First and Goal (Moving the Chains #1) (5 page)

“Yeah, I know. You have a beautiful voice.”

I really hadn’t thought that comment through before it left my mouth.

She turns to me with a raised brow and a wary expression. “Sure. Because out of all the girls up on the stage, you were paying attention to me?”

Be cool, Falls. Be cool.

I shrug at her, trying to play my cards close to the vest. “You’re kinda hard to miss when you’re singing a solo.”

I’ve actually never missed a chance to watch
her
perform. She doesn’t need to know that right now. Jesus, I’m a stalker.

She stares at me blankly until I realize she’s waiting for my answer. I’m so stupid around her. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Um, I never sing to anyone. I have a horrible voice, but I sing in the shower and the car all the time.”

“Question six,” she reads. “If you lived to be ninety and you could pick either keeping the body of a thirty year old or the mind of a thirty year old, which would you choose?”

“That is a weird-ass question.” She laughs at my comment and it sounds…genuine.

I made Evie Papageorgiou laugh.

“Definitely going with mind,” I answer.

She laughs harder. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. My body might not be worth so much at thirty, the way I’m always beating it up. Never know when a career-ending injury might happen.” Most days I feel like a walking bruise.

“Well, you’re not called dumb jocks for no reason. Too many concussions and you could have mashed potatoes for brains at thirty. So is that your final answer?” she taunts.

“You’re right. I’m screwed either way. I’ll pick option three.”

“There is no option three,” she says unsurely, checking the paper.

“I don’t want to live to be ninety,” I joke.

“Oh, okay. I’ll accept that as a plausible third option. I would definitely choose body.”

And…she’s back to deflecting. I know for a damn fact she has an amazing mind. Still, my eyes wander over her gorgeous body that hasn’t been on display nearly enough since last year when her wardrobe underwent a major overhaul. I can’t stop myself from caressing her tan legs with my eyes. Thank God for ninety-degree weather and shorts.

“Seven,” I read quickly before she busts me. “How do you think you will die?”

I pause, rereading the paper. “What kind of sick, twisted question is this?”

She lets out another genuine laugh, and my heart misfires in my chest.

Raising an eyebrow at me, she whispers. “Agree to skip it?”

I’m down with being her partner in crime. “Agreed.”

“Eight: name three things you and your partner appear to have in common.” She grimaces before she’s even finished reading, probably imagining nothing.

She’s not looking at me, playing with her notebook paper again. It’s obvious this is a nervous habit of hers. The more little things like this she shows me, the more I can gauge how she’s feeling and how to respond. Second chances like this only come around once in a lifetime, and I can’t afford to blow it.

“Easy. Bio, calc, and Friday night lights.”

She laughs again, but this one isn’t as genuine. “I don’t play football.”

“No, but you’re at every game.” I smile at her, hoping she’ll catch on to what I didn’t say.

I notice you at every game, Evie.

“Okay. We’re both humans. We both go to the same school, and we’re both seniors.”

Not great, but not insulting, either. I take a deep breath before reading. “Nine: what are you most grateful for in life?”

“My family,” she answers without hesitation.

“That one wasn’t a lie, either.”

She doesn’t respond so I give my answer. “Football. The field is the only place I really matter; the only time I’m actually good at anything.”

Maybe if I do a better job of laying myself out there, she’ll follow suit. My answer is definitely no lie. If I weren’t such a coward off the field, Evie might never have been put through the torment of her ex’s lies that are still obviously affecting her. If I’d asked her out back then, and she was with me, she’d be treated like a queen.

“Ten,” she says so softly that I barely hear her. “If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?”

I’m not sure how to answer this one. I would have wanted to do what I wanted to do, not what Dad pushed me to do. No sense airing the dirty family laundry though. “I don’t know. Pass.”

“Yeah, agreed. Pass.” Something in her defeated tone raises my curiosity. Her family always seems so loving and normal.

I look at the next question and wince. “Ooh. Yeah, you’re not gonna like this one. Want another pass?”

11. In four minutes, tell your partner your life story. Use as much detail as possible.

“Oh, no,” she drawls, the sarcasm in her voice ratcheting up another notch. “You may have already heard this one in fact.”

I brace for impact, holding my breath. She’s intercepted my feeble attempt to let her off the hook. The ball is in her possession, and she takes off.

