Page 98 of Most Valuable Player
Ah, fuck. I’m falling in love.
I sprint across the field, wrenching my helmet off, arms and legs pumping to carry me toward the sidelines. I scoop Mason off his feet, then plant a fat one on his lips before the world. Or at least two high schools and a local news crew. I’m sweaty and gross, but if Mason minds, he doesn’t say so. He merely snickers against my mouth and whispers, “Go celebrate, quarterback.”
I place him on his feet but can’t help myself and take his jaw, lifting him to his tiptoes so I can kiss him again. “I’ll be back, water boy,” I say.
The color deepens in his flushed cheeks. “I know,” he murmurs.
So I race back onto the field to rejoin the celebration. But I keep to my promise. Moments later, I return with the team, and when Mason sees the giant boys barreling toward him, he hugs his clipboard in terror. He cusses with surprise when everyone lifts him up on their shoulders.
“To our water boy for always keeping us hydrated!” Nate cries out.
“And for cleaning our shit up every game,” Darius adds.
“And for getting Cameron’s bitch ass back on the field!” Jody tacks on.
“I’m not a bitch, actually.” I scowl, though the smile returns when I look up at Mason. His face is a comical, cherry red.
“Um,” he squeaks out, bemused, “can you guys put me down?”
“No way. You’re a lot easier to carry than Cam.”
Mason sighs in dismay and looks at me pleadingly. But he doesn’t hate this, even if he’s pretending to, so I leave him up there a while longer, letting people thank and congratulate him for an amazing season.
Eventually, he’s returned to his feet, and it’s so Darius and Ravi can empty our ice cooler over Coach Barnett’s head, causing him to shriek curses that send everyone within earshot into a laughing frenzy. Even Mason nearly sinks to his knees, clutching his stomach, tears sparkling in his lashes. His unrestrained, unapologetic mirth makes my chest ache with happiness.
“You’re beautiful, Mason Gray,” I whisper.
He doesn’t hear me.
But I’ll make sure he gets the message later.
—
“Can I talk to you guys about something?”
Dad pauses, his forkful of garlicky chicken Alfredo hovering an inch from his lips. “Depends,” he says. “Will it make me want to kill you and then myself?”
I look at Mom in utter dismay. She betrays me by shrugging.
“I’m serious!” I choke out.
“So am I.”
“Nico,” Mom says, finally shooting the man a stern glare thatmakes him sigh and lower his fork to his plate. She gestures at me to proceed, and she’s got this glint in her eye that makes me wonder if she expects I’m going to tell her bad news.
And it is. Sort of. I’m not sure how they’re going to take this. If it’s even fair for me to say any of this, after all they’ve done for me. I’ve been avoiding the subject for a while and probably would’ve continued to do so if Mason hadn’t promised me he’d paint me a custom picture of anything I want after I talk to them. I know exactly what I want and exactly where I’m going to hang it on my wall.
To be honest, I’m surprised my parents haven’t brought it up themselves. I guess they probably assume I’m fully set on doing what I’ve been planning, and haven’t thought to interrogate me about it, aside from offering me encouraging quips about how well I played this season and how I make a great leader, even if I wasn’t the team captain.
“So, the football thing.” I stab awkwardly at the slab of chicken on my plate, glad I have something to look at while they pour their gazes into my face. “You know that scout from Alpine University has been out to examine me. And I think if he wants to recruit me…”
My fingers tighten around my fork.
“I might turn it down.”
My parents are quiet. Waiting.
“I know it would be really beneficial financially, but I…” I pause again, the words clogging up my throat. I have to cough several times just to spit the rest out. “I don’t think that’s what I want. Football is fun, but that’s just it. I want it to stay fun. I want it to be something I can escape to. I don’t want it to completely eat away my life. I don’t want to make a career out of it.”
