Page 25 of Hard Count
I push around the toppings on my loaded tater tots until I make the perfect bite. “Did you tell them I wanted mild sauce?” I ask, grabbing my water and taking a big gulp to put out the fire burning down my throat from the hot sauce.
“I did.” She takes a small bite of my meal and levels me with a look. “That is not hot.”
“If you say so,” I reply as I shovel more into my mouth. This time I make sure I get enough ranch to counterbalance the heat. “When are auditions?” I ask when she silently begins reciting her lines.
I’ve noticed this cute little habit of hers. Most people sing at random—she does that too—Frankie recites lines from musicals and plays.
“Two weeks.” She bites down on her bottom lip.
“I can help you practice if you want.” My acting skills are subpar and reading out loud makes me cringe but I’m good at helping with repetition and muscle memory.
“I’ve been practicing with Elijah but I can use all the help I can get. I need to be the best sinceIanis directing,” she says the last bit in disgust.
“How did your ex weasel his way into that job?”
“Believe it or not when he’s not working the graveyard shift as a low-life cheating son of a bitch he’s actually a decent writer and director.” She tears off a piece of her salted pretzel and pops it in her mouth.
“I would like to dig him a grave and bury him alive for the way he treated you. And now he gets a say in your future. It’s kind of fucked.”
“I know.” She sighs. “I don’t have a choice. I have to be a part of the production to graduate. I refuse to let him ruin anything else in my life,” she says, watching Eli and the rest of the team run back onto the sideline after halftime.
“What’s the deal with you two?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me.
“We’refriends.” She shrugs. “There’s not really much to say.”
“You’re wearing his jersey,” I point out.
“He’s my friend. Why would I wear a jersey for someone I didn’t know when I can support him? That would have to be a strike on our friendship or something. You’ve got the name Pierce plastered on your back. What does that mean?”
“It came with the tickets.” I already have one of his jerseys hanging in my closet at my dad's house. It's been awhile since I've worn it. I was planning on buying a new one at the campus store but this jersey was waiting for me when I got home from work with my tickets and a note.
Wear this for me.
Nash
“It came with the tickets,” she repeats in between laughs. “This is going to be so much fun. He keeps looking at you.”
“Well he shouldn’t.” I finish the last of my buffalo tater tots and slide the trash under my chair. “He needs to pay attention to the game.”
“He’s standing on the sidelines. He can look at you if he wants.”
I’ll admit I like that I’m the girl getting his attention but I don’t want his focus split. I don’t want to be the reason his head isn’t in the game. He has a job to do. There’ll be time for fun later. Ignoring the heat of his stare, I keep my eyes on the field. Newhouse kicks off to start the third quarter. Number eighty-four on Alabama is notorious for running the ball back.
Our guys should be prepared. He tends to run down the right sideline if he can find a hole. Frankie grabs my hand when he catches the ball and takes off like a rocket.Come on. Stop him.If he’s a rocket, then Eli’s a freight train. He barrels into the guy so hard they both slide out of bounds and into the player’s benches.
“Damn, he railed him good,” I say, as number eighty-four takes a minute to stand from that hit.
“It isn’t fair that the guys are the only ones getting railed hard. I could use a good railing too.” Frankie pushes her lips out in a pout.
“I bet that could be arranged. You could probably ask Eli and he would step up without any hesitation. I see the way he looks at you too.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”
I want to ask why when it’s pretty clear to me he likes her. I’m still getting to know Frankie but she’s open with her feelings and enjoys the drama. If she wanted to talk about it she would.
The defense is able to stop them on downs and forces the punt. My knees begin to bounce again. I snatch a napkin from Frankie’s lap and wipe down my hands. It has to be the heat outside and not my nerves causing me to sweat this much. I don’t think I’ve been this nervous watching a game live since I was in high school. And it wasn’t even my team playing in the game. I had nothing at stake.
But he did.He’s the common denominator with a lot of my feelings lately.
