Page 102 of Only in Your Dreams

“He is. Kind of reminds me of someone.”

Zac kisses the tip of my nose. I grumble like I hate it and it only makes him smile wider. This might be my favorite thing, ever. The nose kisses, the seeing right through me.

“Does it sound like it’s getting worse with his dad?” I ask.

“He doesn’t say much about it, but this is the longest stretch he’s been here. Usually, it’s just a night or two before he’s allowed back home.” Zac pulls his massive playbook closer. “If only I could figure out how to win a game. Help Noah impress those scouts.”

I peer at the binder. “Who are you playing this week?”

“The Knights,” he tells me with a wry smile. “Fair warning that I’ll consider anything you say next as potential sabotage in favor of your old college.”

“Normally I’d say that’s a fair assumption.”

“But?”

“But I’m pretty fond of Noah. His coach is alright too, I guess.” I pull the playbook toward me, flipping through the illustrated pages. It would be a whole lot of gibberish if I hadn’t grown up looking through Parker’s playbooks in high school. I reach a tabbed section at the very back of the book, and this is more like it. Pages and pages of spreadsheets listing numbers, opposing team statistics. A language I speak.

“I assume you’ll run a lot of play action passes on early downs?” I ask him, perusing the stats.

“That’s the plan.”

“It makes sense.” I take a sip of the coffee we’re sharing. “Their defensive backs tend to cheat up toward the line of scrimmage on first and second down.”

His eyes practically roll to the back of his head. “Fuck, you’re so hot. I love it when you talk football to me.”

I pinch his chin. “I’ve been talking football with you guys since we were kids. But look, this is a bit funny.” I put down our mug, pointing at a column of data. “Maybe they play close to the line of scrimmage, but this shows the defense plays man-to-man coverage at a high rate on early downs. They probably won’t bite on the play fake as much as you’d think. So, really—”

Zac pulls his playbook right off the table, holding it so close to his face it’s like he expects the numbers to look different at that proximity. He turns, fixing an awed gaze on me. “Jesus Christ, Clover. Are you kidding me with this?”

“With what?”

“You found this two seconds into looking at the book.”

“I’m good with numbers.” I shrug, helping myself to another waffle. “She’s not as dumb as she looks, folks.”

“Melody,” he says, and he grips my chin until I meet his eye again. “We pay a guy a six-figure salary to look for the kind of thing you just found me for free.”

Iboopthe tip of his nose. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“Melody,” he insists. “Do you—Does this interest you?”

I frown. “What, numbers? Of course, they do. It’s what I do for a living, when I’m not shilling omelets.”

“Numbers and sports,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” I say thoughtfully. “Yeah, numbers and sports are a much more appealing combination than numbers and making rich white men richer.”

“Appealing enough not to get the Sunday scaries?” he asks, referencing my playbook.

I rub my lips together, eyeing his binder. I’m almost shocked at the level of excitement now crackling in my chest. Why the hell didn’t I think of this? “You really think I could do something like that?”

“Hell yeah. You just did, Clover.”

Zac flips open his laptop, grimacing when photos of the mouse-infested apartment pop up on the screen. He clicks away and pulls up a job search site.

In true Zac fashion, he’s radiating optimism. So much optimism that I feel it start to feed me, too.

Chapter 25

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