“Oh yeah? That kiss on the Ferris wheel says different.”
My body swells with pleasure. So he felt it too. Or else he doesn’t want to talk about himself and his problems, but either way, I’m not ready to think about what changed during that kiss. I busy myself by starting the car and backing out. Only when we’re on the main road back to campus do I feel his gaze shift from me.
“So what had you so pissed earlier?”
Reeve is silent.
“I’m not going to run away.” One glance at his poker face tells me he’s more stubborn than I realized, so I try a different tactic. “Look, no matter how much your feelings might bore me, we’re ten minutes from your place, so I won’t have to put up with them for long. Lay it on me.”
I catch him rolling his eyes, but my strategy works. “It’s football, Jade. What else? I’m supposed to be having the best season of my career, and instead I’m sitting on the bench.”
“Why?”
“After that concussion a few weeks back, I?—”
“You got a concussion?”
He jerks his head toward me. “Are you serious?”
“You know I don’t watch your games.”
“Yeah, but do you read the school paper? Your best friend’s an editor, isn’t she? She never told you?”
“Damn Lenni, I guess she forgot to mention it during our nightly recaps of the life and times of Reeve Dalton.”
“Can I tell you what’s wrong or would you like to lead this discussion?”
“The floor is yours.”
“Finally. Thank you.” He shakes his head. “I had to sit out two games, and my backup just had to put on the best game of his life while I sat on the bench. Then this afternoon I find out he’s starting on Saturday.”
“Well, is he better than you?” I look at him, then quickly redirect my eyes back to the road. If looks could kill, I’d be halfway to hell.
“I’m the best quarterback Shafer has ever had, Jade. Beltman, my backup, is unheard of.”
“Then why is he taking your spot?”
“He’s winning us games. Period.”
“And you weren’t?”
He hesitates. “I wasn’t exactly at the top of my game leading up to my injury. But I can’t show I’m back at peak performance if I’m not on the field, can I?”
“I’m going to need you to take pity on me because I don’t know anything about football, but how big of a deal is it for you to sit out an extra game? I mean, what’s the harm?”
“The harm is you don’t wind up a top-ten draft pick six months after you’re demoted from starter to second string. You feel me?”
I nod. I feel it as strongly as if it’s emanating right from hisbody: his intensity, his frustration, his drive. And it’s damn sexy, this ferocity I sense in him.
“The NFL is the only thing I’ve cared about for a long time. It’s the one thing I have.”
“No way. I don’t buy that.”
“What else do I have? Friends and family? Relationships?” He shakes his head. “I can’t control those. I can’t count on them. But as long as I’m dedicated, I’ve always been able to make things happen on the field. Football is my life. That’s how I like it.”
With his words, I understand something I didn’t before. He doesn’t jump from girl to girl because he’s waiting for something better to come along; he does it because a relationship means nothing to him. Football is first, second, and third, and everything else isn’t even worth a mention. As if I needed another reason to keep my heart locked up tight.
“Okay, so now’s the part where you tell me it’ll all work out and my NFL contract is practically in the bag,” he says, reminding me I’m supposed to continue this conversation as though the growing sense of hope I’ve been feeling all night didn’t just shatter.
