an extra step to write everything down and then type it up in my spreadsheet.”

“It is a big deal. Because you also write up a full report for the team with the plays and individual player adjustments. When do you have time for yourself? Go out with friends?”

She focuses back on her computer and creates a new tab on her spreadsheet. “I haven’t made many friends since I moved. I eat breakfast at The Round Table with a few guys from one of my psych classes and hang out with Frankie when she’s free. And I go to my dad’s sometimes,” she states casually.

Too casual if you ask me. And who are these guys? Why does my blood pressure sky rocket thinking of her having breakfast with someone other than me?

“What day?” I ask, staring at her profile.

Her eyebrows bunch together in confusion. “Huh?”

“What day do you get breakfast?”

“Why? Are you inviting yourself to come?” She leans back against the couch.

“Maybe,” I say, attempting to be as relaxed as she is about the situation. “I want to meet your friends. You’ve met all of mine.”

She studies me for a moment before going back to watching the game film. Her silence drowns out all the noise from the television and the base pounding from her neighbor’s music filtering through the wall.

“Wednesdays. We meet up before class.” She makes a tally mark on her paper next to ‘fifty yard plus run.’ Facing me she says, “You can join us when you’re done working out. Our class doesn’t start until ten.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.”

She snorts a laugh. Fucking adorable. “I don’t think they’ll care. You’ll like them. They’re really nice and funny.”

“They sound great. Any more compliments you want to give them?”

“I could probably think of a few,” she says, holding back a laugh. “Are you jealous you don’t get to spend time with them?”

“You think you’re being cute but…” I lean into her and start kissing her neck. She tilts her head giving me better access. "I'm having a hard time not being around you all the time as it is. Knowing you're with other guys isn't helping."

She kisses me, eliminating some of my jealousy. “Don’t worry you’ll meet them soon enough. I’m sure they’ll like you as much as they like me.” She pats my leg just above my knee, patronizing me.

“If you’re purposely trying to get under my skin it’s working. I don’t like the idea of other guys knowing more about you than I do. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I kind of like you.”

“Kind of? I’m flattered.” She places a hand on her chest and bats her eyelashes.

“You know what I mean.” I pull on her ponytail.

“Not really. You’re acting like I’m the first girl you’ve ever dated.” She’s teasing me but her smile fades when she reads my face. “I don’t believe you. Not even in high school?” she asks as though she already knows the answer.

“I had a girlfriend in high school but it was…superficial.” I shake off the memory of dating Marci, the head cheerleader.

“Everyone expected us to be together so we just were. I didn’t know anything about her, nor did I want to.

But you…” I rub my thumb over the scar on her elbow. “I want to know ever ything.”

She stares down at where my hand is still holding her arm. “I broke it skateboarding when I was ten.”

“You can skateboard?” My eyes widen in disbelief. What else can this girl do?

“No. Hence the broken arm. I didn’t even make it out of the driveway when the board slipped out from underneath me.”

“At least you weren’t afraid to try something new.”

“Right,” she mutters. Then turns her attention back to the television.

“Hey.” I skim my hand over the back of her neck and shoulder. “What just happened? You shut down on me.”

She turns her body towards mine with her left arm resting on the cushion of the couch.

“Nothing.” She pushes the links of her gold bracelet around her wrist until she finds the single charm.

“It was supposed to be a good day. My dad was going to teach me how to skateboard and I ended up in the hospital with a broken arm. My mom lost her mind. Blamed him for putting me in danger. That day sticks out as the beginning of the end for them. It was my fault and I have the scar to prove it.”

“Baby, your parents’ marriage falling apart wasn’t your fault.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. Doesn’t change how it feels.”

"No it doesn't. I wish there was something I could do to make things different."

"You're making a difference by being here. "

Sighing, I cup the back of her neck and pull her closer to pop a kiss on her lips. “My turn. Is there anything you want to know about me?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it.” Drew plays it cool but I know the attraction is as deep on her side as it is on mine. I can’t figure out if her mixed signals are out of fear, her trying to be flirty, or is there something else going on entirely?

“If you were to think about it, what would you like to know?” Shifting my body closer to her, I graze my hand up and down her forearm. Her eyes close as if she’s savoring my touch and committing it to memory.

“What is your family like?”

I’m surprised that’s the first thing she’s asking me about considering her own family life. “I’m an open book and you want to know about my family?”

“Your family is a part of you.”

“Is that how you feel about you and your family?”

“I try not to think about my family too much. I’ve already talked more about them today than I have in four years. Tell me about yours. Please,” she pleads as if I could ever tell her no.

“I will but if you’re willing to tell me more about your family, I’m listening.”

“You already know my dad.”

“And your mom?”

She turns away, biting down on her lip. “You first. Then I’ll give you the full background on the destruction of Drew and her home life.

” Her smile is a brave front. It makes me sorry I even asked.

I’ve had my suspicions since our date that it wasn’t picture perfect.

I didn't know it went beyond her relationship with her dad.

“My dad is my biggest supporter. He’s never missed a game. Even if he needed to work, he would figure it out. He’s someone I can go to with a problem. I’ve always trusted his judgment. He’s kind and fair. Except I think he did favor my sister. She had him wrapped around her finger.”

“He sounds like a great man but I already knew he would be because of who you are. And your mom? What is she like?”

“She was a stay at home mom for the longest time. Did all the PTA stuff and helped out at the school. When I started eighth grade she decided she wanted to be a nurse. I think helping people is in her blood. She’s patient and selfless. She always sees the best in people.”

“I like her already.”

“She would like you too.”

“Full on like me or just kind of like me like you do?” she teases.

“You're hilarious. Your turn. Tell me about your life.”

“If we’re really going to do this, I’m going to need ice cream.” She stands and holds out her hands. “Come on.”

I link our hands together and allow her to ease me off the floor. I don’t let go of her until we’re in her tiny kitchen. “Which flavor do you want? Caramel sundae or strawberry shortcake?”

“Caramel sundae. ”