Authors: Ginger Scott
I suck in my bottom lip and stare back at him.
“Thank you,” I say, the words coming out in a whisper.
Nico looks over his shoulder as a rush of couples walk by, a few saying “excuse me,” and causing him to step in closer to me to let them pass. He takes advantage of the nearness, sweeping my hair back on one side and leaning in to press his lips just below my ear.
The feel of his hand sliding down my arm grounds me, and when his fingers meet mine, I flex them open, everything falling into place when his knuckles glide against mine and fit where they just belong.
We walk side by side to the gym, Nico handing a pass to the students at the table, guiding me through an archway made of balloons, and bypassing a row of tables near the entrance, leading me straight to the middle of the floor. Nobody has started to dance yet, but a slow song is playing. It’s country, and I don’t recognize it, but I can barely hear it over the thumping of my pulse rattling my entire body.
I can feel eyes on us, people watching to see who is moving to the dance floor first. I was hoping we’d sit for a while, maybe work our way up to a slow dance or two, but then I remember Nico’s warning—that I’d spend the night here with him, in the middle of the floor where everyone can see us.
“They’re all looking at us,” I giggle nervously in his ear, and he draws me close. His hands rest on my hips, and I link mine around his neck, our cheeks close while my eyes snap around the room, tallying up where people are, who’s watching, and deciphering if anyone really cares.
“They’re all looking at
you,
” Nico says.
I pull back and tuck my chin, glaring at him.
“Not being corny. Just being honest,” he says.
My lip ticks up on one side into a half smile, and I move back in against him. I let my eyes wander around the room, and while a lot of people are looking, I think they mostly see us as a couple they don’t recognize. A few of them might be wondering why the new quarterback is with the coach’s daughter—even fewer probably thinking our pairing has something to do with his position. But mostly, people seem to move on with their own dates, their own insecurities, their own crushes, jealousies, gossip-fests and more. Nico and I make slow circles in silence, under glittering lights installed just hours ago, and with every pass of the eyes that were moments ago watching us, fewer look up, until at last—we’re alone.
Nico doesn’t let me go for four songs, and we talk very little. I pay close attention to the feel of his fingertips on my waist, to where they move, how far up my back they travel, how they graze my arms and move my hair. I note every touch and shiver with the feel of it. I’ve forgotten about my repurposed dress, about the eyes around the room—I’ve forgotten about anything that was before there was a me and Nico, and then I start to laugh.
I try to hold it in at first, but he can feel my chest moving, my shoulders raising with each chuckle. Finally, he steps back enough so we can look at one another, and I fail at trying to hide my laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he asks.
“Do you know how much I used to hate you?” I say.
His eyes flash wide, and his mouth falls open. I realize instantly how my sentence sounded, but there’s no other way to say it, so I shake my head slightly and simply own it.
“Wow…
hate,
huh?” he asks, lifting his brow when he says the
h
word.
“Yeah…I…did, but maybe…maybe not really,” I stammer.
“Not…really…hate,” Nico says, boiling it down to three words. He laughs once, but narrows his gaze on me, waiting for me to explain.
“Our freshman year, we exchanged papers,” I start, and he tilts his head back and laughs.
“I gave you a
B
!” he remembers, his chest raspy with his laughter. I purse my lips, and when he looks back to my face, he only laughs harder. “Oh…my God, you were so pissed!”
“Umm, yeah!” I say, stopping our swaying, my hands moving to my hips.
Nico moves one hand to his neck, rubbing, but he continues to chuckle at my expense.
“You had all of these notes for me, and I didn’t read them, but I saw them on your paper when it was sitting on top of your desk during attendance. I hadn’t written anything on yours. I thought we were just going to talk about them. I had no idea how Cornwall worked. Up until that day, I’d only really been in public school in West End, where you raced through assignments so you could get to recess fast.”
Nico moves in closer and takes my elbows gently, scooting me into him, moving his hands to either side of my face, his eyes meeting mine with a jolt—the brown turns gold under the yellow hue of the dance-floor lights. My bravado melts a little, and I move my hands to feel the buttons on his shirt, my fingers roaming along his hard chest.
