Page 3 of Merry Me
“You sound like the coach I had for my one and only year of swimming,” Casey said, sipping from her water bottle. “She once told me to channel my inner dolphin and then screamed when I didn’t shave a second off my time.”
“Dolphins are overrated,” I said. “Do dolphins have SEC rings? No, they do not.”
Casey just shook her head, her smile soft. She had that look she always got when Parker was on the field, all gooey and dreamy, like she wasn’t freezing her ass off right now with the smell of hot dogs wafting around us.
I was also freezing my ass off, I hated hot dogs, and I did not, in fact, have a hottie out there on the field waiting for me.
But I had been raised a Tennessee fan from birth, and these kinds of games were the ones we lived for.
“You haven’t told me yet what you’re doing for the holidays,” Casey said suddenly, her tone a little too casual, like she was trying to sneak it in past my defenses.
“Oh wow, is that Ophelia over there warming up for halftime?” I asked in a bold attempt to deflect, pointing at a completely random person who looked nothing like our friend—and was also very clearly holding a nacho tray.
Casey raised an eyebrow. “We both know that’s not her. And now I feel like you’re avoiding my question on purpose.”
My happy mood immediately dropped ten degrees. All the good juju I’d felt after that five-yard gain abruptly disappeared. “Oh, you know,” I said vaguely, doing a little jazz hand like that would cover my tracks. “This and that.”
“‘This and that?’” Riley asked, raising an eyebrow. “What does that even mean?”
“Exactly what it sounds like,” I said with a grin. “This. That. The other thing. Possibly a covert mission to the North Pole. The usual.”
Casey didn’t look convinced. In fact, she started to look suspicious, like she was two seconds away from dragging the truth out of me with an interrogation lamp and a clipboard. “Nat…”
“I’m staying on campus, okay?” I said, cutting her off before she could suggest something sweet, like inviting me to spend Christmas with her, Parker, and his ridiculously hot brothers. “I’ve got projects. Plus, I hate Christmas anyway.”
I added that last part really fast as I popped some red-and-green Nerds Gummies in my mouth, hoping the sugar could neutralize the emotional vulnerability I’d just spewed. Before Casey could say anything, I reached over and popped some inher mouth, too, just so I could delay whatever she was about to say.
Casey choked and sputtered for a second before she remembered she knew how to chew, and we watched as Tennessee finally got a first down.
The crowd surged, and I nearly forgave Parker for being tragically mediocre this quarter.
“You hate Christmas?” Casey finally said, sounding genuinely horrified, like I’d just confessed to hating puppies or stealing from the Girl Scouts.
“Hold that thought for one second, Case,” I said before cupping my hands around my mouth so my voice could be louder. “Hey, Thatcher, did you forget how to catch, or are you just morally opposed to touchdowns?”
“That was a hard catch. He had two defenders on him!” Riley said indignantly.
“No excuses. Play like a champion,” I muttered.
“Did you get that fromWedding Crashers?” Riley drawled.
“They got it from me,” I mumbled around another handful of gummies.
“So,” Casey said, turning back to me as Tennessee lined up again, because evidently my angel baby of a best friend could not take a hint. “Are you going to explain the Christmas hatred? I feel like that’s a betrayal of everything I know about you. You wear sparkly boots. You own an Advent calendar with perfume samples. You basicallyareChristmas in human form.”
“Because I’m blonde, enjoy Starbucks every day, and shop at Target like it’s a full-time job? That’s so judgmental, Case. I happen to beveryagainst the glitter of commercialism, actually.”
She snorted. “You literallylovecommercialism.”
“It’s still profiling,” I muttered back.
Her expression softened, and I could see the gears gently turning in her head, already planning how to fix me with some kind of cinnamon-scented-candle holiday intervention.
I had to redirect. Fast. Casey was a fixer, a nurturer, the kindof person who probably couldn’t hear someone say they hated Christmas without deciding it was her personal mission to make them love it.
“So,” I said loudly, pointing at the field. “Think Parker’s gonna pull off this Hail Mary, or are we all gonna die cold and disappointed?”
She blinked, startled out of her planning of Operation Holiday Healing, and turned back to the game.
