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“Skinner?”
“You missed Park slapping him across the face at Bleachers last night.”
“She what?”
“I’d have handled it, but she insisted she did, and she followed it up with a guilt trip. She said there’s never been a fight at Bleachers and told me to walk away for Joey.”
A loud whistle pulls our attention down the row. Did I except to see two fingers leaving Riley’s mouth as she waves for us to come down? Hell no, but I kind of like that.
“She’s into you, Rivera. Enjoy the ride, man.”
We make our way to the seats, and Leo gives me a side hug. “Plant your ass wherever you see a spot. Between us, we’ve got four rows, six wide.”
“Thanks, Stone.”
He lifts his chin toward Riley. “Heard you thought Riley was calling it quits, and you’re the cause of her busting her nose.”
“Yeah, it was an interesting morning, to say the least.” I laugh.
Leo shakes Koa’s hand. “This hockey thing doesn’t work out, man, you two should take last night’s act on the road. Fucking genius lyrics, my men.”
Koa nods. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
As fun as it is catching up, all I can think about is what the fuck Skinner did to Riley and how I’m gonna make him pay. I think about that the entire first half, because apparently, we’re at a middle school dance, and the boys are all hanging in one area, while the girls are in another.
As messed-up as that is, and as much as I want answers to this shit with Skinner, I’m an athlete, the girl I’m tripping on is right here, and the game … it’s fucking intense.
At halftime, I wait until Riley heads to the bathroom or to get a drink, so I can meet up with her, but when she does, it’s with her girls.
“Stop pouting, man. She smiled at you.” Stone shakes his head. “If anyone should be pouting, it should be me. My girls down there, too, and I won’t be seeing her on campus next week. I’ll be busting my ass and getting reamed by a coach who has to make a name for herself.”
“That’ll be …” I pause and can’t come up with anything, so I go with the reality of the situation. “You guys are so fucked, but you’re fucked with a fat bank account, playing a game you love for a paycheck.”
“You and this guy will be pro before you know it.” Leo lifts his chin to Koa. “You throwing in for the draft this year?”
“Not sure what I wanna do yet.” He shrugs.
“One hundred and ten percent sure Costello busts a nut if you sign with the Bears.”
“Definitely,” I agree.
Koa takes a swig from his water bottle and looks out at the field.
During halftime, a young-looking, middle-aged couple asks if the seats directly behind us are free, offered to pay us for them. I grab Leo’s attention, and he tells them to sit and enjoy.
As the game is about to restart, the man asks Koa and I why the hell we aren’t out there instead of sitting in the stands.
Overhearing this, Evan Smith leans back. “Football’s a cute sport. We came to cheer on a friend.”
“Cute?” He forces out a laugh.
“Lucas.” His woman shakes her head.
“Baby, they called football cute. Puppies are cute, kittens, too. Football isn’t cute.”
“Ignore him. He’s a hockey guy,” Kameron cuts in.
The blonde woman sticks out her hand to Kameron and they shake. “Hockey’s no joke. I never played at this level or on skates, but I did play field hockey in high school and still have scars to prove it. I’m Tessa Links. This guy”—she throws her thumb over her shoulder—“is my husband, Lucas.”
