“I’m so sorry. You’re too good to him. You can tell him to stop talking sometimes you know?” I said, also loving the fact that I knew Nolan would never say anything remotely mean or rude to my dad.
“Oh God, never. I love his stories,” she said, her voice honest and true. My grin stretched ear-to-ear talking to her.
“Oh, hey! Tell Pops to pull in to the media lot when you guys get here. His name’s on a list, so he gets VIP parking,” I said.
“Got it,” she said, muffling the phone a little as she relayed my words to my dad. “Okay, we’re pulling in. See you in a few!”
She hung up quickly, which was good, because I was about to unleash some seriously mushy stuff, and I wasn’t so sure Trig’s music was playing loudly enough to block it all out. I headed down the main hall to the front of the team lounge, almost skipping like a schoolgirl. Here I was about to play in the biggest game yet of my football career, and my heart was completely, 100-percent focused on the girl about to walk through the doors in front of me. My dad swung them open first, but then he held one side open so Nolan could catch up and walk through.
Damn. She was perfect.
When we talked the night before, she told me that she was going to break her rules—go full Wildcat for me, but I didn’t think she’d look like that! She had on a red version of my jersey that she’d tied in the back so it hugged her body, slumping a little over one shoulder. Her tight jeans slung low on her hips, showing off her smooth stomach and cute-as-hell bellybutton. She pulled her hair back into a ponytail, the long curls swaying as she walked. She was a goddamned fantasy, and for once I didn’t care that every other guy in the lounge right now was staring at her, because she walked right up to me. And I was the one who got to kiss her.
“Well, that’s a fine way to say hello,” she said after I finally let my lips leave hers, acting like one of the old-fashioned girls from those old movies.
“You…are dangerous in that outfit, Miss Lennox,” I said, tugging on the bottom of the jersey.
“Too much?” she asked, folding her arms a little, shying away over her body. I just pulled her arms back out and held them in front of her.
“Definitely not. You look amazing!” I reached around her and slung her back a bit, kissing her again, and then standing her back up in my arms. “You just make it kinda hard to focus, that’s all.”
“Ohhhh,” she snickered, lowering her eyes and showing her embarrassment from my bold attention.
I held her hand every second she was in the lounge with me, just dragging her around by my side while I introduced my dad to a few people. I hadn’t really spent time with her since Christmas Day at my mom’s. And the rollercoaster of that day had left us both pretty emotionally spent. I was grateful that my mom had actually heard me when I had it out with her over how she treated Nolan. I knew she wouldn’t be able to just flip a switch. But the fact that she even had the smallest hand in Nolan’s fellowship award was a good sign—at least I was taking it for one. I grilled Nolan pretty hard about the conversation they had, mostly because her eyes seemed red and swollen when she finally walked out of my mom’s office. But she swore to me that my mom hadn’t been mean. And she said my mom even told her she respected her, which seemed to mean more to Nolan than being gushed over the way Dylan was, which I guess was just one more reason why I loved Nolan so damned much.
About three hours before game time, Nolan left with my dad to grab a bite to eat before meeting up with the rest of the family to take their seats. They were near our bench this time, only a few rows up. My dad actually turned down box seats to get closer to the action. He was never much for the luxury and high-end side of sporting events. He liked to hear and feel the grit of the game and be close to the field.
The closer we got to kick-off, the more my nerves started to zero in on what was at stake. We weren’t contending for the title, just a higher ranking to end the season. But I knew tonight I was out there for evaluation, and how I played meant I ended up third string in Buffalo, riding the bench and freezing my ass off, or with a fighting chance to start someday for a team like San Diego.
I jumped up and down with nervous energy in the tunnel next to Trig. He lived for this kind of stage. And normally, so did I. But I couldn’t seem to shake the cloud over my head. I was worried…and that worried me. “Yo, Johnson. You ready to show these Buckeyes how it’s done?” Trig shouted, bumping fists with me before putting his helmet on his head and kicking off into a sprint to race out onto the field.