“I don’t mind.”
He doesn’t seem to believe me, judging by the surprised expression on his face.
“I wanted to be captain for so long. Now that I am, I’m not about to complain about the responsibilities that fall on my shoulders because of it.”
His surprise morphs to understanding. “I get that.”
“You do?”
“Sure. You want to make sure your teammates have everything they need at all times. If you take on more, they can focus on the things that matter most.”
“Exactly,” I say, feeling relief that he gets it.
“There’s just one problem.”
“What’s that?”
“You’re taking care of everyone else, and no one has your back.”
I open my mouth to protest, but no words come out.
“You shouldn’t be staying late at the field by yourself and attempting to carry fifty-pound bags of equipment on your own just because you don’t want to inconvenience your teammates.”
“Says the guy who gets to the soccer field before the rest of his teammates and always stays later.” Maybe he thinks I haven’t noticed, but I have.
“I didn’t say I was perfect at it.” He flashes a wide smile that makes my stomach flip. “People want to feel useful. If you can delegate the tasks across the team, then everyone feels like they’re a key player…er, cheerleader.”
I let out a small laugh.
His smile turns into a lopsided grin. “Anyway, that’s just been my experience. Take it for what it’s worth.”
“It’s worth a lot, actually.”
In the parking lot, our steps slow.
“How are you feeling about the test?” I ask. Throughout the game I was able to sneak up a few times each quarter to check in on him. He worked through my study guide and even did more problems on his own.
“Good,” he says, then frowns as if he’s surprised by the answer. “I mean, I think I’ll be ready. I finally understand complex numbers now. Thanks to you.”
“You will be,” I assure him. “You can do this. You have another day to review, but you know the material. Take your time and double-check your work after you finish each problem, but you are going to ace that test.”
His head tilts to the side as he stops next to his SUV. “Acing it might be far-fetched. I’ll settle for passing.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Collins. You’re a smart guy.”
His stare drops to my mouth and slowly lifts. My skin heats, and my pulse picks up speed again.
I’m just about to say goodbye and put some much-needed, head-clarifying distance between us when Vaughn says, “I liked the new routine. Did you choreograph it yourself?”
“I did,” I say slowly, surprised by the compliment and the question.
“You’re good at it.”
“Do you know a lot of cheerleading choreography?”
“I know what’s entertaining to watch and what isn’t.”
Fair point, I guess.