“You had written so many things that I was so sure you hated my paper, and it pissed me off because I worked so hard on it, and I knew it was good. I just figured you were being a snob from the city, so I wrote a B on yours even though it was totally an A. It was probably the smartest thing I’d ever read,” he says, his head leaning slightly to the side. My eyes match his, and I fall a little more for him.
“I was so mad at you over that. And you
always
battle me in class. You have…every year. And debate…”
Nico steps into me, catching my bottom lip between both of his, halting my words and holding me hostage in a soft kiss. His hands cup my face, and I tremble at the sound of his breath against mine while his tongue takes a slow and deliberate swipe against my lip. We remain shielded between the couples who have slowly filled the dance floor, and when his lips leave mine, the feel of him lingers. I tuck my lip in my mouth and taste where he was, smiling.
“You’re the smartest girl I’ve ever met, and…I had no idea how to handle you. When you walked over to our field that night,” Nico begins, but never finishes, his teeth holding on to his top lip. He doesn’t need to say any more. His eyes move around my face, as if he’s memorizing everything about me and locking the details away for safe keeping.
“I’m glad I came over to watch…
your real game,”
I say, repeating the words just like Sasha had said them weeks ago.
Nico laughs softly and pulls me against him again, and I fall back into place, letting him hold me through fast and slow songs while couples come and go on the floor. At one point, I see Noah standing next to Izzy, both of them drinking glasses of punch, their eyes moving around the room as they point at people and whisper and laugh. When Izzy catches me watching them, she turns to Noah, then back to me, pressing her finger to her lips, her face serious, reminding me to keep my word.
I would have broken it if I needed to. The moment Noah said he had ended things with Katie, I thought of Izzy, of what she confessed. But seeing them now, in their natural comfort with one another, I realize how much I would ruin if I meddled with that. Izzy likes my brother—as in
likes
likes him. And he may very well like her, too. If so, then nature will have to intervene, because they both also like moments like the one they are living in right now, and how shameful it would be if I robbed them of more of those by making things uncomfortable.
I hold up my finger around Nico’s neck, and press it to my lips. Izzy winks, and I nestle in closer, breathing in the musky smell on him. I let my hands push up into his hair near the base of his neck, and I love the thickness of it. It’s still damp, though mostly dry from his shower, and just touching him makes me think of his game.
“You played so great tonight. You all did,” I say.
Nico hums a response, and I relish how his hands adjust their grip, falling to the small of my back.
“My brother help you guys at all? I know…I know Dad had him out on the field a lot this week,” I say.
“I don’t know about the other guys, but me? Yeah. Your brother has been a lifesaver,” he says, and I jolt a little in surprise.
Nico chuckles.
“What’s funny?” he asks.
“Nothing, just…surprised to hear you call my brother that,” I say.
“You mean since he hates me and all?” he responds.
I pinch my brow and push back to look him in the eye. He chuckles and cups my head, bringing me close enough to kiss the top.
“It’s just his way of dealing. He made a joke out of it, actually. He would say ‘I hate you’ after everything good I did. Eventually, we’d slap hands twice and he’d say ‘I hate you’ and I’d say ‘good’ after every tackle I broke or pass I nailed. He’s fronting, and I let him. It works for us. I grew up in a neighborhood full of guys who had to put on big chests and hard faces. Noah’s no different,” Nico says.
No, I suppose he isn’t.
“The A&M guys say anything?” I ask.
Nico’s muscles get rigid, and I squeeze his arms, sliding my hands up around his neck.
“I saw them there, and Noah told me,” I say.
“I don’t like to think about it. I just…I guess I don’t want to get my hopes up for anything and then have it all come crashing down,” he says, and my heart sinks that he thinks so little of the attention he’s garnering.
“They’re watching you because you’re
that good,
” I say, nuzzling against his neck. I allow myself a kiss, and he stills at my touch. I step back enough to look at him, but before I speak, his eyes meet mine and the look in them is so raw and thankful that I decide to leave it at that.
“Can I take you somewhere? Before…before I have to take you home? I swear, it’s safe, and I don’t have any funny ideas. I just don’t want to be late, because I promised your dad. But there’s somewhere…just somewhere I really want you to see.”
