The Hard Count (33 page)

It quiets again after the celebration, and for some reason, my eyes move to my father. He’s stopped eating, and eventually he leans forward enough to set his half-f plate on the small coffee table in the center of the room. He rests back in the chair again and rubs his hands together, his eyes eventually settling on Nico.

“They’re interested,” my dad says.

Nico glances to him briefly, but looks back at the television, not realizing what my father means. My eyes grow wide, and I step from my seat, moving to the living room. My quick movement catches Valerie’s attention, and she slides up next to me, looking at me, about to ask if something’s wrong, when my dad continues.

“Nico,” he says, getting his attention. Nico’s laughing at something with Noah, but he turns to my dad, quieting down. “USC…they’re…they’re interested.”

The only sound now is the announcer on the TV. Nico reaches forward and clicks the mute button, dropping the remote back to the table and folding his arms over his knees, leaning toward my dad. He looks stunned, and maybe a little frightened.

“I’m sure there are more, but I don’t get all of the calls now. USC called before I was fired, and I sent them game tape. They followed up last week, and they’re coming. They didn’t say for sure, but I’d be ready to have the game of your life Friday.”

“You’re serious,” Nico says, his voice almost a panic.

“I don’t joke about football, son,” my dad says.

Nico lets out a heavy breath, his hands moving to his hair, pushing his hat from his head and letting it fall against the wall while his fingers thread through the dark-brown strands on his head. His eyebrows lift high, and his eyes are glued wide.

“Nico, baby,” his mom says, moving to sit on the arm of the sofa. He twists and hugs her, and she kisses the top of his head, looking to my dad as she does, mouthing, “Thank you.”

My father smiles and nods, a look of pride on his face, but also pain. He wants to guide him through it all, but he has walls in his way now. He hates that he can’t hold his hand completely. My father—he loves Nico. Just like I thought he would.

* * *

T
he lunch party
lasted well into the dinner hour with neighbors, church members, family, and friends dropping in and out of the Medina house until the sun began to fall. My parents left, my mom rounding up my drunken sleepy father by about six. Colton and Sasha ended up coming over, and my brother stood in the middle of the road throwing a child-size football to them and Nico while they all made bets over who could catch the best pass.

Watching them made me wish we’d all grown up together—more than we already have.

Eventually, Sasha, Colton and my brother leave, each offering to give me a ride that I don’t take because I want to stay here, with Nico. Our time alone is mostly non-existent. We see each other at school, under my dad’s watchful eye, in busy hallways, or at Charlie’s with the rest of the school. I think we’ve both been counting on the time when the sun went down, and as his mother sits at the kitchen table with her girlfriends playing cards, his niece asleep on the sofa, a cartoon on the TV, Nico takes my fingers in his, leading me down the hallway to his room.

He leaves his door open a crack at first, but it falls more and more closed each time he passes. He turns on his stereo, then pushes the door in more. He pulls his blinds closed, and nudges the door. He spreads his blanket out nicely over his rumpled bed; the door clicks to a close.

“You are a bad boy, Nico Medina,” I say, suddenly very aware of the loose shirt I wore over my favorite leggings, my feet in only socks as I left my Vans by the front door. My hair, of course, is down.

His eyes narrow on me as his chin falls toward his chest, his back against his door, and he reaches his finger forward, hooking it in the neck of my shirt, tugging me toward him. My feet obey, my hands feeling the softness of his gray Tradition football T-shirt, the ridges of his abs hard underneath. I breathe in and out once quickly in anticipation, catching just enough of his scent, the mix of him and whatever it is he showers in. I dream that scent.

Nico shakes his head slowly, his eyes watching as his right hand slides my hair from my shoulder first, then his left does the same. He swallows hard, his finger again hooked in the collar of my shirt, above my shoulder. He drags it over the crest of my arm gently, his head falling forward until his lips rest on my bare skin. As he tilts his head up again, his finger traces the line of my black bra strap, and a shiver runs down my spine.

His gaze come to mine, and he steps into me, spinning me so my back is flush against his door and his chest is touching me, mine aching for more as his hands move from my shoulders to my neck until they cup my face. Nico leans slightly to the right, as do I, and our lips come together softly at first. I can feel his shake when he holds my bottom lip between his.

“You’re nervous,” I tease, breathing the words against his mouth.

“I am,” he says.

I kiss him again, mine trembling, too, but I don’t care, because I can’t stop the reaction my body has with him.

“Why?” I ask, trailing kisses down his jaw to his neck.

Nico sweeps my hair in one hand, lifting it so he can do the same, kissing along my collar bone, up my jaw and finding my ear, his teeth dragging along my sensitive skin.

“Because I want to touch you,” he whispers, his words buckling my knees.

He sucks the lobe of my ear and leans his weight into me more, his head dragging along mine until our lips meet to kiss again. We kiss without breathing for almost a minute, and when Nico finally breaks away to look at me, I’m panting.

“You can,” I say, feeling the heat rush up my chest, choking me.

He shakes his head, leaning in just enough to touch his nose softly against mine.

“Please,” I whisper, and he stops moving. “Touch me. If…only if you want to.”

Nico takes a sharp breath, and his eyes close as his fingers run along my cheeks to my shoulders. His lids open and our eyes lock briefly before he nods, his gaze moving to my neck and then following the path of his hands as he slides them along my ribs, down to my hips, reaching the bottom of my shirt and gathering the material in his palms.

He looks to me for approval, and I nod slowly, biting my lip and listening nervously to the sounds on the other side of the door. The women still giggle at the table, the television still plays lightly—everything is the same. And for once, for a rare moment, Nico and I are alone.

