Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
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 a mathlete?”
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 to Mean Girls popularizing 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, that is a 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 pretty rare, 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.
“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 for Luca 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 not the Maguire, 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.