Page 23 of Hard Count (Newhouse University #4)

DREW

Nash’s hand glides up my bare thigh under the hem of my shorts as he kisses me harder against the kitchen island. I tighten my grip on his waist when his tongue rolls around mine. He’s turning me on so much I’m ready to forget the dinner and go back to my place.

“Alright, let’s see what we’ve got here,” Dad shouts as he enters the kitchen with his hands full of Chinese takeout. Nash practically flies across the kitchen at the sound of his voice. I cover my mouth with my hand to hide my laughter. I’m not sure how we’re going to keep this from him.

My dad may not see everything I do for the football team but he isn’t an idiot.

Nash and I aren’t exactly hiding our attraction to each other.

It's kind of hard to. We haven’t been able to keep our hands off each other since our first kiss outside my apartment.

Not that I’m complaining. I like that he constantly has this need to touch me even if it’s something simple like holding my hand.

I help my dad empty the bags while Nash opens up the containers and grabs serving spoons for each dish.

He knows this kitchen better than I do. My dad’s switched everything around since Mom and I moved out years ago.

I often wonder why he didn’t move into something smaller.

There’s no reason for a single man to be living in a four bedroom house.

“I think we have a full buffet here, Coach,” Nash says.

My dad looks over the spread he’s put together. “You can’t order Chinese food without having enough for leftovers. This will keep me fed for the next few days.”

The thought of my dad eating alone every night makes my throat swell with guilt.

Nash runs his hand down my back as if he can sense my distress.

Does he know me that well already? It hasn’t been that long since we’ve started spending more time together.

Has he been watching me close enough to have my emotional cues figured out?

“You should probably call me Gavin when you come over for these dinners,” he says with one eye on Nash as he drops his arm from my back.

“I’m Coach on the field.” He passes me a plate and encourages me to go first. “I got you a bunch of those crab things you used to ask for all the time. Do you still like those?”

“I do. Thanks.” I add half of what’s in the white carton to my plate without thinking twice. “If you want one, you better get them now. I won’t be so generous a second time.”

“This was you being generous?” Nash pops the whole Crab Rangoon in his mouth. “What if I said they were my favorite?”

“Are they?”

“No. They’re good but this is my go to.” He adds two hearty scoops of General Tso’s chicken onto his plate.

“Okay slow down, sir.” I place a hand on his wrist. “I want some of that too.”

“I bought two of those.” My dad slides over a second container in my direction. “You used to eat all of mine when you were little.”

“I thought you didn’t like it.”

“That’s what I said because I didn’t want you to feel bad for eating most of mine but it’s one of my favorites too. Something we have in common.” He smiles.

I push what’s left of the chicken toward my dad and try to mask the shock I’m feeling from him not only remembering something from years ago but also for never scolding me for taking something that wasn’t meant for me. It seems out of character and unlike the man I know now.

“Why?” I find myself asking the question out loud. I know I shouldn’t slice open old wounds. It’s why I typically stay quiet about most things that strike a nerve or hit me the wrong way. It isn’t worth the confrontation.

“Huh?” He takes his food to the small table off the kitchen. Nash adds two egg rolls to his plate and joins him. Meanwhile I’m frozen in place.

“Why did you lie about it?” I grip the edge of the counter until my knuckles turn white. The truth scares me. For so long I’ve heard what I wanted to. Everything he did or said filtered through my brain and I gave it a negative connotation.

But what if it wasn’t negative, what if it’s been me interpreting everything wrong and believing the worst from the beginning? Having basement level expectations was the only way to keep the pain minimal.

His fork stops mid-air and he lowers it down to his plate.

I ignore Nash’s worried look. He’s the reason I’m feeling brave enough to travel down this road to begin with.

He’s been helping me find the confidence to do a lot of things lately.

I hated admitting I was jealous. I don’t understand why everyone else gets to see that side of my dad and I’m stuck with condescending remarks and basic pleasantries.

“Because it made you happy. You were excited about it. I didn’t want to take that away from you I guess. I don’t know. It was a long time ago,” he answers, not realizing the importance of my question.

“I guess it was a long time ago.” I grab a few napkins and join them at the table. Staying in his seat, Nash pulls my chair out for me. I don’t miss how he moves it closer to him in the process.

