Page 97 of The Demons We Hide

Nolan’s head comes up and despite the fact that I’m sure it’s cold, his helmet is off as he scans the bleachers. When he gets to me, he pauses and lifts a hand. With a scowl, I flip him off. Mads gasps, and I ignore her as I narrow my eyes on Nolan’s face as he bursts into laughter.

“Well, you seem to be getting along better…?”

I lower my hand and roll my eyes. “Fat chance of that.” I’m stuck in his house, but I still haven’t forgotten what he pulled at that party the other weekend. I start to chug my hot chocolate before I remember that I should probably save some for the rest of the game. With a grimace, I lower my cup back to my lap.

“You have to like him at least a little,” Mads presses. “Youareliving together.”

Pursing my lips, I tighten my hold on my cup and don’t answer as the coaches on either side of the field call their teams into a quick huddle as the announcer goes through the sponsors for tonight. My stomach sinks to the bottom of my abdomen when Morpheus Calloway’s name echoes into the night. He’s another reason why I refuse to glance over to Silverwood Prep’s side.

I wonder if Ms. Beck told him about my reaction to our discussion of him. I don’t put it past the bitch.

“So…” Mads’ curious murmur has me looking back in her direction. She circles the rim of her cup with a glove covered finger. “I haven’t seen you at work lately. Did your hours get cut or something?”

The Styrofoam cup in my hand cracks and warm liquid gushes out as it crumples in my fist. “Fuck!” I jerk to standing and hold the cup away from my body as Mads jumps up too.

Thank fuck I drank more than half of it already, because had it been full, it would’ve drenched my jeans and hoodie. With a scoff of disgust, I blow out a breath and hurry over to a trashcan and dump the last of it inside before wiping my now sticky hands on my hoodie. When I return to the seats, Mads is waiting with wide eyes and a small tube of hand sanitizer. I don’t even care about the sickly-sweet smell of it as I dump a good portion onto my hands and slather away the sticky liquid before sitting back down—away from the puddle I’d created.

“Okay, so that’s not a good sign,” Mads points out, eyeing me.

I grit my teeth and stare out at the field, unseeing. “I was fired.”

Silence is all I get in response, and it’s so loud that I could laugh. Then Mads makes a noise in the back of her throat that forces me to actually look at her again. Wide blue eyes with their irises are blown huge and she gapes at me.

Yeah, girl,I want to tell her.I get it. I was shocked too.

Before she can say anything more, though, or ask questions about my recent unemployment, a familiar voice calls out my name. I turn my head back to the field to see a blue and black jersey break away from the team as the coach releases the members. A few of the players head off to the sidelines and the remainder find their places on the field.

Gio lifts a hand in the air as he jogs, his other clutching his helmet. He doesn’t stop until he’s close and even then, he doesn’t so much come to a stop as he reaches for one of the rungs that separates the stands from the field and hauls himself up until he’s half climbed over it.

The dark chocolate curls of his hair hang over his forehead, giving him a boyish expression as he grins at me. “What is it?” I ask, frowning as he drops his helmet onto the metal floor by our feet and leans in close.

I yelp as, instead of answering, he hooks two fingers into the neckline of my hoodie and drags me forward. “What the fuck!” I slap at his arm, but Gio is locked on and he doesn’t release me as he peers down my shirt.

A moment later, he lets go and gives me that crooked grin of his as I scowl at him, debating if now is a good time to shove my fist up his ass.

“You’re wearing my jersey,” he says. “Just wanted to make sure.”

I gape at him. “That’s why you assaulted me?”

Gio laughs. It’s no light chuckle, but a full belly, throw your head back and cackle kind of laugh. He looks so carefree and actually amused that it stuns me stupid for a second. My chest squeezes tight and I don’t know why.

To hide the strange feeling oozing throughout my limbs, I cross my arms over my chest and glare at the man still hanging off the bleacher wall. “Just make sure that you wear that every game from now on, Prep Girl,” Gio says, his laughter finally drifting off as he lowers his head and smiles down at me. “You’re my good luck charm now.”

“The season is almost over anyway,” I mutter. “It wouldn’t matter if I wore it or not.”

Gio shrugs. “These next games are the most important,” he says before nodding to something to our right. I follow his line of sight and spot the same man from before—the man that looks more like a professor than a sports scout.

At my side, Mads stiffens. I swivel back to look at her, but she’s tilted her head down and is fiddling with her camera again, her cup of hot cocoa sitting forgotten to the side.

“Vargas! Get your ass on the field!” Silverwood Public’s coach is yelling from the field, his own arms crossed and an annoyed expression on his face.

Gio huffs and waves over before swiping up his helmet. Just before he drops back to the ground, I shift and reach for the rungs. “Don’t—” He stops and looks back as I speak. I grit my teeth and rethink what I’d been about to say. Shaking my head, I sit back in my seat. “Nevermind. Just … break a leg or whatever.”

Gio arches an eyebrow, that stupid smirk still on his face, but he merely nods and hops onto the field before heading away. My hands find the cold metal of the seat under me and curl around the edges.

“Are you worried?” Mads asks.

“No.” It’s none of my business if Gio hurts himself on the field. He’s the one who knows his body best. I didn’t wear his dumb jersey because I wanted to cheer him on. It’s covered by a hoodie anyway. No one will see it.

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