Page 42 of Game On
“I mean, we’re going to need a spotter at Nationals, right?” I shoot back, half-joking, half-serious.
Ash perks up at this. “You want to enter the partner competition?”
“I thought maybe we could,” I say with a shrug. “Gabi thinks we have a fighting chance.”
“Claire’s gonna throw a fit,” Luke mutters under his breath.
“Aww, Claire can get her panties in a twist all she wants,” Ash says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve been wanting to enter but haven’t found a flyer I gel with as well as you.”
“Then it’s settled.”
While we shake on it, Hudson watches us with a cool curiosity, his arms folded across his chest, biceps bulging under the strain. I catch his eye and hold it, trying to decipher what’s running through his mind. But as usual, Hudson is a vault. Despite him opening up about his past with cheer, there are so many things he still seems to keep under lock and key.
But maybe that’s how it should be. Some mysteries aren’t meant to be solved, at least not by me.
It’s nearing ten o’clock, and the intensity of practice has finally wound down. Ash, rubbing at his sore shoulder, turns to me. “Ella, do you mind if we grab some food on the way home?”
I hesitate, my mind already on the stack of textbookswaiting on my bedside table. “I really wanted to get home to catch up on some reading.”
Hudson, overhearing our exchange, flicks a hand up and offers, “I can give you a ride if you want.”
Again, I hesitate. Taking a ride from Hudson means more time alone with him, more time to feel that awkward tension between us. More time to think about how I offered myself up to him on a silver platter, and he outright rejected me in favor of us beingfriends.
“Come on, Ella. I don’t bite,” he says, a playful edge to his voice that breaks my resolve.
“Fine,” I finally relent, throwing caution to the wind. “Why not?”
I tell the boys that I’ll see them tomorrow, and we walk out to Hudson’s truck. I’m trying to keep my composure, but my heart thumps a nervous rhythm.
“You know, you really weren’t bad in there,” I say quietly.
“You should see me do a layout,” he replies, a challenging look in his eyes that somehow sends a thrill through me. “Tumbling’s more my thing. Still reminds me of those days in the backyard.”
“How about next time?”
“You want me back?” He raises an eyebrow, opening the truck door for me.
I lick my lips. “Yeah, I’ll allow it,” I say, and then I take his hand, step up into the truck, and he closes the door behind me with a soft click.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Ella
The ride home is quieter than I expect. Hudson’s truck is an old manual, and every now and then my attention drifts to the way his hand moves on the gearstick, then to his side profile—sharp, handsome, focused, with a small mole accenting the edge of his jaw that I’ve never noticed before.
“Do you ever think about what it would have been like if you’d never gone back?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence. “To football?”
“You mean if I’d stuck with cheer?” he asks. “Came to Whitland and joined the squad?”
“I suppose, yeah.”
“Not really. Just never seemed viable in the first place.” He shrugs. “I do, though, think about what it would have been like if I’d never given it up in the first place.”
“You mean because of your dad?”
He gives a humorless chuckle, the sound rough around the edges. “Sure, yeah. Where would I be if my daddy never left me? In the grand scheme of things, probably a little lessbitter. Less obsessive and guarded. But football? If I’d never let him take that away from me, maybe I would have tried to go pro.”
“You still could, couldn’t you?” The question slips out, tinged with curiosity and a strange sense of hope.