“I was born here, raised here. My father decided he didn’t want to be here anymore. I have some awesomely weird grandparents. My mom is a science teacher at the middle school.” She gestures to me with her pen. “You would’ve had her if you weren’t a rich, Catholic boy. I have a younger sister who drives me absolutely insane, but I love her, anyway, because it’s my job. I’m a relative nobody, a stereotypical geek. Mostly people left me alone…” she trails off, and her expression changes from sarcastic to furious. “Until last year when I decided to do something really fucking stupid and date Eddie Hinton. Ever since then it’s like I’m the school fucking prostitute. All the girls act like I’m trying to steal their boyfriends, but their supposedly faithful boyfriends make up half the guys that ask me to blow them. If I played a sport, it would definitely be baseball so I could use the bat to keep all the dogs away. Dogs like you. Here’s a little newsflash for you. I don’t actually spread my legs for anyone. Didn’t for him, won’t for you. I don’t care that you’re Rob-fucking-Falls, quarterback extraordinaire. And I certainly don’t care that you think you are God’s gift to women because I’m nothing like the rumors say. So save your white knight act. I can’t change that we have to be bio partners this quarter, so just try to be decent for the next eight weeks. Then we can go back to the way things used to be; you ignore me, and I’ll ignore you. And after graduation, we’ll never have to see each other again.” She sticks her pen in her mouth and gnaws on the cap.

Her gorgeous blue eyes blaze with anger and frustration, but the thing that sticks me the most is…she told me the honest-to-God-fucking truth just now. Sure, she might have laced her voice with contempt and bitterness, but she didn’t lie to me like she said she would. Whether she admits it or not, she cares what I think of her.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t erase the sting of how poorly she thinks of me. If I have to play hardball with her, then I will. I lean into her closely, and let loose. “I wasn’t born here, but I was raised here because my dad wanted me to attend the best football school in the tri-state area. He’s a raging alcoholic with a mean streak a mile wide. I’ve been running drills in my backyard since I could walk. While you had summer vacations and time off school, I was getting pimped out at every football camp across the nation. But that’s not good enough. Getting straight As isn’t an option in my house. Until this year, I was expected to hold down a job when I wasn’t playing ball or studying.

“I don’t have any siblings, and my life was pretty fucking lonely until I found brothers on the football field. Most of the time, I’m just home alone because my parents are always working. We don’t have any other family in the area, and my friends are always busy with their girls. I love my mom more than anything, and she’s the best thing I’ve got going for me lately. None of my grandparents are still alive, and only a few people know how much that bothers me. My grandfather committed suicide last year because he couldn’t live without my grandmother anymore. That’s why I have the shiny sports car out in the parking lot. He left it to me. I don’t have it because I’m a rich, Catholic kid. My parents have money; I’m expected to earn what I want, same as anyone else.

“I don’t think I’m God’s gift to women. I think they’re a curse for me. You already know what it’s like to have people only want you for one thing. Guess what? You’re not alone there. This is probably the most real conversation I’ve ever had with a member of the opposite sex. Most of the time, it’s like talking to a horny, immature idiot, and it makes me honestly consider taking a vow of celibacy.

“I’ve never believed any of those rumors about you from last year, and I sure as fuck didn’t help spread them. God, you’ve changed so much. I’m sorry for what happened with Eddie, but that’s no excuse to treat me like dirt. You think everyone else’s life is all shiny and happy, and you’re the only one with problems. If you’d quit pretending to be a bitch, you’d maybe notice that no one’s life is perfect, mine included. Quit letting the bad stuff control you and turn you into someone I know you’re not.”

The verbal diarrhea that just spewed out of my mouth hangs between us. I glance around quickly to see if anyone has overheard us, but they’re all busy with their own partners. I don’t dare look at Evie. Her glare burns the side of my face. Why can’t things just go back to the way they were? I’d give anything for a do-over of the past year.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Her voice drips poison. “You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. You sure as hell don’t get to tell me what to do. Just read the last fucking question.”

Man, did I just screw this up. I’ll think of a way to fix it later. “Twelve: If you woke up tomorrow with any quality or ability, what would you want it to be?”

“Being a math whiz." Her tone is hard and bitter. She’s right back to shielding herself with her arms wrapped tightly around her torso.

“Fair enough. I’d rather wake up tomorrow not being an ass. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have spoken like that to you.” God, I hate myself. I’m so fucking stupid. I can’t believe I just did that. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye, just in time to see her brush a stray tear off her cheek. “Listen, I know you don’t like me very much, but Mr. Smith didn’t exactly make the tutoring an option. Even if you can only spare twenty minutes, let’s meet in one of the library study rooms after practice, all right?”

“I guess I don’t really have a choice, do I?” She huffs.

“We always have choices, Eva.”

And I choose you.

M
y heart pounds with every step across the library. Not even the smell of paper and ink, so familiar and loved, is enough to calm my frazzled nerves. The study rooms are situated on the opposite wall from the entrance, so I have the considerable length of the wide-open space to rein in my emotions before my first tutoring session. Thankfully, the numerous tables and aisles between the shelves of books are mostly unoccupied. That means there’ll be less witnesses to spread more rumors. How much humiliation can one person possibly take in a calendar year?

Rob’s already here, stuffing pretzels into his mouth. His sandy brown hair is damp, making it appear several shades darker. He’s changed from his usual preppy attire. His shirt reads “Ironville Warriors Football”, and the gray cotton is discolored with sweat stains. He must’ve come straight from the field to meet me. He looks up when I enter the room, his eyes sparkling as they always do, his mouth full of food.