Page 8 of Hard Count (Newhouse University #4)

The heat of a long summer day hits me as soon as I step outside. I’m regretting wearing pants and a polo shirt. I should have opted for something more casual like Drew. At least there’s an umbrella blocking out what’s left of the late evening sun and casting a blue hue over the table .

Sitting between them doesn’t seem ideal with the tension building but it’s the only option as they’ve both picked seats at opposite ends of the square glass table.

Drew eats silently, avoiding eye contact with anyone. Coach isn’t much better. His eyes—etched with concern and maybe a little stress—occasionally drift to his daughter. I’ve never seen him like this before. Even in the middle of a tense game winning play he’s confident and composed.

Clearing my throat, I end the silent dinner.

“What year are you?” I ask. I assumed she was a senior since she’s roommates with Eli’s theater friend but she was drinking a Shirley Temple at the bar.

Maybe she’s a freshman. That would make more sense.

And maybe make it a little easier for me to ignore the growing attraction I have toward her.

She freezes. “Senior,” she replies with a bite of her hamburger lodged in her right cheek.

Coach sighs. “Don’t talk with food in your mouth.”

Properly reprimanded, she stiffens, swallows her food, and then smiles sweetly at me. “I’ll be a senior at Newhouse this year. Better?” she asks her dad.

“What made you transfer?” I ask before Coach can respond.

“Well,” she drawls. “It wasn’t exactly by choice.”

“Newhouse has an excellent psychology department. You should be grateful you got accepted,” her dad interrupts.

“Weird. I don’t remember applying,” she snarks.

“Drew,” he scolds. “A letter of recommendation from Dr. Reeves will go a long way when you start applying for jobs. ”

“No one in the sports industry even knows who Dr. Reeves is so I highly doubt it.”

“You’re a psych major?” I ask.

She nods. “With a minor in statistics.” She winks and I get a glimpse of the girl I remember from the bar. She’s not completely lost in there.

“What do you plan on doing with your major?” I take a bite of my burger. It’s stuffed with blue cheese, bacon, and caramelized onions. It’s probably the best one I’ve ever had. I have to stop myself from eating it in two bites.

“I’m still figuring that out.” She spears a few pickles with her fork and shoves them in her mouth. As if it’s happening in slow motion, drops of pickle juice drip down the corner of her mouth and she flicks her tongue out to capture them.

When my brain catches back up to reality, I ask, “But something in collegiate or professional sports?”

“Drew doesn’t realize how hard it is to get a job at that level.” Coach tightens his grip on his glass of tea. “There are other opportunities that might suit her better.”

“ Drew is sitting right here. I’m well aware it won’t be easy. To answer your question”—she turns to me—“yes. Something in sports. The game is mental after all.” She smirks and a dimple pops in her cheek.

“I think I’ve heard that once before,” I tease.

“It’s also skill, hard work, and dedication,” Coach says. “That’s how you win.”

“I think it’s both.” I shift in my seat. “Your skills are useless if you aren’t focused and mentally in the game.” I should know better than anyone. I keep thinking back to what she said about me feeling like I didn’t earn my spot. She’s right. It’s been making me second guess everything I do.

“I think that’s why I’ve been off my game,” I add.

“What are you talking about? You’ve been playing well. We were one game away from advancing to the playoffs last season.” Coach pushes his plate aside and tosses his napkin on top.

“I may have played well but I could have been better.”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Drew mutters.

Coach and I both glare at her. “What? I’m sorry.

I’m not the one who’s so scared they’ll throw an interception that seventeen percent of the time they toss it away instead of to an open receiver.

” She shrugs. She might be firing an insult in my direction but I can’t deny how hot it is when she spits out my football stats. Even the shitty ones.

“That isn’t true. You don’t throw the ball away.

You shouldn’t be filling his head with doubt,” he says.

She starts to refute but he nails her with a look effectively dismissing her from our conversation.

Her fists clench before she releases her frustration through a calming breath and goes back to her food.

“She might be right. I don’t know the exact percentage but I’ve been watching game film from last season.” I take a quick sip of my water to calm my nerves. “I do hesitate.”

“Every quarterback takes their time when they’re given it. Don’t let her math facts get in your head. She’s always talked in numbers ever since she was little.” He smiles at her with affection. “Let the analysts worry about the stats. Your priority is the results and you’re getting them.”

“I get what you’re saying, sir, but I’m not taking advantage of the extra time to make the right play. I’m using that time to talk myself out of messing up. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about tonight,” I explain. “What if the numbers help get better results?”

His eyes ping pong between me and Drew. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying.

