Page 116 of The Villain We Tempt

“Tryouts for…?”

Nacho gives me a look. “For the Privateers, bro. Marco is leaving school?”

Okay, yeah. Marco Cervi, our beast of a tight end,isactually leaving Knightsblood a semester and a half early. His uncle, the current head of the Milan-based Cervi family, just had a bad cancer diagnosis, and Marco is going to be stepping up to run things for a while.

But that's not the bigger question here.

“You…want to join the football team?” I say, trying to keep the shocked concern out of my voice.

Look, I’m all for everybody having an equal shot. When Drago took a semester of adult beginner ballet in an effort to improve his flexibility on the field and the ice, he sucked, but who cares. When Galina’s friend Arianna decides to wear the men’s school uniform because she hates skirts? More power to her. And again, who thefuckcares.

But there are just certain things in life, like college football, that aren’t going to be open to everyone, and that’s not life being a dick, that's just the way the cookie crumbles.

Iplay football because I’m six-foot-three and two-hundred and twenty pounds of lean, hardened muscle.

Nacho, meanwhile, is five foot six on a good day and somewhere around a hundred and twenty pounds of French fries and energy drinks.

All power to him, and it’s great that he wants to get in shape. But this dude woulddieon a football field.

Nacho grins at me. “Hellyeah, man. Go Privateers!”

“Cool,” I say through a tight smile. “That’s…cool.” I clear my throat. “Good luck. Holler if you need any advice on training. I’m just about to head out for a run?—”

“Good call, man. Let’s do it.”

Wait.

“What?”

“Let’s go for a run together, Loch!”

I bite back a groan, then exhale.

Fuck it. Why not.

A mile later, I’m seeingexactlywhy not. Nacho is about fifty feet behind me and sounds like he’s dying. I give it another thirty seconds before I truly cannot take anymore. I stop running and turn to face him.

“Nacho? Take a break.”

He doesn’t fight me. In fact, he looks like the most relieved motherfucker in the world. He groans, immediately drops to the shoulder of the road leading up to Griswold Hill, and starts sucking in huge lungfuls of air.

“Listen, man…” I frown as I squat down next to him while he wheezes. “Why thefuckdo you want to be on the Privateers?”

He nods, still trying to catch his breath. He swallows and then finally manages to string words together.

“A girl.” He shrugs and looks down.

I grin and clap him on the shoulder. “Man, there are plenty of ways to impress a girl. Trying to get on a college football team that plays at our level might not be the best route for you, though.”

Shit.

The look in his eyes like I just kicked his puppy sucks. But what’s going to suck even more is this poor kid showing up to try out for a tight end position alongside dudes three times his size who arealsoalready on the hockey or rugby teams. He'll literally get killed.

I exhale. “Sorry, Nacho. I just mean…” I sigh. “So, this girl is into football players?”

He frowns. “All girls are into football players.”

I shake my head. “Nope. My cousin Bella goes out of her way to express how much shehatesfootball players—all sports, actually.”