His hands continue to gather my shirt until his fingertips find my skin, the edge of my bra against my ribs, my stomach clenched tight with my held breath. Nico continues to move upward, the back of his knuckles dragging over my breasts slowly, against the silk and lace, against my chest and neck until he lifts my shirt over my head, leaving my arms up against the door, bound by the fabric.

His right hand traces my face as he leans in to kiss me, his lips tasting mine while his left hand comes down now to join the other, both moving along my sides in sync, stopping when his thumbs find the edge of my bra. My body arches into him, aching for him to cross the boundary I know he’s hesitating at. I can’t seem to ask him, so I breathe in, arching again, my breath falling away in a stutter against his mouth.

Nico steps back enough to let his head fall against mine, his eyes looking down at the movement of his hands. I close mine, waiting—
anticipating.
He traces the lace edge of my bra, the only nice one I really own, slowly, passing several times before running once over each breast. His fingers trail behind, and each small meeting of his hand…
there
…leaves me wanting more until his thumbs slip under each cup and rub against the hardest parts.

“Ah,” I let out a small pant, and Nico nips at my lips, his hands caressing me even more, fully cupping each breast and bringing his fingers together to put pressure where it feels so sweet.

Reaching up, he grabs my shirt, tossing it to the floor next to us, and when I look at him nervously, he holds his finger to his mouth, reminding me to stay silent—
grinning.

My head falls back to rest on the door, and he slides my bra straps slowly down my arms until they fall loose around my biceps. His hands move back to my breasts again, slipping inside the material, wriggling it down as I pull my arms free until I’m completely exposed, my chest heaving with my quick breaths.

His kiss begins at my bottom lip, but trails lower without hesitation as he drags his mouth along my chin, his fingertips pushing gently, forcing my gaze up as he leaves small kisses along my neck, sucking over the rise of my right breast until he stops in the center, his tongue passing over my hard peak, his teeth closing with light pressure that makes me want to moan. I move my arms around him, squeezing his head against me as he sucks so hard it hurts. I only want more, though.

Nico moves to my other breast, doing the same, his hands running up the back of my legs until they hold me from behind, pulling me tight against him. I can feel his arousal, and my body pushes back, wanting to feel it more. Lifting me up, he turns the knob on his door, locking it, and I look at him, questioning.

“We won’t stay in here long,” he says, his voice still hushed. “I just…I want to kiss you alone a little longer. I’ve waited so long…”

“I know what you mean,” I say, smiling against his lips.

Nico rests me on his bed, and I fall deep into the softness, his body coming down on top of mine. My knees bend up on instinct, making room for him to press into me, our most intimate parts touching, clothed and chaste, but so hungry.

“I’ve never…” I say.

“It’s okay,” he says, brushing a kiss over my lips. “I don’t want that. Not until you’re ready. I just…”

“I know,” I say, my hands flat on his back, pulling him toward me, wanting him to press into me harder to relieve the ache.

Nico’s hands slide up my waist, grazing against my breasts lightly and pushing up into my hair as he kisses me hard. My fingers work his shirt up over his head, as I boldly rush to feel his bare chest against my skin.

Everything about him is hot, his skin searing, and I cling to it, my fingers grabbing his shoulders tightly as he presses his weight into me, his hips rocking with his kiss, a faint moan escaping him. His hands slide behind me, pulling my hips into him as his body rests on mine, our lips locked together and the friction of where our bodies meet growing into an undeniable heat that I can’t help but chase. Wanting him, more of him, I push up on one shoulder, rolling him to his back so I can straddle him, my hips moving in a steady rhythm while my hands lie flat on his chest and Nico looks at me, his eyes pleading for me not to stop.

I can’t stop.

I won’t stop.

I want to feel this just as much as he does. I’ve never…

Nico pulls me to him, his hands grabbing my ass, helping me to move against him until the pressure becomes so strong that I feel it fall over the edge inside me, my core clenching, my stomach tightening. My face falls to his neck, to his shoulder, and my teeth sink in lightly on his skin, and I whimper with each wave, Nico pulling me into him again. Again. Again. Until I feel him breathe rapidly against my neck, his mouth tasting me, his teeth leaving a mark.

He holds me tight when the motion stops. After several minutes, his hands fall away, but his fingers tickle against my arms, moving my hair from my face, kissing me softly. His eyes rake over me one last time before he sits up, stepping over to his door, lifting my shirt and handing it to me. He puts his on, and holds out a hand, helping me to stand.

“You should probably comb your hair,” he smirks, and I blush hard.

He runs his fingers through a few times, but I do more as he steps to his drawer, pulling out a pair of shorts and boxers. I shut my eyes tightly, embarrassed, and he chuckles.

“Oh, now you’re shy,” he says.

“Just…just, oh my God, go change,” I say, both hands quickly covering my face.

Nico steps up to me, pulling my hands away, his nose nuzzling mine, his dimple evidence of his smile.

“Don’t cover your face. You’re too beautiful,” he says.

“Oh my God, corn—,” I say, and he kisses me before the word can fully leave my lips.

“Corny,” I finish when he’s done. He winks, and slips out of his room, holding his thumb up to let me know the coast is clear, and nobody heard a thing.

I wait for Nico just inside his door, and he takes my hand, guiding me down the hallway to the back patio door, opening it to lead me outside. We sit by the fire pit with our feet up, tossing in bits of leftover food, and pieces of paper, watching them ignite and fly away as embers. There’s laughter inside, and we both lean to look around the fire, his mom slamming her hands on the table with her heavy laughter, the other women joking, too.

“I wish my mom would have stayed,” I say.

Nico looks to me, his brow low.

“She could use friends like these. That’s all,” I say, watching the scene in the kitchen fondly.

“My mom liked her; I could tell,” he says.

I tilt my head to the side, letting it fall against my arm, pulling my leg up so I can look at him, the way he looks with the fire glowing and outlining his profile.