Page 8 of Coping Skills

“Real football, huh?”

“Well, it actually uses feet and balls. American football? It’s played with a weird oblong thing, and you only kick it in very specific circumstances. Most of the time it’s being thrown or carried. Why is it called football, then?”

Daniel laughed, warm and full, shaking his head. “I have no idea. But it’s going okay. We lost some good players last year. Integrating the new guys always takes a while, but the last week of practices has been going well. Our first game is this weekend. It’s even a home game.” He cocked an eyebrow at her. “You coming?”

She shook her head, climbing the stairs to the student center that housed the on-campus coffee shop. Before she could pull open the door, Daniel’s hand was there, but he held it closed instead of opening it. She looked up at him, and his face was almost serious, but the skin around his eyes crinkled, and his lips twitched like he was suppressing a smile.

“Why not?”

“What?”

“Why aren’t you coming to the game? Where’s your school spirit?”

She laughed at that. “I’ve never been big on school spirit. And you already know I’m not a football fan. Why would I go?”

He gave a careless shrug, but it was immediately contradicted by the intensity in his face, the hint of a smile gone. “To watch me play.”

She studied him, uncertain what he really wanted here. “Daniel …”

A cheeky grin appeared on his face, breaking the moment, and he opened the door. “Fine, fine. Don’t come this time. But I’ll get you to one of my games this season, just you wait.”

Grateful for the sudden change, she latched onto the playfulness in his tone. “Oh really?” she threw back. “I’d like to see you try.”

“I will.” Her breath caught when his eyes met hers, the raw desire and intention there nearly overwhelming. But he’d turned away before she could say anything more, waiting behind the guy finishing up his order in front of them. Stepping up to the counter, he gestured for her to order first. “My treat.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—“

He sighed and shook his head, cutting off her stumbling protest. “I know I don’t have to. But I have to get started convincing you to come to a game, don’t I?” He gave her a wink, and nodded toward the barista again.

She looked him over again before giving in. “I’ll have a medium Caramelizer.”

Daniel ordered his own white chocolate mocha and an egg and cheese sandwich while she claimed a table, setting her messenger bag on a chair so she could carry her own drink at least.

Elena waited until they were both seated, and Daniel had taken a drink of his coffee before continuing their conversation. “Since you bought me coffee, and I still won’t come to your game this weekend,” she gave him a pointed look, “how about I make it up to you a different way?”

He choked a little as he inhaled some of the sandwich he was chewing. Coughing, he reached for his coffee, shaking his head. “Um, that’s not necessary. I mean, you can always do that if you want anyway, but you don’t owe me anything for buying you a stupid coffee. I mean last weekend was—“

Elena’s eyes widened, and she yelped when he said that last part, making him stop. “That isnotwhat I meant. I’d just come right out and tell you I wanted to fuck you again if that’s what I was talking about.Dios.” She covered her face with her hands and shook her head. “I was going to say that I could make you apie.”

He stared at her, his face blank. “A pie.”

“Yeah. You know, it’s round, made with crust, filling.Pie.” She made a circle with her hands then mimicked rolling crust to illustrate her point as she spoke.

“You want to make me a pie?”

“Yes. What kind of pie do you like?”

He blinked at her a few times. “Like a real pie. To eat. This isn’t a euphemism for anything.”

She sighed. “No. For God’s sake. I already told you I’m more direct than that. I mean pie. Real pie. That you eat. Yes.”

“Um, okay. Sure. You can make me a pie. Like from scratch?”

She couldn’t help laughing at his reaction. “Yeah, from scratch. What kind?”

He shook his head, obviously thinking. “I don’t know. Hmm. How about a chess pie?”

It was her turn to blink. “A what?”

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