Chapter 1 Chelsea #3
Luca’s not the Maguire, of course. Thankfully.
God help me if I’d told Satan himself I didn’t mind him complimenting my eyes—my family and hometown would probably disown me.
But, still, in my world, this boy is a Montague, and I’m a Capulet, so doing everything in my power to keep this conversation safely under wraps forever is mandatory.
“Now that I know you’re a quarterback,” Luca says, “it’s a good thing your math coach didn’t let you play me today. As an outside linebacker, one of my biggest jobs is taking down the opposing quarterback without mercy.”
I bat my eyelashes the same way Daisy did a few minutes ago. “But you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
I can’t believe what a flirt I’m being. It’s totally out of character for me to partake in this sort of silly communication style, especially when I’ve got an important math competition to prepare for, but Luca’s drawing me in and giving me tingles like nobody’s ever done before.
Luca nods slowly with mock solemnity. “Sorry to inform you, Chelsea, but I’d most definitely do it to you. I’m an edge rusher. That means I show exactly zero mercy to everyone, including you.”
I gasp. “No.”
Once again, Luca’s expression conveys the utmost seriousness.
“I’ll show you mercy anywhere and everywhere else, but football is war, baby.
” Luca drags his teeth over his lower lip as his dark, sparkling eyes remain locked with mine.
“But, hey, if it makes you feel any better, I promise if I’d had to take you down like a clown, it would have hurt my very soul to do it. ”
Football is war. Hell yeah, it is. Goddamn, those are the hottest words anyone’s ever spoken to me. In fact, hearing Luca say them while looking at me like he wants to lean in and kiss my lips is sending heat flashing over every inch of my skin.
“Well, at least you’d have a conscience about your war crimes,” I tease.
Luca laughs. “See? Funny. Like I said.” His cheeks flush. “Funny and pretty.”
Holy crap. Flustered, I shift in my seat and blurt, “So, in all seriousness, tell me more about what you do on your team. I don’t really understand what you meant when you said you ‘take down the opposing quarterback.’”
Luca lights up. Clearly, he’s excited to explain this to me.
“Okay, so you know teams have offensive and defensive players, right? The offense, led by the quarterback, tries to score points, while the opposing team’s defense tries to stop them.
Well, I’m on the defensive side of the ball, and one of my jobs is to try to stop the opposing quarterback from successfully throwing the ball to another one of his offensive players.
To do that, I have to get past all the offensive players trying to protect their quarterback.
Which is super hard to do. But if I do it, then I literally tackle their quarterback to ground.
But only if he’s still holding the football, of course. ”
“So you only tackle him before he’s gotten the chance to throw the ball to another player?”
“Exactly right! You’re getting it now. When I tackle the QB to the ground while he’s still got the ball, then that’s what’s called a sack.”
“A sack. Got it.”
“It’s a really big deal when I get one. Like, the holy grail for my position. There’s other important stuff I do, too, but that’s the biggest thing for me.”
“How often do you do this sack thing? Every game?”
He chuckles at my intentionally clunky word choice.
“If I’m lucky, I’ll get one sack per game.
Two, if I’m really on fire. Three or more sacks in a single game would be considered a truly amazing performance.
My best game ever in high school I got four of ’em, and that was seriously the best day of my life. ”
He’s so cute. Man, I’d love to find out everything there is to know about his best game in high school. I’m sure the play-byplay would thrill me. But I can’t push my luck.
“What’s it called when you take down the quarterback after he throws the ball?” I’ve been asked this ridiculous, clueless question several times myself, so I know it’s a realistic one for a non-football fan to ask.
“A huge penalty,” Luca replies with a laugh.
“That’s a massive no-no.” He leans forward, his passion evident.
“Sometimes, a quarterback doesn’t even try to throw the ball.
Sometimes, he just quickly hands it off to someone to run with it, which means there’s not even a chance for me to try for a sack. ”
“Oh no.”
“In that case, I try to take down whoever’s running with the ball, instead of the quarterback.”
“Interesting. So, you’re busy during the game pretty much no matter what, then?”
“Yep. It’s nonstop action for me when it’s my turn to be out on the field. I mean, sometimes the guy with the ball doesn’t come anywhere near me on the field—outside linebackers line up on the outside, which is toward the sideline, rather than in the middle of the field.”
“Ah.”
“But even then, I’m gonna be blocking someone to help my teammate or running around like a madman to try to get to the play.”
