🏈 Nolan 🏈

Taylor takes off down the field. I track him, knowing his pattern. Scott is hot on his ass, but I anticipate his route. Taylor and I have been playing together since our flag football days. In fact, I've been playing with these same set of guys since we first learned the game. It's a perk of a small town like Blueridge. But it also means Scott knows him just as well as I do.

I scan the field, playing out the different possibilities, watching them flash in front of me at lightning speed. Ever since I first stepped foot on a football field, I realized my mind worked differently than others. It ran in infinite patterns, picturing every potential route of every player, every possible scenario. Over the years, it's set me apart from the rest, given me an edge. I'm damn near untouchable when it comes to comparing high school QBs.

Don't get me wrong, I've been laid on my ass more times than I'd like to admit, and I've thrown my fair share of interceptions. Contrary to popular belief, I am not actually a football god. But my numbers can't be touched by anyone in the state, for most of the damn country if I'm being honest. It's the very reason I can have my pick of college, all complete with a full ride. If people want to place that in the category of a god, who am I to argue?

In the matter of seconds, I run through my options, landing on the one with the highest possible odds of success.

Pulling back my arm I send the ball spiraling through the air. Taylor's still running, taking his own trajectory before he turns, eyes locking on the ball. His hand flies into the air, the ball falls perfectly in place as he pulls it to his chest. He gets in another two steps before Scott brings him down.

There's a rush that surges through me when a catch lands. I may be only getting a few extra throws in after practice, but it never fails to feel like I've hit the damn jackpot each and every time.

"Alright, Bradshaw!" Coach yells from the sideline. "I think that's enough for one day."

If you want to follow in my footsteps, you're going to have to work harder than everyone else. Practice doesn't end at the whistle. You want it, you fight for it.

My dad's words play across my head. I might be a legend to most, but to my dad, the work is never done. There's always room for improvement. If there's one person I'd fight like hell to impress, it's him. Because he's given up the most to put me here. Giving up his dream to raise me just meant redirecting that dream to me, to watching me live the life he never got to. If I can give him that, if I can allow him to achieve something I took from him the day he chose raising me over fulfilling a dream, then I'll fight like hell to make it happen.

"One more," I yell back, holding my hands out for the ball.

Taylor and Scott come jogging back. The look in their eyes tells me they're beat, but the fact Taylor tosses me the ball tells me they'll stay as long as I need them to.

"You know I admire the commitment," Coach says. "But practice ended forty-five minutes ago and I promised my wife I'd be home in time for dinner tonight."

"You don't need to stay, Coach," I say, nodding for Taylor to take off. His eyes shift between mine and Coach's.

"And chance you fools getting hurt? Not a chance. I'm calling it. Let's go."

I hesitate, gripping the ball in my hands. I want to fight him on it, convince him to let me have a few more throws, but if there's one thing I'm not, it's a disrespectful prick to my coach. I might lead the team, but he calls the shots. If practice is over, it's over.

"I'll stay late tomorrow, Bradshaw. How does that sound?" he adds, seeing the defeat in my eyes.

"We'll stay, too," Taylor chimes in, speaking for both him and Scott.

I nod, relenting as I walk over to the sideline. Coach takes off, and a part of me wants to head right back onto that field and go against everything he just said, but that respectful head I have on my shoulders has me relenting.

"They're practicing late," Scott says beside me. I follow his line of sight to see the cheerleaders just now gathering their shit.

"It's last call for tryouts," Taylor acknowledges. His younger sister, Addie, just made varsity last year. "With Kennedy moving over the summer and Layla breaking her wrist last week, they decided to hold a last ditch tryout."

Makes sense. And now that he mentions it, I vaguely remember Genevieve saying something about it the other night.

"Fucking dibs on Jessica Rabbit," Scott smirks beside me.

It's then that my eyes fly up, a set of long wavy red hair swings from side to side as my new stepsister swings a bag over her shoulder. What the fuck is she doing with the cheer team?

"No," I state.

"No? What do you mean no?"

It's a great fucking question. What the hell do I mean? I haven't a freaking clue. All I know is the way he's staring at her has my skin crawling. "I mean you're not calling dibs on the new girl."

He laughs. "You can't have dibs on every fucking girl, man. You gotta leave some for the rest of us."

"Don't be a dumbass," I tell him. He knows as well as I do that there is plenty of ass left for him and the rest of the goddamn team. "She's off limits."

"Care to elaborate?" Taylor jumps in now.

