Nerds Don't Date Athletes

Chapter 3

NOAH

Most people think being the star player at Ridgemont is the whole personality.

They see the jersey. The captain's armband. The girls who hang around after practice hoping to catch eye contact. The coaches who let certain things slide because the season is going well and I'm the reason it's going well.

They see the highlight reels. The goals. The post-game interviews where I say the right things and smile the right way.

And yeah, I play into it. Always have. That image took work to build and it keeps things simple.

But what nobody sees - the part I'd never say out loud - is that I've thought about a girl from Crestwood every single day this week.

Which is a problem.

Because she's Crestwood. Because her ex plays on their team. Because I had exactly no business showing up on that campus three Tuesdays in a row before the joint sessions were even official. And yet here we are.

It started as curiosity. That's what I told myself the first time I crossed that gate. I'd heard about the fountain tradition from one of our guys, thought it was funny, figured I'd see it for myself.

Then I saw her throw the coin.

Then I heard her say Ridgemont like it personally owed her something.

And something about that - the way she said it, the glasses, the ponytail, the fact that she looked like she was having the single worst night of her life and was still standing there with her chin up - I don't know. It got me.

I introduced myself. She didn't give me her name.

I thought about that for three days.

Then I went back.

---

The joint session Tuesday is standard. Hour on the ice, film review after, the usual back and forth between coaching staffs about the upcoming game. Ridgemont versus Crestwood is the biggest rivalry in the conference and everyone in that room knows it, which makes the whole thing politely tense in the way that only competitive athletes pretending to be collegial can be.

I'm not paying attention to any of it.

I'm watching the east quad through the complex window.

Martinez, our left wing, drops into the seat next to me and follows my line of sight.

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"You've been staring out that window for twenty minutes, man."

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Strategy."

Martinez looks out the window. Looks back at me. "There's nothing out there."

"Drop it."

He drops it, but he's smirking when he turns back to his notes and I make a mental note to deal with that later.

The session wraps up. Coaches shake hands. Equipment gets packed. And I take the long way out - through the east corridor, past the vending machines, out the side door that opens directly onto the quad.

I tell myself I'm just getting air.

And then I see her.

She's cutting across the far end of the quad, bag on her shoulder, glasses slightly crooked, moving with the particular energy of someone who did not sleep nearly enough and is refusing to let it slow them down.

I don't think about it. I just say her name.

"Sloane."

She stops.

Turns around.

And the look on her face when she sees me is - honestly, it's something. Not happy. Not unhappy. Something in between that she's trying very hard to make look like annoyance.

"What are you doing here?" she says.

"Joint session." I nod back toward the complex and fall into step beside her. She didn't invite me to. I do it anyway. "Ridgemont and Crestwood share the ice on Tuesdays this semester."

"Since when?"

"Since this semester. You didn't know?"

"Why would I know the hockey schedule?"

"Your boyfriend plays for Crestwood." I pause. "Played."

She stops walking. "Word travels."

"Hockey teams talk." I turn to face her properly. She's got this way of holding herself when she's uncomfortable - shoulders slightly back, chin up, like she's daring you to make something of it. "I heard what happened. Bennett's an idiot."

"You don't know anything about it."

"I know enough."

"You don't know me."

"I know your name." I watch her face. "I know you throw coins at fountains and curse rival campuses when you're having a bad night." I pause. "I know you push your glasses up when you're nervous. You're doing it right now."

Her hand drops from her face immediately.

There it is.

I don't mean to smile. It just happens.

"Stop analyzing me," she says.

"I'm not analyzing you. I'm paying attention. There's a difference."

She stares at me for a second. And I can see it - the thing she's trying to decide. Whether to stay or walk. Whether I'm worth the trouble.

She decides.

"I have class," she says.

"You just came from class."

"Another one."

"At noon?"

"Goodbye, Noah."

She turns and walks. Fast. The kind of fast that's one step below a sprint and we both know it.

"Hey." I don't move. Just let my voice carry across the quad. "Bennett didn't deserve you."

She doesn't stop.

But her step - just for a second - falters.

I catch it.

And I stand there watching her go, gear bag over my shoulder, knowing full well I have a two hour drive back to Ridgemont and a 4pm skate I'm going to be cutting it close on.

Worth it.

I pull out my phone.

Open my contacts.

Stare at her name.

Sloane.

Just that. No last name. No context. Just the name she finally gave me at a fountain on the worst night of her week.

I don't text her.

Not yet.

---

Martinez corners me in the locker room that evening.

"Okay," he says, dropping onto the bench across from me. "Talk."

"About what."

"The girl."

I pull off my skate. "There's no girl."

