“Thanks. I’m so hungry, I could eat a Hoosier.” With that, Roman freaking Maguire’s smoking-hot younger brother plops his piled-high plate of food onto our small table and slides his muscular ass into the chair next to mine. “Thanks for letting me crash your party, ladies. I’m Luca, by the way.”
I exchange a flabbergasted look with Daisy. Plainly, she didn’t expect this incredible specimen of a man to sit down at our table any more than I did.
“Hi, Luca. I’m Daisy and this is Chelsea.”
“Hey, Daisy.” Luca’s dark eyes shift to me. “Chelsea. It’s great to meet you both.” To my shock, he continues staring only at me when he speaks again, even though it’s Daisy who’s brazenly flirting with him. “So, what brings you to the world-renowned resort town of Bloomington, Indiana?” An embarrassing snort escapes me at Luca’s silly joke, and he snickers at the comical sound. With twinkling brown eyes, he sets his forearm onto the small bit of space between us at the table and leans toward me. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Chelsea, but you have really pretty eyes. The bluest I’ve ever seen.Wow.”
I blush crimson. “No, I-I don’t mind you saying that. At all. Thank you.” I realize after a beat, I should probably compliment his dark eyes in return, since they’re warm and soulful in a way that’s extremely alluring. But I just can’t bring myself to compliment a Maguire, even after he’s complimented me.
As a general matter, Ohio State’s heated, to-the-death rivalry with Michigan has always been legendary—like a religion. In fact, most people agree it’s the biggest and most contentious rivalry in all of college football. But thanks to Roman Maguire’s recent one-two punch in back-to-back seasons, my entire hometown of die-hard Buckeyes despises not only Michigan these days, but Roman “Satan” Maguire, too. And, of course, my family is particularly committed to the hatred, given that my father is Ohio State’s head coach and my oldest brother played linebacker during both embarrassing losses to Satan and his minions.
In the thick silence, Luca bites his lower lip and flashes me a flirtatious look that makes the small channel of air betweenour bodies feel supercharged all of a sudden, causing me to blush.
“And that’s my cue to leave,” Daisy says with a laugh. Plainly, she’s clocked the sudden shift in energy between Luca and me.
“No, it’s okay,” I blurt.
“I want to do some prep before the competition, anyway.” She closes her laptop and pops out of her seat with a wicked smirk. “Take your time, Chelsea. We’ve got plenty of time before we need to go. I’ll be in the room.” She says her goodbyes to our guest, shoots me a wink that says, “Go for it, tiger,” and off she goes with a swish of her hips and her computer bag on her shoulder.
As Daisy leaves, Luca asks, “What’s the competition she mentioned? Cheerleading? Dance? You look like a dancer.”
Man, I’d love to jump right in and trash-talk his big brother. And then, if he’s still standing and willing to talk to me, find out as much as possible about the Cornhuskers’ defensive scheme, since Ohio State will be playing them later in the season.
I think the Cornhuskers use a 3-3-5 stack defense, but I can’t remember without looking it up. The last time the Buckeyes played them, they used elements of a 3-3-5 with varied fronts, I believe. Maybe even elements of a 4-2-5. But since talking about any of that stuff is totally out of the question, I simply answer his question.
“A regional math tournament. Daisy and I are on our school’s math team with four other teammates.”
A grin hitches up the left side of Luca’s beautiful lips. “You’re amathlete?”
It’s not a first. Nobody ever pegs me as a math nerd at first sight. In fact, throughout all of high school, whenever I went on the field to help my father or his linebacker coach, I was often mistaken for a cheerleader.
I open my mouth to say something snarky like “What, girls can’t be good at math?” But before I get a single word out, Luca adds, “What a crazy coincidence. So am I!”
My anticipatory hackles simmer down as a chuckle escapes me. “A mathlete?”
“Yep. The same as you.”
I can’t help but giggle. Non-math people always use that word in relation to math nerds like me, thanks toMean Girlspopularizing it. And while it’s theoretically possible this towering D1 athlete in a high-intensity football program is telling the truth and he’s somehow found the time to pursue his side passion for math along with football, it’s highly unlikely.
“Wow, thatisa crazy coincidence,” I agree.
“I love math so much, in fact, I signed up for today’s math competition, too.”
“You did? No way.”
“But then, dang it, I found out today’s football game conflicted, and my coach wouldn’t let me skip the game to pursue my true passion.”
“Of math?”
“Absolutely. I live for math, Chelsea. It’s my drug. My reason for being.”
I can’t help but snort again. “Well, Luca, you’re probably not going to believe this, but the team you’re playing today asked me to come to Bloomington to play for them, but my math coach wouldn’t let me skip today’s competition to pursue my true passion.”
“Football is your true passion?”
“I live for it.” I snicker to myself at the veiled truth of the statement.
I don’t think it’s likely Luca would put two and two together about my identity if I were to admit my genuine passion for football to him. But then again, women with a detailed and in-depth knowledge about the sport are prettyrare, especially when it comes to women my age, so the conversation would likely spark Luca’s curiosity and lead to nothing good for me. College football is a small world, and I’m extremely findable online, since I’ve stood next to my father on the sidelines and during postgame interviews too many times to count.