Last week I let Nash and my dad monopolize most of the conversation. But tonight feels different. I don’t sense the built up frustration swimming in my gut like I usually do.

“Did you enjoy the game?” my dad asks in between bites.

“I did.”

“I’m glad you’re going. It’s good to show support for the team and school spirit. ”

I nod and smile briefly when Nash catches my eye. “It’s fun. Especially when we’re winning.”

“We had their kicker working overtime,” my dad jokes. “Our boys did well.”

“We had a little help,” Nash says. I kick his foot under the table. He promised he would keep my assistance a secret. I’m not sure why I don’t want my dad to know. I tried to help once and he rejected me. I guess I don’t want to live through that feeling all over again.

“Oh yeah?” my dad asks.

“Ever since Drew’s been coming to the games she’s been helping.” Nash lays his hand over my balled fist in my lap and forces me to relax my hands. I glare back at him. What is he doing?

‘It’s okay’ he mouths silently to me. Letting go of my hand, he nods toward my dad. He wants me to fess up? I don’t think so. I go back to eating my food and hope the subject gets changed before I finish my last Rangoon.

“What have you been doing?” Dad asks before dunking an egg roll in a ramekin of soy sauce.

“Nothing really.” I shrug.

“She’s being modest. She’s been pointing out gaps in our defense and inconsistencies in our offense. She studies our opponents too.”

“I see.” Dad takes a sip of his tea. “I should have known you would do what you wanted despite me telling you we already had coaches on staff.”

“I was trying to help,” I say .

His face softens and lets out a sigh. “I know. You've always wanted to be part of the team. Did she tell you she joined me at practices when she was little?” he asks Nash.

“Yes, sir,” Nash replies and my dad levels him with a look. “Gavin. She mentioned it once.”

“One of her friend’s parents would pick her up from elementary school and drop her off at the high school every afternoon.

She would stand on the sidelines with a clipboard in her hand and a whistle around her neck.

” Dad chuckles at the memory. “She gave those boys hell.” His eyes flick to mine and for the first time in years I see pride.

“I wish I could have seen it for myself,” Nash says.

“There are some photo albums around here somewhere. She even made the yearbook a few times. We can look through them while we watch the night game. There might even be a few of you—”

“Let’s not. Please,” I beg. I’m not sure what all my dad has hoarded away but I can only imagine. There are a few photos I would prefer Nash to never know about.

“You’re no fun,” Nash teases. “I would love to see what Coach Drew looked like.”

“I will spare you the second hand embarrassment and say thanks but no thanks. It will distract us from watching the game anyway.” I stab my fork in a piece of chicken and tear off a bite with my teeth.

My dad smirks. “That’s why we have commercial breaks.”

I drop my head back and groan.

“That went well,” Nash says, standing behind me and kissing my neck while I rinse all the spoons and forks after dinner.

“It’s definitely been worse,” I grumble, still mad at their insistence to look at childhood photos.

My dad went to go hunt them down while we put away the leftovers.

Nash gives me space so I can put all the silverware in the dishwasher.

I wash my hands and wipe up the trail of water I’ve left on the counter.

“Come here.” He holds out a hand and I gladly let him cradle me. There’s a level of safety I feel when I’m wrapped up in his arms. It’s like being held behind some kind of force field. Nothing can hurt me here. Anyone who tries will only cause harm to themselves.

His hands brush through my hair and down my back. I inhale a deep breath of his woodsy scent and instantly feel more relaxed.

“He’s trying.” He kisses the top of my head.

“Is that what that was?” My words come out mumbled against his chest.

He cups the side of my neck and lifts my head. “Yes. And I think you were too. You didn’t sass him back once.” His thumb grazes the corner of my mouth. I have the urge to stick my tongue out and lick it.

“It was a struggle,” I say as my eyes bounce between his eyes and lips. Nash moves less than a centimeter but it feels more significant as he gets closer to my mouth. My pulse beats against his palm still cupping my neck.

“I found the photos. Are you about finished in here? It’s almost time for kickoff.” My dad’s voice is a bucket of cold water dumped over us. Nash drops his hand and jerks away. I also take a step back, putting even more distance between us.

“Yeah, we’re coming. I was just wrapping up the dishes.” I nod toward the dishwasher.