“Oh my gosh, there’s so much to know. I had no idea.
” Man, I’m having a blast listening to this passionate, gorgeous boy explaining the sport to me.
Back home, this is the stuff I’m always explaining to everyone else till their eyes glaze over.
And since moving into the dorms two months ago, it’s only gotten worse.
“Football sounds complicated,” I say, placing my elbow on the table and my chin in my palm. “Also, really dangerous.”
Luca shrugs. “Yeah, it’s both. But we all wear pads and helmets to minimize injury. And we practice and study up like crazy before every game to be ready for anything.” He side-eyes me. “Wait just a goddamned minute. Don’t play dumb with me, Chelsea.”
My heart stops.
“As an expert quarterback, you could probably explain all this stuff to me, right?”
When my heart rate returns and I realize he’s joking, I smile and say, “You got me, Luca. I was just testing you. Not all expert mathletes like us also know football.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Most of the mathletes I know don’t know jack shit about football.”
Ain’t that the truth. “That’s been my experience, too. It’s so unfortunate.”
“So unfortunate.”
I twirl a lock of my dark hair around my fingertip. “So, what’s your favorite kind of math, Mr. Mathlete?”
Luca’s features twist up adorably. “There’s more than one kind?”
I giggle. “Says the supposed math expert.”
Luca waves his hand dismissively. “Baby, trust me, I’m the Einstein of math. I meant I couldn’t possibly pick just one because they’re all my favorite.”
Another giggle escapes me. “It’s the same for me. Also, FYI, Einstein was the Einstein of math.”
A crease forms on Luca’s forehead. “I thought Einstein was a scientist.”
“He was far more well known for his contributions to theoretical physics, but he was also exceptionally skilled in math, which is why he had the foundation to formulate his theorems.”
Luca takes a big bite of bacon and winks at me. “I already knew that, Chelsea. I was just testing your knowledge of math, given your football background. Congrats. You passed the test. I believe you.”
Butterflies. They’re overwhelming me.
I love his lips. That Cupid’s bow at the top is incredible. Also, I’m electrified every time he uses my name. All the boys at recent parties I’ve been dragged to by Daisy always forget my name two seconds after I give it.
He leans back, the full width of his chest and muscular arms on display beneath and around the NEbrASKA on his T-shirt. “Okay, let’s take this testing stuff to the next level. Ask me anything math-y, anything at all, and I’ll prove my math prowess to you.”
“Something ‘math-y’?”
Luca taps the table with purpose. “Don’t be easy on me now. Let ’er rip.”
He’s adorable. Charming. Charismatic to the extreme.
In fact, just this fast, I’m pretty sure I’ve never met anyone quite like Luca “Satan’s Brother” Maguire.
I thought I’d get my first proper, passionate kiss from someone at school by now.
But although I’ve had several opportunities, it turns out opportunity has to intersect with physical attraction for me to feel the urge to go for it, and that intersection hasn’t happened for me just yet. Until now.
“Okay,” I say, leaning back like Luca. “Here’s a math-y question that should be pretty easy for an expert mathlete to answer.
” I enunciate my next words slowly, just in case they miraculously wind up ringing any bells for him.
“Luca, what’s an epsilon-delta proof?” It’s the first high-level concept taught in every college freshman math class across the world, so if by chance Luca’s had any recent math classes, the question will surely suss that out.
With a wave of his big hand, Luca says, “That’s too easy. It’s the alcohol proof needed to make a sorority girl barf.”
Oh my God. Luca’s joke shatters my funny bone to the point I can’t speak or breathe from laughing. How is it possible it took a college football player instead of a math major or professor to make that hilarious joke for the first time in my life?
“That’s exactly right,” I choke out, wiping tears from my eyes.
He taps his temple. “If I’m not mathing, I’m not breathing, baby. Give me a harder one. That was too easy.”
“All right.” I lay an arm on the table and gaze into Luca’s dark, twinkling eyes. “What’s the limit of the sine of one over x as x approaches zero?”
Luca’s features freeze in a way that says, “Yeesh,” and I can’t help laughing yet again.
Shoot. I thought I had an ironclad plan to make him a winner in our silly game, but apparently not.
But just as I’m about to give him a hint, a light bulb visibly goes off on Luca’s chiseled face and he slams his palm onto the small table.
“The limit does not exist!” he booms. And I swear, I feel like a proud parent for leading him to that fully intended answer.