I hold his stare for a few seconds, then nod. His hand falls to mine, and our fingers tangle as he leads me through the crowd and out the door, a little more than an hour remaining before he has to have me home.
Nico pulls up hard on the car door handle for his work-in-progress Toyota. I slide in, sitting on a new seat covering that’s soft and fuzzy. I let my fingers pet the fabric, and I grin at Nico as he pushes the door closed. I pull my buckle on as he walks around the car.
“I like the new seats,” I say, reaching over and running my hands along his as he gets in.
“First of many upgrades,” he chuckles. “So far, this…and some oil…are the only things I could afford to do.”
“You’ll get there,” I say.
“Yeah, well, I’m starting after church on Sundays at the Hungry Hill right by the highway. Sasha works there, and he makes decent money,” Nico says, adjusting his mirrors and looking over his shoulder as he pulls out of his space.
“Isn’t that a trucker stop?” I ask, vaguely recalling the red sign beaming on the other side of the freeway.
“Why do you think it’s such good money?” Nico says, pushing his tongue in his cheek. It takes me a few seconds to get his innuendo, and when I do, I smack him on the arm.
“You are not going to sell
favors
to truckers,” I say.
“Oh my God, Reagan. I can’t believe you’re so dirty. I meant that I was going to sell popsicles on the side. Jeeze, you’re a dirty girl.”
I blush hard and tilt my head, shooting him an incredulous expression. He laughs at me, then turns his focus to the road. I look away, too, but I keep thinking about how he called me a
dirty girl,
and my thoughts slip from sweet and naïve to…
I clear my throat, shaking off the heat trailing down my body and up my chest.
“Where are we going?” I ask, taking glances at his profile, the way it’s lit up by each streetlight, his hair less slick than before when it was still wet from his shower. I love the way the front falls over one eye. It makes him almost from another time.
“It’s not far. It’s just a place I go, sometimes. And, I don’t know…it’s silly, but…I want to take you there,” he says.
“Okay,” I smile, letting my eyes linger on him a little longer. He can tell I’m watching, and his lip quirks up on the side closest to me.
“You make that face in class…when you’re right, or when you know you’re about to kill everyone with some smart thing you’re about to say.”
He turns to me, and his grin grows. The dimple is at its deepest.
“I do?” he asks, his eyes wrinkled at the sides. He looks back to the road.
“You do. It’s how I know I’m about to lose,” I say.
“You never lose,” he says quickly.
I chuckle and speak at the same time.
“Oh…I lose. Trust me,” I say.
“Nah,” he says, his words again swift.
My brow is low as I watch him suspiciously. I know I lose, and I know that he’s the strongest debater I’ve ever come up against. I’m more likely to win an argument with my father than Nico Medina, but I let it go for now, because even with this…he’s probably right.
We pull to a stop before he crosses the highway, parking the car in a small neighborhood just on the other side of West End from the freeway. Nico jogs around to my side, helping me open the door, and taking my hand as I climb out, his eyes shifting to my bare knees then grazing up my body until they meet my waiting stare.
“You caught me,” he says, and I let my lashes sweep a slow blink.
“I’m flattered,” I say.
Nico leans against the door to shove it closed after manually pushing the lock in on the inside.
“I wasn’t sure what to wear, and my dress is kinda old,” I say, flaring the skirt out to the side, letting the fabric slip through my fingers.
Nico grabs my hand and leads me down the brightly-lit sidewalk, down a dip to a walkway that seems to be leading to an overpass bridge for pedestrians to cross the highway.
“I wear these pants to church every Sunday,” he says, smirking. “Your dress is far more impressive than my slacks.”
I push my lips into a tight smile, and when he turns away, I giggle.
“What’s funny?” he asks.
“You said
slacks.
It’s such a…grandpa kinda word,” I say through laughter.
“Is not,” he says, pushing me with his hip. I push back, and he reaches around me to bring me to him, poking me in the side to tickle me. I squirm, but secretly love being held so close.
“It is,” I laugh as we walk up a small slant and step out over the rushing cars of the interstate. “You talk like an old man.”