“What are the chances?” Luca says.
“Worse than getting kicked by a snake, I’d say.” When Luca chuckles at my word choice, I add, “I can’t take credit for that. My mom always says funny stuff like that.”
“You had to get your funny from somewhere.”
My heart rate quickens. I think I’m hilarious, actually, but mostly with my math friends. My math puns are seriously elite. But in other contexts, and especially with cute boys, I’ve never been particularly lauded for my sense of humor. And yet now, out of nowhere, this unbelievably gorgeous football player—a guy who’s an edge rusher, to boot!—is specifically calling me funny? It’s a huge rush for me, even if a part of my brain knows Luca’s almost certainly a flirt who’s merely telling me what I want to hear.
“So, what position do you play?” Luca asks, jerking me from my thoughts.
“We don’t really have official positions on the math team, but I think I’ve become our unofficial team captain and strategist.”
Luca cracks up. “No, on the football field. What’s your position?”
“Ooh.”
“You must be damned good for the Hoosiers to beg you to come play for them today.”
I laugh with him. “I’m a quarterback, of course. It’s the only position I know, so it was my only option.” Even Daisy knows quarterbacks exist, thanks to movies and pop culture references, so it’s my safest answer. The last thing I need is forLuca to figure me out and then brag to a teammate he flirted with Coach Parker’s daughter and she never once chewed his brother or Michigan out. If that were to happen, it’d only be a matter of time before my father and brothers would find out I engaged in a flirtatious conversation with a Maguire without defending my people.
Luca’s nottheMaguire, of course. Thankfully. God help me if I’d told Satan himself I didn’t mind him complimenting my eyes—my family and hometown would probably disown me. But, still, in my world, this boy is a Montague, and I’m a Capulet, so doing everything in my power to keep this conversation safely under wraps forever is mandatory.
“Now that I know you’re a quarterback,” Luca says, “it’s a good thing your math coach didn’t let you play me today. As an outside linebacker, one of my biggest jobs is taking down the opposing quarterback without mercy.”
I bat my eyelashes the same way Daisy did a few minutes ago. “But you wouldn’t do that tome, would you?”
I can’t believe what a flirt I’m being. It’s totally out of character for me to partake in this sort of silly communication style, especially when I’ve got an important math competition to prepare for, but Luca’s drawing me in and giving me tingles like nobody’s ever done before.
Luca nods slowly with mock solemnity. “Sorry to inform you, Chelsea, but I’d most definitely do it to you. I’m an edge rusher. That means I show exactly zero mercy to everyone, including you.”
I gasp. “No.”
Once again, Luca’s expression conveys the utmost seriousness. “I’ll show you mercy anywhere and everywhere else, but football is war, baby.” Luca drags his teeth over his lower lip as his dark, sparkling eyes remain locked with mine. “But, hey, if it makes you feel any better, I promise if I’d had to take you down like a clown, it would have hurt my very soul to do it.”
Football is war.Hell yeah, it is. Goddamn, those are the hottest words anyone’s ever spoken to me. In fact, hearing Luca say them while looking at me like he wants to lean in and kiss my lips is sending heat flashing over every inch of my skin.
“Well, at least you’d have a conscience about your war crimes,” I tease.
Luca laughs. “See? Funny. Like I said.” His cheeks flush. “Funny and pretty.”
Holy crap. Flustered, I shift in my seat and blurt, “So, in all seriousness, tell me more about what you do on your team. I don’t really understand what you meant when you said you ‘take down the opposing quarterback.’”
Luca lights up. Clearly, he’s excited to explain this to me. “Okay, so you know teams have offensive and defensive players, right? The offense, led by the quarterback, tries to score points, while the opposing team’s defense tries to stop them. Well, I’m on the defensive side of the ball, and one of my jobs is to try to stop the opposing quarterback from successfully throwing the ball to another one of his offensive players. To do that, I have to get past all the offensive players trying to protect their quarterback. Which is super hard to do. But if I do it, then I literally tackle their quarterback to ground. But only if he’s still holding the football, of course.”
“So you only tackle him before he’s gotten the chance to throw the ball to another player?”
“Exactly right! You’re getting it now. When I tackle the QB to the ground while he’s still got the ball, then that’s what’s called a sack.”
“A sack. Got it.”
“It’s a really big deal when I get one. Like, the holy grail for my position. There’s other important stuff I do, too, but that’s the biggest thing for me.”
“How often do you do this sack thing? Every game?”
He chuckles at my intentionally clunky word choice. “IfI’m lucky, I’ll get one sack per game. Two, if I’m really on fire. Three or more sacks in a single game would be considered a truly amazing performance. My best game ever in high school I got four of ’em, and that was seriously the best day of my life.”
He’s so cute. Man, I’d love to find out everything there is to know about his best game in high school. I’m sure the play-byplay would thrill me. But I can’t push my luck.
“What’s it called when you take down the quarterback after he throws the ball?” I’ve been asked this ridiculous, clueless question several times myself, so I know it’s a realistic one for a non-football fan to ask.