"Noah. I've known you for three years. You skated like your head was somewhere else entirely today and you took the long way out of Crestwood's complex which added twenty minutes to our drive back." He tilts his head. "There's a girl."

I don't say anything.

"Is she the reason we've done three unofficial visits to Crestwood this month?"

I drop the skate. "They weren't unofficial. I was scouting."

"You were scouting a cybersecurity student at a campus fountain at seven in the evening?"

I look up. "How do you know that?"

Martinez grins. "Reyes saw you. He didn't say anything because he thought maybe you'd lost a bet." He leans forward, elbows on knees. "Who is she?"

I'm quiet for a moment.

"Chase Bennett's ex," I say.

The grin disappears. "Crestwood's Bennett?"

"Yeah."

"Their starting center."

"I'm aware."

Martinez sits back slowly. He's not smiling anymore. He's doing the math and I can see the exact moment he finishes it. "Noah. You know he's going to find out you've been talking to her."

"He already knows." I grab my other skate. "He showed up here last night."

"What?"

"After the session. Waiting in the corridor." I glance up. "I told him we were friends."

"Are you?"

I think about her voice on the phone last night. The way she said I'm fine like she'd been saying it so long it had become automatic. The way she hung up before I could say anything else, and then didn't text back, and I sat there staring at my phone for ten minutes like an i***t.

"Working on it," I say.

Martinez is quiet for a second. Then - "She know you've been coming to that campus specifically to see her?"

I don't answer.

He laughs. Short and sharp. "Oh, you're in trouble."

"Appreciate the input."

"I'm serious, man. Bennett's already coming to our locker rooms. If he finds out you've been-"

"I know."

"This is going to be a whole thing."

"Martinez."

"I'm just saying-"

"I know." I stand up, grab my bag, shut my locker. "I know exactly what it is."

He watches me head for the door. "So what are you going to do about it?"

I stop.

Think about the coin hitting the water. Her saying Ridgemont like a curse. The way she pushed her glasses up and pretended she wasn't nervous. The way she said my name on the phone last night - Noah - like a warning she wasn't sure she meant.

"I haven't decided yet," I say.

And I walk out.

---

My phone buzzes at 12:03am.

I'm still awake. I'm always still awake at midnight - body clock from years of late practices, early ice times, the general inability to shut my brain off after a game day.

I pick it up.

It's not a text. It's a call.

Sloane.

I sit up straight.

Answer it on the second ring. "You're up late."

"Chase called me." Her voice is steady but there's something underneath it. Something tight. "Twenty minutes ago. He said-" She stops. Exhales. "He told me to stay away from you."

I don't say anything yet. Let her finish.

"He said if he sees us together again he's going to make sure everyone on both campuses knows exactly what kind of girl goes running to the rival team the day after a breakup." Her voice doesn't waver. But I can hear what it's costing her. "I just thought you should know. Since apparently you're involved now."

"Sloane-"

"I'm not calling because I'm scared," she says quickly. "I just wanted you to know what he said. So you're not caught off guard."

"I appreciate that."

"Okay." A beat. "Goodnight."

"Wait."

She waits.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true."

"Is it?"

Silence. Long enough that I think she might hang up. Then, quietly - "He knows things about me, Noah. Personal things. And he's the kind of person who'd use them." Another pause. "So just - be careful. That's all I'm saying."

Something shifts in my chest. Something I'm not going to name yet.

"He's not going to do anything," I say.

"You don't know that."

"Yeah, I do." I keep my voice even. Calm. "Because if he does, he's going to have a much bigger problem than a rivalry game."

She's quiet.

"That's not-" she starts.

"I know it's not your problem for me to handle. I know you didn't ask for that." I lean back against the headboard. "I'm just telling you how it is."

Another silence. Different this time.

"Go to sleep, Noah," she says softly.

"You first."

I hear it - small, almost nothing, just a breath that sounds like it might have been a laugh.

Then the line goes quiet.

I stare at the ceiling for a long time after that.

He's going to use what he knows about her.

I put my phone down. Pick it up again. Open our message thread - her name at the top, just Sloane, nothing else.

I type.

Noah: Whatever he thinks he has on you - it won't work. Not while I'm paying attention.

I hit send before I can think about it too hard.

Three dots appear.

Disappear.

Appear again.

Then:

Sloane: You're going to be a problem, aren't you.

I read it twice.

Put my phone face down on the nightstand.

And yeah.

I'm smiling.

I pick it back up.

Type one more thing.

Noah: Goodnight, Sloane.

Three dots again.

A long pause.

Then:

Sloane: Goodnight.

No punctuation. No period.

Like she typed it fast before she could change her mind.

I put my phone down.

This time I actually sleep.