Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“Oh my gosh, there’s so much to know. I had no idea.” Man, I’m having a blast listening to this passionate, gorgeous boy explaining the sport to me. Back home, this is the stuff I’m always explaining to everyone else till their eyes glaze over. And since moving into the dorms two months ago, it’s only gotten worse.
“Football sounds complicated,” I say, placing my elbow on the table and my chin in my palm. “Also, really dangerous.”
Luca shrugs. “Yeah, it’s both. But we all wear pads and helmets to minimize injury. And we practice and study up like crazy before every game to be ready for anything.” He side-eyes me. “Wait just a goddamned minute. Don’t play dumb with me, Chelsea.”
My heart stops.
“As an expert quarterback, you could probably explain all this stuff to me, right?”
When my heart rate returns and I realize he’s joking, I smile and say, “You got me, Luca. I was just testing you. Not all expert mathletes like us also know football.”
“Ain’t that the truth. Most of the mathletes I know don’t know jack shit about football.”
Ain’t that the truth. “That’s been my experience, too. It’s so unfortunate.”
“So unfortunate.”
I twirl a lock of my dark hair around my fingertip. “So, what’s your favorite kind of math, Mr. Mathlete?”
Luca’s features twist up adorably. “There’s more than one kind?”
I giggle. “Says the supposed math expert.”
Luca waves his hand dismissively. “Baby, trust me, I’m the Einstein of math. I meant I couldn’t possibly pick just one because they’re all my favorite.”
Another giggle escapes me. “It’s the same for me. Also, FYI, Einstein was the Einstein of math.”
A crease forms on Luca’s forehead. “I thought Einstein was a scientist.”
“He was far more well known for his contributions to theoretical physics, but he was also exceptionally skilled in math, which is why he had the foundation to formulate his theorems.”
Luca takes a big bite of bacon and winks at me. “I already knew that, Chelsea. I was just testing your knowledge of math, given your football background. Congrats. You passed the test. I believe you.”
Butterflies. They’re overwhelming me.
I love his lips. That Cupid’s bow at the top is incredible. Also, I’m electrified every time he uses my name. All the boys at recent parties I’ve been dragged to by Daisy always forget my name two seconds after I give it.
He leans back, the full width of his chest and muscular arms on display beneath and around the NEBRASKA on his T-shirt. “Okay, let’s take this testing stuff to the next level. Ask me anything math-y, anything at all, and I’ll prove my math prowess to you.”
“Something ‘math-y’?”
Luca taps the table with purpose. “Don’t be easy on me now. Let ’er rip.”
He’s adorable. Charming. Charismatic to the extreme. In fact, just this fast, I’m pretty sure I’ve never met anyone quite like Luca “Satan’s Brother” Maguire. I thought I’d get my first proper, passionate kiss from someone at school by now. But although I’ve had several opportunities, it turns out opportunity has to intersect with physical attraction for me to feel the urge to go for it, and that intersection hasn’t happened for me just yet. Until now.
“Okay,” I say, leaning back like Luca. “Here’s a math-y question that should be pretty easy for an expert mathlete to answer.” I enunciate my next words slowly, just in case they miraculously wind up ringing any bells for him. “Luca, what’s an epsilon-delta proof?” It’s the first high-level concept taught in every college freshman math class across the world, so if by chance Luca’s had any recent math classes, the question will surely suss that out.
With a wave of his big hand, Luca says, “That’s too easy. It’s the alcohol proof needed to make a sorority girl barf.”
Oh my God. Luca’s joke shatters my funny bone to the point I can’t speak or breathe from laughing. How is it possible it took a college football player instead of a math major or professor to make that hilarious joke for the first time in my life?
“That’s exactly right,” I choke out, wiping tears from my eyes.
He taps his temple. “If I’m not mathing, I’m not breathing, baby. Give me a harder one. That was too easy.”
“All right.” I lay an arm on the table and gaze into Luca’s dark, twinkling eyes. “What’s the limit of the sine of one over x as x approaches zero?”
Luca’s features freeze in a way that says, “Yeesh,” and I can’t help laughing yet again. Shoot. I thought I had an ironclad plan to make him a winner in our silly game, but apparently not. But just as I’m about to give him a hint, a light bulb visibly goes off on Luca’s chiseled face and he slams his palm onto the small table.
“The limit does not exist!” he booms. And I swear, I feel like a proud parent for leading him to that fully intended answer.