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She takes a sip, her playful gaze unraveling the knot in my chest, until she leans her elbows on the table and softly asks, “You want to talk about it or…?”

I’m shaking my head before she can even finish.

Her words die off, and I’m grateful. I can’t tell her about my family.

Not when hers is so perfect. Yeah, I know all about the Joneses, with Coach Daddy and who knows what Mommy does, but she’s raised four kids.

I see them in the stands every home game, cheering for their hero while he runs up and down the sidelines, directing us.

He’s not stuck in prison, serving twelve years for killing a guy.

That knot starts to tighten again, and I grip my water glass, wondering if I should take my smelly ass home and have a shower, then crawl into bed with a movie and a bottle of vodka. That should numb?—

“So, I had an interesting day.” Nylah—apparently set on ignoring my mood—starts jabbering.

She tells me about this girl in her class who fell asleep and how the professor got the entire class to prank her.

“It was so funny. We all hid under the desks, and then he blew his airhorn and the girl jolted awake and was like ‘Where’d everyone go?’ She had a mini panic attack, and then we all jumped up and scared the crap out of her.

I almost felt bad when she kinda screamed and went so bright red, but then she started laughing with the rest of us and even reposted the video on her social feed.

” She gets out her phone and shows me. My lips tug into a half smile as I watch it play out, and Nylah laughs all over again like it’s fresh and just as funny the second time around.

“It’s so hilarious that the prank was Professor Coney’s idea, you know? He’s cool. Have you ever had him?”

I shake my head. To be honest, I can’t even remember half my professors over the last couple years. I barely remember the names of my teachers this year.

Nylah seems to be loving school, though.

She’s got that freshman excitement about her.

The whole new adventure thing. I guess I felt that a little when I started at Nolan U.

I was most excited about not having to live with Johnson the Jackass anymore.

But Nylah, she’s into it, man. Loving her classes.

She seems to be really getting into the college experience.

I like the sound of her voice. It’s soothing somehow, eases this tight ball in my chest, makes it bearable to breathe.

The garlic bread arrives, and I devour three pieces while she tells me about her latest assignment, then gets all excited over the fact that it’ll take her hours of research.

“Nerd,” I mutter.

She laughs and throws her last mouthful of garlic bread at me. I catch it, popping it into my mouth and smirking at her.

“Nice reflexes.” Her eyebrows wiggle, and now I’m fighting the urge to smile. “So, tell me about practice. What drills were you running today?”

I shuffle in my seat and sit up a little straighter. “Uh… just your standard stuff. Started with a box drill, then moved on to a trigger step. Did some running stuff, then release stuff.”

“Do you have a favorite?”

I scratch my unshaved face and think about it for a second.

I don’t like admitting my love for football.

I don’t know why. Sometimes it’s just easier to complain about everything.

I’m so used to being a grumpy asshole that talking positive doesn’t come naturally.

No one has ever asked me if I have a favorite drill before, and I have no idea why I’m compelled to answer honestly, but after a beat, I nod and tell her, “The dip and roll makes me feel like some kind of action star, so I like that. It’s this drill where I have to dip my shoulder and roll like I’m getting clear of a defender’s coverage, then pop back to my feet and start running.

It’s a good one for me because of my role on the team.

As a wide receiver, my main purpose is to get that ball as far down the field as possible, so?—”

She snorts and shakes her head.

“What?” I frown at her.

“Are you mansplaining football to me right now?”

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.