Hell, Rob.
Yeah, not fun. The suit I wore was terrible, and the tie felt like it was choking me.
I shake my head.Guess I’m that good at karate that I can choke you from the grave.
All jokes aside, be careful.
I always am.
* * *
At lunch, I sit with the four guys. Thankfully, Rob doesn’t bring up anything from yesterday, and it’s actually really fun to be with them all again.
Eventually, Rob has to leave. So do the others, but Ace lingers.
“What are you doing tonight?” he asks me.
“I don’t have any plans aside from sending my class schedule to the diner so that I can be put on the schedule. Oh, and some homework. Why? What’s up?”
“I was hoping that maybe you would be willing to come tonight.”
“For what?”
“A huge game,” he says with a grin. “I want you there.”
“Don’t you already have cheerleaders?” I ask, smirking.
“Those cheerleaders I have to share with the rest of the time.”
“Ah, so you want your own personal cheerleader.”
“I want you.” He winks. “There. I want you there.”
“Right. Of course.”
“So you’ll come?”
“I suppose.”
“It’ll be a great game. You’ll see.”
“I hope you put on a show for me.”
“Oh, I’ll light ‘em up, baby.” He winks.
I laugh. God, Ace is fun, but while I might be blond and look a little preppy, I am so not a cheerleader.
* * *
The place is packed. There aren't really any seats, but a girl I have a few classes with hands me a ticket. I guess Ace forgot to get it to me earlier. Front row at the fifty-yard line. I can't believe it, but I have to admit that being even a few rows back would be better because I don't see how I'll be able to see when the team is on the goal line.
It’s so fun to cheer on Ace. The way he scrambles out of the pocket. He even tucks the ball and runs a few times. From what others are saying in the crow, he’s normally a pocket passer, so that he’s scrambling so much is a bit concerning. He’s out of his element, and at halftime, we’re down twenty to seventeen.
“I don’t know,” the guy next to me says. “Ace is hanging in there, but he’s getting hit so many times that I don’t know how he isn’t concussed.”
I grimace. “Don’t say that.”
“He’s playing out of his mind,” a girl behind us says.