I glance over at the girl in question. The vibrant glow of her hair catches the late day sun, making it appear to catch fire. It's the first thing I noticed when I first saw her, how goddamn radiant her hair was. But that's only the first thing to catch my eye. The second was her piercing stare behind a set of ridiculously thick and long lashes. Her doe eyes peeking out from beneath, fighting for glory of their own. She's breathtaking. Any idiot can see that. But she's also my new stepsister, something I never asked for.

After I've caught myself staring for too long, I clear my throat and look back at the two of them. "She's my new stepsister," I say. "Well, almost."

"Woah, wait. She's your stepsister?"

I told both Taylor and Scott about the whole my dad getting engaged to a stranger thing. By all technicalities, she's not an actual stranger. At least not to my dad. He grew up with her. But that was years ago, ancient history. As far as I'm concerned, the two people taking up residence in my home are complete fucking strangers.

My friends thought I was joking. When the reality finally hit that I was dead serious, they began to ask questions, questions I didn't take the time to find the answers to.

"I was really kind of expecting someone younger. Like a kid sister or some shit," Scott mutters.

"She certainly is not a kid," Taylor adds and I want to punch him in the face.

I don't know why their gawking has my skin aching, or why I suddenly want to wipe that look off their goddamn face. But they're looking at her like she's their next meal and they're in dire need of a snack. It pisses me off.

But before I can shut them both the hell up, Genevieve catches us all staring and the way she smiles tells me she thinks we're looking for a whole other reason. It's enough for her to start making her way over. The barely existent pair of shorts she has on complements the Blueridge blue sports bra trying its damn best to hold her tits in place. If I had to guess, I'd say it's not exactly doing its job.

"Hey Bradshaw," she coos as she comes closer. Genevieve and I have a good thing going. She gets that I don't want the whole commitment thing. A stupid concept that completely goes against the structure of our DNA. She gets what she needs out of the arrangement just as much as I do.

"Hey," I nod her way.

She continues forward, her chest inches from mine before she bats those deep brown eyes at me. "You looked good out there today."

I see the door she left open for me, the bait to throw the same compliment back her way. Problem with that is I wasn't actually paying attention to her practice. I could give two honest shits about how cheer is going. I have one goal when I'm on this field and it has nothing to do with pompoms.

"Thanks. You coming by later?" I ask, knowing damn well it's a terrible idea. The season is starting soon and the last thing I need is to get wrapped up in Genevieve Kendrick's mindfuck games. Our arrangement is a good one. One I drop during the season to focus on what matters most. This is the time where her and I drift, when the random hookups come in to blow off steam. She knows this. It works for us. So why the hell did I just ask if she would come by?

She catches my slip up as her eyes widen, a smile building. "Do you want me to come by?"

Fuck. "I don't really care," I respond like an ass and it has my dimwit friends laughing beside me. One glance from me and they quickly scamper off.

Returning my gaze to her, I'm met with a pout, and it tells me just how heartless my comment was. If I'm being honest, it's better she pout now than get the wrong idea.

A flash of vibrant red appears over Genevieve's shoulder, and suddenly my eyes are needed elsewhere. My new house guest is sauntering in my direction, her bag thrown over her shoulder, a pair of sweatpants with the school's logo plastered to her upper thigh are hanging from her hips. She's wearing the same oversized T-shirt from today. Her body is swallowed whole in the material hanging off of her.

In fact, every time I've seen her, she's drowning in fabric. It's had me wondering just what lies beneath, if her curves are round or soft. It throws me for a fucking loop to think about. In most cases I wouldn't give two shits about it, but I can't seem to stop my head from seeking answers it shouldn't.

"Ugh," Genevieve says in front of me, effectively pulling my eyes from the redhead making her way in our direction. "I just can't escape her. She's like an annoying gnat."

I follow her eye roll, making sure that we're talking about the same person. When I piece together she's referring to the girl approaching fast, something happens in my chest. "I'm sorry, what?"

"The new girl," she clarifies. "First she nearly runs me over in the hall and then suddenly she's trying out for cheer. Which, by the way, she is so not qualified for. If it were up to me, she wouldn't make the squad. But Coach insisted she's our best option on short notice. If only stupid Layla didn't break her wrist, we wouldn't be in this situation to begin with."

So, she made the team. Looking at the annoyance in Genevieve's eyes, I'm not exactly sure if now is the time to tell her my connection with the girl headed our way. She knows my dad is engaged, that his arrangement came with a new sibling for me. What she doesn't know is who that sibling is.

"Hey," my soon to be stepsister says as she approaches.

I'm still trying to figure out how the hell my life turned into some teen drama TV show—one where my insta-sister inserts herself into every aspect of my life—when Genevieve speaks up. "Do you need something?"