I thought we discussed everything that needed to be addressed last week in my office.

” I’m the one who gets the look from him this time.

“Practices have been going well. The new starters are transitioning into their roles. I’m not sure what else needs to be done. ”

I glance at Drew for some sort of reassurance or encouragement. It’s her fault I’m bringing this up in the first place. She continues to nibble on her food and pretends she has zero interest in the conversation. Wiping sweaty palms down my pant legs, I take a moment to get my thoughts in order.

“I think we’ve become predictable.”

“Predictable,” he repeats like a question.

“Yes. I’ve spent hours watching all the games from last season. We call the same plays in every situation. We have a pattern.”

“That’s because they work.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Only sixty-four percent of the time,” Drew mumbles, causing her dad to sigh and rub his temples .

“That’s a good statistic. We’re moving the ball. The plays work. There’s nothing to fix.”

“But if you studied your opponents defense,” she says.

“You don’t think we do that? You don’t think my coaching staff isn’t spending time watching tapes and learning their play calls?”

“Of course they do. I’m not insinuating they aren’t doing their jobs. I do think they’re missing critical signals that would be helpful with your decision making,” she explains.

“My decision making is not in question. It wins us games.” He faces off against his daughter. This conversation is quickly turning in a direction I didn’t anticipate. Had I known there was so much hostility over the subject I would have waited to bring it up after practice.

“No one is questioning your decision making, Coach.” I look at Drew, hoping she’ll nod in agreement with me.

She gives me nothing but a blank face and a far off stare into the backyard.

I’m not going to get anywhere with both of them in the room.

“I’m questioning myself. I’ve noticed a few things that I’m in the habit of doing.

” I flex my right hand instinctively thinking back to the plays I've watched a thousand times. “It’s something we can talk about later in private.”

Coach’s eyes shift to his daughter then back to me. “That would probably be best.”

“Discuss it now. I’ll make myself useful in the kitchen.” She stands abruptly and begins clearing our plates from the table. I stop her when she tries to take mine .

“Let me.” I stand from my seat. “I’ll be right back.” Ignoring her irritation, I stack my plate on top of hers and carry all three back to the kitchen. She storms past me through the back door I’m holding open for her.

She begins slamming lids on condiments and packing up toppings. I drop the dishes into the sink and turn the water on. “That didn’t go as I thought it would,” I admit to her. I’m greeted with the clanking of glass containers as she packs up the leftovers and drops the dirty dishes by the sink.

“And here I thought you would know my dad better than me.” She wedges herself in between me and the sink, effectively moving me out of her way. “But I could have told you it wouldn’t work. At least not with me in the room. What exactly were you trying to achieve?”

“I can take care of that.” I reach over her and attempt to take the dirty plate out of her hands. She pushes her hip into my groin. I’m left with the option to move out of her way or let her keep rubbing herself against my dick. As good as it feels, now is not the time.

“I’ve got it. He wouldn’t want a guest doing dishes. A guest he didn’t even bother to tell me was coming to our family dinner. Not that I should be surprised by that either,” she mumbles to herself. “Go ahead and fill him in on everything you found on the tapes.” She nods toward the back door.

“You mean what you found on the tapes.”

“I wouldn’t mention me if you want him to actually listen to you. He hasn’t taken me seriously since…it’s be en a few years.” She flicks the dishwasher open and starts loading the rinsed dishes.

“You and your dad don’t have the best relationship.”

She laughs humorlessly. “Good job, Inspector Gadget. You solved the case,” she says, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“I’m sorry. That must be difficult.”

Her hands still, allowing the hot water to flow over them until they turn a nice shade of pink.

I flip the handle to lower the temperature before she burns herself if she hasn’t already.

Twisting her head in my direction. “It’s actually really easy,” she says, then busies herself with the dishes again.

“I know my opinion means shit to you.” I lean closer to her ear so she can hear me over the running water or maybe I just want to be closer to her. “I didn’t particularly like what you had to say but you do know what you’re talking about. If he won’t take you seriously, I will.”

Her shoulders relax and her eyes soften when she tosses me a look over her shoulder. “You should probably go.” She puts the last piece of dirty silverware into the dishwasher and closes it up before turning off the water. “Good luck out there.”

She grabs her keys and phone off the counter. “You’re leaving?” I ask.

“Yep. We already had our usual lectures before you got here and to be honest I don’t feel like staying for another one. See you around, Nash.”

She walks away, leaving me alone in the kitchen. Her goodbye is casual and makes me wonder when I’ ll get the opportunity to see her again. Because for some reason, I really want to.