Chasing the Rush (Football and Feels #2)

Chapter 1 Chelsea

Chelsea

Bloomington, Indiana

“LOOKS LIKE OUR serenity is about to get shattered by a pack of starving hyenas.” Daisy snorts. “They’re hot, though. I’ll give ’em that.”

My new friend’s comment prompts me to look up from the color-coded spreadsheet I’m working on for our math team. A college football team—Nebraska’s, based on the logos printed on their T-shirts and sweats—has blasted into the breakfast area of our budget hotel.

“You think they’re a team of some kind?” Daisy asks innocently, surveying the rowdy young men as they raucously descend upon the tepid buffet offerings and jockey to pile soggy scrambled eggs onto paper plates.

I smirk to myself, amused but not surprised my friend hasn’t instantly recognized this breed of athletic young men as football players.

For my part, thanks to my upbringing, I’m already mentally sorting them into their positions on the football field, based on body type: running backs, receivers, cornerbacks, offensive linemen, and so on.

And let’s not forget my all-time favorite position: linebackers.

Better yet if they’re an outside linebacker.

And better still if a guy is an OLB that’s an edge rusher—the guy tasked with breaking through the opposing offensive line and taking down his opponent’s quarterback. Yum.

“Maybe they’re a wrestling team?” Daisy offers nonchalantly, her gaze continuing to drift across the testosterone-laden chaos.

Her suggestion is ludicrous, quite frankly, but I refrain from saying so. Daisy knowing I come from a die-hard football family that includes a head coach and two NFL players is one thing; scaring her off by saying something that could make me sound like a know-it-all blowhard would be another.

Daisy’s the only good friend I’ve made so far since starting at Northwestern two months ago, and I’d really like to continue building the friendship.

Daisy’s the sort of person I’ve always dreamed of having in my life—a fun, wild-child type—so I’m determined not to give her the ick by revealing Stat-Keeping Football Fanatic Chelsea too early.

“I feel like they’re most likely football players,” I murmur vaguely.

“Well, if anyone would know about that, it’s you.” Daisy scans the melee for another long beat. “Although I’m kinda thinking they look like soccer players.”

I press my lips together. Those are football physiques, as surely as my name is Chelsea Parker.

Also, Indiana’s campus is only a few miles away, and today is Saturday—game day in the world of college football.

Plus, they’ve all got NEbrASKA plastered all over their clothes, and that particular university is in the Big Ten Conference, along with Indiana, which means the two schools are likely opponents in today’s game.

So, put all those facts together, along with the approximate number of them being exactly what I’d expect to see for a traveling football team, and there’s not a doubt in my mind those young men are Nebraska’s football players, come to Bloomington as the visiting team for today’s home game at Indiana.

I don’t feel the need to convince Daisy I’m right, however, so I simply shrug and return to my spreadsheet.

But only a few seconds later, Daisy pokes my arm and whispers, “Hey, do any of those hotties catch your eye?” She waggles her eyebrows.

“I know you said you don’t want a boyfriend for at least a couple years, but maybe you could have your first fling tonight after the competition.

” She smiles mischievously. “I bet any of those boys would be more than willing to make out with you for your first time.” She snickers. “Or with me for my twentieth.”

I roll my eyes and return to my spreadsheet. “You do you, Daisy. But that’s not what I came here for. I came to win.”

“Why can’t we do both?”

I look up from my screen. “Even if I were going to let myself get distracted like that, why would I do it with someone I’d never see again? They’re Cornhuskers, Daisy. From Nebraska.”

“That’s exactly my point. You could have some fun checking off some of those boxes you keep talking about and never have to worry about the guy turning into a cling-on and suddenly thinking he’s got the right to tell you what to do.”

She’s parroting my own words back to me.

That’s what I told her during freshman orientation when the topic of boyfriends came up, because that’s how it went down for two of my best friends from back home, once they got their first boyfriends.

After living under the watchful, protective eyes of my father and two big brothers my whole life, why would I want any man thinking he’s got a say in what I do, now that I’m finally free and on my own?

“Well, regardless, I couldn’t possibly do that tonight because I’m one hundred percent positive we’ll make it into the finals, which means we’ll need to come back here and prepare as much as humanly possible before getting to bed at a reasonable hour so we maximize brain function with a full eight hours of sleep.

