Page 64 of Campus Heat

I risked a glance toward the sideline, and there he was. He wasn’t leaning anymore. He was standing, and all his focus was on me. His hands gripped the railing like it would change something else, and he needed to keep that from happening. There were no jokes, and no one was shouting. They were all just watching me.

The look on Ethan’s face sent a warm spark down my spine.

I almost made it ten yards before a senior lunged and ripped my flag free. My team groaned dramatically, but I spun around and held my hands up in mock triumph.

“We advanced the ball,” I yelled.

“By eight yards,” Jenna shouted back.

“This is progress!”

The rest of the game unfolded in spectacular imbalance. The seniors ran structured plays while the juniors ran on enthusiasm and good vibes. I slipped trying to pivot on one play and landed flat on my back. I just stayed down, staring up at the bright blue sky and laughing so hard that my ribs hurt. I should’ve been annoyed, but I wasn’t. I was having way too much fun to care.

When the final whistle blew, the seniors were up by two touchdowns and an embarrassingly effective trick play that involved a fake lateral and far too much screaming. I leaned forward and put my hands on my knees as I tried to stop my lungs from burning so much that they could start a fire.

We had lost, and we did it in the most epic way imaginable, but as I stood there, I felt light. It wasn’t because losing didn’t matter, because this specific loss didn’t cost me anything. There were no rankings, and we didn’t have to worry about our futures or our identities. It was just an afternoon of fun in the sun and quite a few regrets in the making.

When I straightened, Ethan was already walking toward me. I allowed myself to take in the view and realized that he walked differently when he was on the field. It looked like he was one with the grass, as if it was the one place he truly belonged. Even off-season and while being unofficial, he carried that quiet athletic certainty.

He came to a stop right in front of me, and his eyes immediately began to scan. He took in my grass strained thighs, flushed cheeks and the loose strands of hair that were plastered to the back of my neck.

“You’re smiling,” he said as he ran a finger over my chin. “How could you possibly be happy at a time like this?”

I shrugged. “We got crushed, but that doesn’t mean I have to be a sore loser. We can sulk, or we can enjoy the festivities.”

“But you’re literally glowing.” His astonishment was written all over his face. “There’s a difference between shrugging it off and being happy that you lost.”

I tried my best to suppress my smile. I should’ve known that this would knock him right off his pedestal, but it was exactly that reaction that was the most priceless. I pushed my hair back, still trying to catch my breath.

“It was fun,” I said. “We’re not football players, and even though we watch you all the time, we actually had no idea what we were doing on that field.”

He frowned and put a hand to my forehead. “Are you sick? You hate losing just as much as I do. So you can’t tell me you’re going to walk away from that without being affected by the loss.”

I arched a brow and finally allowed my smile to break free. “It was a stupid little game, not something serious. So yes, I hate losing, but that only counts if I have something to lose. Until then, it’s just… fun.”

“How did this not cost you something? The whole school was watching.”

I glanced around and saw the seniors chest-bumping like they had won some sort of championship. Then I saw the rest of my team collapsing with laughter. And on top of all that, the alumni were filming everything. Premium content.

“Nah,” I said softly. “This didn’t cost me anything.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, because for him, a loss always came at a price. But the real game was tonight, under the stadium lights and in front of alumni, scouts, and everyone else who had an opinion that mattered.

“You’re thinking about what’s going to happen in your game,” I said cautiously. “You’re afraid of losing again.”

He didn’t bother replying, and he didn’t need to either. I had grown to know him well enough to understand exactly what that meant.

“It’s hard not to,” he eventually said with a shrug. “Did you see the list of people who’re gonna be there? This could be the most important game of my career.”

I stepped closer so that the noise from the tailgate could swallow our conversation.

“The outcome of one game doesn’t determine who you are as a player,” I said, hoping to reassure him. “You do know that, right?”

“It sounds simple enough, but it definitely doesn’t feel that way.” His nerves were starting to show through. “How could a loss on a day as important as this not determine the future of my career?”

“It feels that way because you attach meaning to everything. So what if you don’t win? You’re building a team from scratch. That has got to count for something.”

He gave me a look that was designed to argue, and I countered it with one of my own. There was no way he was going to win this battle.