Page 92 of Burning Embers
By halftime, the score is twenty-four to twenty-one. We’re ahead by only one field goal, and the Vipers start with the ball next quarter.
Tensions have mounted on both sides of the stadium. More than one fight has broken out between fans of the rival teams, and two players from the Vipers got kicked out for bad sportsmanship.
Jesus Christ. This is high school football, not the NFL.
But I don’t dare say any of that out loud. I just snap my pictures like a good little Yearbook student and stay out of the players’ way.
I’ll be the first to admit that, more often than not, my camera strays to Emery and Ashton. Jake is amazing as quarterback, but the other two men? They’re phenomenal. Emery moves down the field like he owns it, his body nothing but liquid that dances and weaves through the opposing players.
And as annoying as Ashton is, even I can confess that he looks fan-fucking-tastic in his uniform. If I drool, it’s only because I’m a warm-blooded female, not because I actually like him.
But whowouldn’tdrool at the sight of him?
More than one girl has his number painted on their shirts or cheeks.
Just like me.
I touch my left cheek instinctively, where the number sits predominantly on my skin.
“How’s it going?” Ansel moves towards me, nearly getting punched in the face with a pompom in the process as the cheerleaders perform a routine to the screaming crowd.
“I’m a little disappointed in myself,” I confess with an exaggerated sigh.
His eyebrows dip in concern. “Why is that?”
“Because I only got two pictures of the players picking their noses.” I hold up my camera and begin to flick through the hundreds of photos I took before I settle on one. “This art piece I callFinding the Gold. As you see here, we have number fifty-five’s entire finger up his nose.
“And in this picture, taken immediately after, he’s giving Ashton a high five. Best moment of my life.” I scroll through a few more photos until I stop on another one. “And here, we have player thirty-seven with his thumb up his nose. Histhumb.I don’t know what he’s looking for up there. Diamonds, perhaps?”
I shake my head in feigned sadness.
Ansel stares at me in disbelief…before he throws his head back in laughter. The noise is startling enough to garner the attention of not only the nearest cheerleaders but a few people in the stands as well.
I’m not sure I’ve ever heard Ansel laugh like that.
Hell, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him evensmile.
He’s handsome normally—a cold, icy sort of perfection that makes him appear unapproachable—but when his lips quirk upwards, showcasing his straight white teeth, he’s otherworldly. Ethereal.
My breath catches.
“I have a few photographs I can add to your collection.” Ansel’s eyes glimmer with mirth as he holds out his camera for me to see. “Now, they’re not picking their noses, but…”
“Oh my god. Is that Emery?” I ask, my voice high-pitched and breathless with excitement. “Is he actually picking out a wedgie? This is the best thing that ever happened to me. Please. Send it to me. I need it.”
The two of us continue to compare photos until the players rush back onto the field to begin their second-half warmups. Just before Ansel can move to his side of the field, however, someone elbows him in the ribs hard enough to send him tumbling.
“Get out of the fucking way, you piece of shit.”
Kain.
Of course.
Kain and his buddies laugh as they jog away.
“What a dick,” I murmur, glaring after them even as I help Ansel back to his feet.
Ansel sighs, a tired sound I feel in the marrow of my bones. “Don’t worry. I’m used to it.”