I could only see the whites of his eyes under the helmet, but he was grinning like a fool. Couldn’t blame him. Scoring was a motherfucking rush, and being defense, Barclay rarely got the opportunity. Just made it all the sweeter that it was against Ohio State.
The extra point kick was good, and now we were up by fourteen. Energy pumped through my system and I felt high. Ready to take on Crawford again, and this time, beat him.
Yet, something was . . . off.
There was a weird tingle at the base of my spine. I sobered as I realized what it was, and turned over my shoulder to look at her. My mouth went dry.
I’d seen her upset before. The night I’d surprised her at the Buckeye Bar, her expression had twisted with hurt at her mother’s reaction. And I’d seen Kayla stare at me with annoyance. With excitement teeming in her eyes. And, my favorite—lust. She was insanely sexy like that.
But I’d never seen her look at me with such cold eyes and a hard expression etched on her face.
She glared at me, not as a boyfriend who’d pissed her off, but as an adversary.
As an enemy.
-39-
KAYLA
We didn’t score in the second quarter either, but at least our defense stopped Michigan, so something was working. Hopefully Coach Vaughn and the rest of the staff would give the team a good talking to, and the offense would get their asses in the game. We’d had one good drive until the fumble, and it’d been downhill after that.
When there was less than a minute left in the half, the Ohio State marching band assembled behind the end zone. I wandered through the members like a labyrinth, chasing after the silver bells of the sousaphones until I found Chuck.
“It’s almost time,” I said. “Nervous?”
Chuck shook his head, but he looked pale and clammy, and stage fright was hitting him full-force. Dotting the ‘I’ was something he’d been looking forward to his entire marching band career, but his gaze swung around frantically now, as if searching for someone to pass the responsibility on to. If I asked, it was likely he’d slap that enormous tuba on me and shove me out there in his place.
“You don’t look nervous,” I lied. “Which is good. I figure you won’t mind this.”
“What?” he asked.
I darted past a few trumpets and grabbed Beth’s arm, interrupting her conversation with someone else. She lifted her eyebrows in surprise.
“I’m Kayla. Can I borrow you for a sec? I need your help.”
Beth seemed too confused to say anything and let me drag her toward Chuck. When he saw we were coming, his mouth hung open. He looked like he wanted to run, but was rooted to his spot on the turf.
“Beth, this is Chuck.”
Her unsure gaze went from me to him. “Hi. I know who you are.”
“What are you doing?” Chuck hissed at me.
“Acting like a middle-schooler, apparently,” I fired back. Chuck’s opportunities to make a move were dwindling to nothing. After today, there’d only be a bowl game performance, or hopefully two, and I didn’t want my best friend to be filled with regret. I focused back on the bewildered Beth. “He’s nervous about dotting the ‘I’ and I thought you could help.”
“Me?” she asked.
I nodded. “Yup.”
When I didn’t elaborate, she glanced at Chuck, who was growing paler by the second, and she gave him a soft smile. “You did great at practice, so I’m sure you’ll do great now.” She bit down on her bottom lip for a moment. “Stay positive.”
His eyes went as wide and round as his sousaphone bell. It was the sign he’d been waiting for.
“I love you,” he whispered.
Beth blinked. “What?”
“He’s talking to me,” I said, covering him. “I love you, too. He’s like my brother.”
He cleared his throat. “What I meant was I love . . .Ewan McGregor.”
Oh, Chuck. Beth looked at him like he was weirdo.
But he was undeterred. “He’s got that new movie coming out.” His confidence built as he spoke. “We should go see it.”
Just when it seemed she couldn’t look any more surprised, Beth did it. “Like . . . a date?”
“We marched pregame next to each other last year but I never got up the nerve to talk to you. So, if you reject me, you have the potential to do a lot of damage.” Chuck’s grin was charming. “Just FYI, no pressure.”
Beth gave a nervous, but warm sounding laugh. “Um . . . sure.”
One shade of color returned to his face. “Yeah?”
“I wanted to talk to you, too, but . . .” Her voice faded and a blush crept over her cheekbones. “But I’m, like, kinda awkward?”
“Oh, I’m super awkward!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, he really is,” I added.
The crowd cheered as the clock struck zero, and I snaked my way out of the band as they lined up for the halftime show.
I huddled with the other cheerleaders up against the wall to shield us from the wind as we watched the marching band perform. After they finished their show, they played our fight song and moved into a new formation, which had to be Script Ohio. The high-stepping drum major led Chuck across the turf to his spot, and broke off, leaving my friend alone as the dot. He turned in place, and did the traditional deep bow, swinging the bell of his heavy sousaphone all the way down to the ground. He moved as if it weighed nothing.
I was so proud of my friend and damn excited for him.
It was easier to focus on Chuck than the game or my current feelings for Michigan’s number eighty-eight, so I chose to do that until halftime ended and the teams came out of the locker room. I grabbed my pom-poms, shook out the tension in my shoulders, and slathered a bright smile on my face.
The third quarter got off to a slow start for the Wolverines, and Michigan was forced to punt. The ball hung in the air and came down into our punt returner’s hands, and my sixth-sense tingled. We were always the most dangerous when we fell behind on the score.
Our punt returner took off as if shot from a cannon and danced around Michigan players. He sidestepped a blue and yellow jersey, cutting around the opponent and staying on his feet as he bolted downfield. My heart beat in my throat as I watched him scramble past more players. Only the kicker was left.
The poor attempt at a tackle glanced off our returner, and his legs carried him into the end zone. The cheerleaders and I went ballistic as the majority of the crowd was painfully silent. Our punt returner knelt in the end zone while his teammates ran to catch up and pile around him, cheering.
“Touchdown, Ohio State,” the announcer stated.
Finally. We were back in the game. After the extra point was good, I sank down into the pushup position with the rest of my squad and hammered out seven pushups. I’d never been a fan of them at practice, but I freaking loved the tradition of doing them on gameday. There was nothing better than sitting at the Buckeye Bar with my family when my arms felt like rubber from the sixty or more pushups I had to do throughout the game.
The score hung out at 14-7 all through the third quarter, though.