The crass behind her tone has my chest tightening. I'm not gonna lie, the same question was on the tip of my tongue, but hearing those words spew from Genevieve's mouth has my stomach turning.

Red's eyes widen briefly, her fingers grip the strap over her shoulder. Instead of firing back, she shifts her gaze over to me. The subtle hints of green and gold catch the light, her eyes nearly glowing in the sun.

"Did you check your phone?" she asks me, and I almost glance behind me to make sure she's actually talking to me. The way she asked it seemed so fucking casual, like her and I have suddenly become best buds.

I glance down at my practice jersey before meeting her eyes. "Does it look like I've checked my phone?"

She follows the same route my eyes took, trailing my torso. "No, I guess not. You're giving me a ride."

Genevieve laughs beside me. "What planet do you live on?"

Okay, I might be just as pissed right now, but I'm not doing the mean girl shit. "Genevieve, I don't think you've been properly introduced. This is my soon-to-be stepsister..." Fuck. What was her name again?

Red catches my blunder, that shade of tinted rose flourishing her cheeks just like it did the other night. Rose...that's right.

"You're joking," Genevieve cuts in before I can actually attach a name to the end of that introduction.

"I wish I were," I add, realizing how much of a dick I sound like. But let's be real, my dad got engaged to a woman he had barely been talking to, moved her and her daughter into our home, and now she's at my school, on my field. I think I'm officially entitled to be a dick.

Red's eyes scrunch together, the heat behind them enough to ignite actual lasers as she stares back at me.

"You know what? I'll catch a ride with Casey," she says, taking a step before I let out a breath.

"Wait," I stop her. The last thing I want is to be in a car forced to either sit in awkward silence or talk to the person I'd rather keep my distance from. I don't need a new family, or more accurately, a temporary place filler. They're all temporary. But I also know how pissed my dad will be if he finds out I didn't take her home. "Just let me shower and change. Give me ten minutes."

She looks behind her, noticing that the field is already empty. I'm sure she's contemplating whether or not she can still catch her friend. When her eyes fall back to mine, defeat clear across them, she nods. She doesn't linger though. Instead, she takes off toward the parking lot where I can only assume she'll wait for me.

"I can't believe she's going to be your sister. Or that she actually lives with you," Genevieve scoffs beside me.

"I gotta go," I reply, ignoring her.

"Wait, what about–"

"I'll see you tomorrow," I cut her off. I can hear the huff behind me as I make my way off the field.

After a quick shower and a fresh pair of clothes, I find myself in the driver's seat of my truck. Red is quiet behind me, her arms wrapped around her bag in her lap as if she's cradling precious cargo.

We haven't talked, the music a space filler for miles of thick tension between us both. I glance over at her, catching the way the sun hits her hair. It's a deep yet soft shade of red, one I've never seen before. I have this strange urge to reach out and touch it, to wrap it around my fingers and examine each strand.

The thought has me quickly looking back at the road. "So," I speak, clearing my throat as I grip the wheel. "Cheer, huh?"

"Yes."

I nod, waiting for more of her answer only to be met with more silence. "You don't exactly strike me as the cheer type."

That catches her attention as the heat of her gaze is set directly on me. "You mean I don't seem like the pompom twirling, skirt flapping, sparkle wearing kind of girl?"

I glance at her, holding the challenge behind her eyes for a brief second before I'm looking back at the road. "Not in the slightest."

She sits back, her attention returning in front of her. "Well, you don't actually know a thing about me. Including my name."

I fight back the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. "I know your name, Red."

"That's a color. Not a name."

"And yet your name is a flower, not technically a name either." She doesn't say anything, but I do notice the way she grips her hands around her bag. Okay, no more name talk. "So, why don't you have a license?"

"Never needed one."

"And you never wanted one?"

She's quiet, those hands of hers turning white with the grip on that damn bag of hers.

"No. I didn't." Her words are short, muffled in the quiet.

"Well, you might want to reconsider out here, Red."

"And give up your inviting company in this ancient truck?"

"Ancient?" I laugh. "Are you seriously calling my 1970 Chevy ancient?"

"The date pretty well implies that, does it not?"

"It does not. Have you ever heard of a classic?"

"I have. It's an elegant way of saying it's ancient."

"Unbelievable. You know, you could just say thank you for the ride."

"And you could just learn my name."

Insufferable. I don't know why my dad thought this would work out. It's clear she doesn't want to be here just as much as I don't want a new family. I think I'm ready for the moment they decide we're not enough, for the moment they leave...just like everyone who has come before them.