Page 5 of Even Exchange

“So, what’s your story?” she asks, apparently ready to be out of the hot seat.

“My story?”

“Yeah.” She forces a teasing smile. “WhoisNoah Caruso, team captain and CBU football royalty?”

I huff a laugh, pride filling me at her mention of my captain title. “Is that how you think of me?”

“Me?” she scoffs, placing a hand over her chest. “No. But it is how girls on campus talk about you.” Her voice rises an octave. “Did you see Noah’s new haircut? He’s sooooo hot. I’d choke on his meatballs anytime.”

“What?!”

“Pretty sure it was some Italian reference regarding your?—”

“Got it.” I cut her off, the need for us to discuss my Italian balls highly unnecessary. “Well, footballroyaltyseems a bit exaggerated.”

“Oh god.” She groans. “He’s humble too?”

“What can I say?” I flash a grin her way. “I’m a team player.”

“Okay then,CaptainCaruso. What’s your story?”

My chest tightens. “I don’t have one.”

“Bullshit.” She narrows her eyes on me, and for a moment, it’s as if she can see straight through me. Directly through the perfectly put together, always in control mask I wear so no one will discover the real me. “Everyone has a story.”

Sure, but a drunk heart-to-heart at dawn is hardly the time.She doesn’t seem to be taking no for an answer, so I do what I always do and default to my comfort topic. “I’ve been obsessed with football my whole life. Decided one day I’d go pro and wouldn’t let anything or anyone get in the way of that.”

“Why’d you pick CBU?”

“My mom lives in Tampa.” I twist thecornicellopendant between my fingers again. “I wanted to be close if she needed me.”

“Andyou’re a mama’s boy?” She huffs a laugh. “I’m not shocked.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just everything about you is Mr. Perfect.”She thinks I’m perfect?“Of course you’d want to be near her.”

If only she knew my need for proximity is vital, not a virtue.

“You have a lot of preconceptions about me, considering we’ve barely spoken.”

“I already told you.” A sweet, teasing grin graces her lips. “The cheerleaderslovetalking about Football God, Legend, andMama’s BoyNoah Gabriel Caruso.”

My mouth falls open. “How do you know my middle name?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” She cocks a brow. “It was in aSports Illustratedarticle last month.”

The corners of my lips quirk into the smallest of smiles. I amdefinitelyflattered. “You read the article about me?”

She rolls her eyes. “Maybe not so humble after all.”

“So I’m Riemann’s quarterback?” I ask, referring to the math problem that’s never been solved, unable to wipe the satisfied grin off my face. “You admit you’re trying to figure me out?”

Her cheeks flush. “That’s not what I said.”

“Fun fact: you can win a million dollars if you solve an equation with Riemann’s hypothesis.”

She buries her face in her hands and grumbles, “I willgiveyou a million dollars to stop talking about math.”

---