“From the top.”

I can hardly hold in my smirk.

I ditched, figured I’d be cool when game time came, focused enough on playin’ hard that my mind wouldn’t fuck with me, but the second I pull in, I realize how wrong I was.

It’s formal, the night where, every year, the school recognizes the seniors on varsity, and of fucking course this year we’re to be escorted by the dance team.

I’m not walking. I don’t give a fuck, I’ll wait on the sidelines with the few juniors on the team.

Not that it matters, I heard Demi never went back, like she said she wouldn’t, which only proves further what a dick I am. I came in and fucked up her little world.

Dance was one of the only things she did for herself and now she can’t even look at her coach.

I climb from my truck and grab my bag from the back, slinging it over my shoulder.

At least I won’t have to stand there and watch her with anyone else.

The moment I think it, I’m reminded of how nothing in my life ever plays out the way I want it to.

I step between the buildings in time to spot the dance team, all wrapped in their silk coverings to hide their costumes, and the football team gathered together as the guys start handing over their jackets.

My feet lock in place when Trent moves toward Demi, who gives him nothing but a tight smile and nod as she walks off.

Something has Trent’s head turning this way, and he spots me.

He tips his chin, so I tip mine back, but decide to cut left, going the long way around to avoid everyone.

I’m dressed out and ready to go before the rest of the guys even filter into the locker room.

I tap on Coach’s door, sticking my head in. “I’m feelin’ tight, cool if I head out there early, start warming up?”

He eyes me, not believing a word I’ve said. He might not speak much when it’s not football related, but he pays attention. “We’re walking with the girls, Sykes.”

“Can’t, Coach.” I don’t say anything else, but after a few seconds, he nods his permission, so I avoid eye contact with everyone I pass and head straight to the field.

I don’t warm up, but join the JV team on the sideline, watching along as their game comes to an end.

I glance back, finding the stands filling up more and more by the minute, everyone eager to see the show.

Macy catches my eye, Carley and Krista right beside her, already in their cheer gear for when we begin, but I swiftly look away.

Quicker than I’m ready for the game is over, the field cleared, and the announcer comes back on the speaker.

The crowd settles, all to pep back up and louder than before when the guys emerge from the inflatable tunnel and keep forward across the field. In one, solid, straight line, they stand, dressed and ready to play. The only thing they’re missing are their helmets.

The crowd dies down, and again grows louder as the girls file out, completely in sync with the speed of each step and the space between them all, the letterman’s jackets draped over their left arms, game socks up to their knees and little referee outfits to match.

Demi is in the middle, no jacket across her forearm but her fists on her hips, Thompson right behind her.

I reach up, gripping my gear below my neck, moving from one foot to the next to keep myself calm.

The music starts, but it’s a simple hit of a drum, and the girls take one step forward. Another, and they take one step out.

Everyone starts to cheer as our coaching staff slips through the middle and make their way over, the announcer introducing them over the loudspeaker.

Another boom from a drum and the girls turn sideways, each guy strategically removing the jackets and holding them out for the girls to slide into.

But Thompson suddenly drops back, falling into the line of my teammates as Trent steps out and forward.

Toward Demi, his jacket in his own hand.

I clench my jaw, grinding my teeth as he holds it out for her, and her hands slip into the sleeves.

Is he for real?

Is she for fucking real?

I squint when Trent emerges from behind her, quickly jogging this way.

“What the hell is he doing?” is hissed, and my head snaps to my left to find Miranda on her knees a few feet away, tripod perched in front of her with a video camera attached.

I look forward right as Trent reaches the sidelines, slipping directly beside me with a smirk in place.

I glare, but my eyes snap toward the field when the music kicks on, and the girls fall in line.

I try to tip my head to the side to see who is behind Demi but can’t see.

Trent chuckles and I cut a quick scowl at him before focusing back on the field.

The crowd goes crazy as the girls and their partners begin to go through the shit we’d been practicing, but my eyes stay stuck to D as she makes the same moves, a little more pronounced and all on her own. No partner.

They get to where the girls spin out, holding onto the guy’s hand, but Demi doesn’t spin. She keeps her legs planted out, her ass facing this way, but she twists her hips looking over her shoulder, right at me.

The team is trained not to move forward until she does.

So they wait.

For what?

“You even paying attention, man?” Trent whispers. “Look at her.”

Pressure falls on my chest as I force my eyes to the last name stitched across the jacket.

My stomach jumps, twisting and turning all at once.

Sykes.

My gaze flies to hers.

Baby...

“She’s waitin’, Nic.”

I look to him.

“Go.”

My feet carry me to her.

The second number 24’s feet hit the turf, the crowd flips out.

When Carley, Krista, and Macy’s screams are heard above them all, I chuckle through the tears that are forming, but I’m too afraid to take my eyes off Nico to glance around.

I keep my position, my head turned, and Nico, being Nico, slides up behind me, his eyes locked on mine and far more intense than ever before.

My body aches to lean into his, but there’s no time for anything other than what we’re out here for right now, so I slide my hand into his rough one, spinning into him.

His lips press into a firm line, a sudden hopelessness filling his dark eyes, the second my body presses against his, and all I want to do is wash it away.

I will soon.

“Walk me to my spot?” I whisper.

“Where?” he rasps.

“Center.”

He steps out and around like he would have in the performance.

We take two strides forward, everyone else sliding with us but staying a space back and the announcer begins to run off the team numbers, giving their starts and ambitions, each one releasing their partner’s hand as their name is read and stalking across the field. Nico is the last on the field, and completely reluctant to let me go and walk away, but slowly he does.

The last name mentioned is Trent’s, who turns to wave up at the stands then falls back in line with the younger players on the sidelines.

Now it’s our turn.

Miranda cues the music.

We run through our routine, and my eyes stay locked on Nico’s the entire time, I fight a smirk when the end rolls around and we let the jackets slide from our shoulders, showing the numbers that were positioned inside the jackets to Velcro over the backs of our shirts, each representing our partners. A large 24 now plastered across mine.