” As Daisy well knows, the top six teams in today’s first round of the competition will advance to tomorrow’s finals, and it’d take an act of God to keep a team like ours out of them.

Daisy pats my hand. “I say this with love, but you need to live a little. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. There will be other math competitions over the next four years, but when will we ever be staying in the same hotel as a bunch of hot athletes? It’s a rare gift from the gods of horndoggery and we should seize the opportunity. ”

I can’t help giggling. I’ve never met anyone like Daisy Brenner.

She’s certainly nothing like my straitlaced friends back home in Ohio.

“Well, it might be a rare gift from the gods of horndoggery for you, but I’ve traveled with my father and his team, and my two brothers and their teams, for as long as I can remember, so staying in the same hotel as a bunch of football players is nothing new to me. ”

Daisy flashes me a naughty look. “But have you stayed in a hotel with a bunch of football players when you’re away at college and your daddy and brothers aren’t around to watch you and all those football players like a hawk?”

I can’t help but return her playful smirk. “No. Can’t say I have.”

“For the first time ever, you’re surrounded by a bunch of hot football players and you’re not the head coach’s daughter to them. Think about that.”

She’s making some sense, actually.

“To them,” she adds, “you’re just some random hot girl on a computer who hasn’t paid any of them a lick of attention, even though they’re all trying to catch your eye.”

“They are not.”

“Yes, they are. Several of them have been scoping you out this whole time, and you haven’t even noticed.”

“If they’re looking over here, they’re looking at you, Daisy.”

“Some are, for sure. But others are into you. And I can most definitely tell which are which. Come on, Chelsea. Look around for a minute and pick one you like, and I’ll go over there and play matchmaker for you.”

I gasp. “Oh my God, Daisy. Absolutely not.”

She laughs. “Are you sure?”

“If I promise to try to ‘live a little’ when we get back to school, will you drop this? Right now, we need to be laser-focused on advancing today and taking home the trophy tomorrow.”

Daisy huffs out a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

We both return to our computers, and for a quiet, blessed moment, I think Daisy’s finally moved on.

“It tracks that they’re Cornhuskers,” she says, out of the blue. “Since they all look so damned corn-fed. Oooh, look at that stupidly hot one that just came in! Yummy.”

Football players are a dime a dozen to me, no matter what they look like.

But I can’t deny I’m curious what my new friend’s idea of “stupidly hot” might be, especially if she’s planning to play matchmaker for me when we get back to school; so I take a quick peek against my better judgment.

And that’s when I see the most stupidly hot, gorgeous body I’ve ever seen.

He’s got his head turned when I look over there, as he talks animatedly to one of his teammates, but even so, I can tell that he’s extremely tall and muscular, with dark, thick hair and NEbrASKA emblazoned across his broad, impressive chest.

“Yep. He’s pretty hot,” I concede, returning to my computer.

“You didn’t wait for him to turn his head. His face is gorgeous.”

But she’s already lost me. After seeing that boy’s insane body, I’m already searching the internet for Nebraska’s roster so I can confirm whether he’s a linebacker or a tight end. With a body like that, he’s one or the other, for sure, and I’m dying to find out which.

Before I get to the roster, I peek at the Cornhuskers’ schedule and quickly confirm they’re playing the Hoosiers today. “I was right,” I murmur. “Indiana is playing—”

“He’s looking over here!” Daisy blurts. “At you!”

“Who?”

“The crazy-hot one! He’s looking right at you!”

“Liar.”

Certain she’s just teasing me, I look up and instantly lock eyes with the hottie in the buffet line. Without missing a beat, he shoots me a wide, dimpled smile when our gazes meet. One that sends heat flashing into my cheeks and makes me look down.

“He’s so scorching hot, he physically sears my corneas,” Daisy whispers.

He’d sear mine, too, if only he didn’t so strongly resemble a certain enemy of my people.

The devil incarnate. Roman Maguire. The former Michigan quarterback every Ohio State loyalist hates with the passion of a thousand suns, thanks to the way he decimated my father’s team in two consecutive seasons several years ago on his way to back-to-back national championships and the Heisman Trophy.