Chasing the Rush

Book 2: Football and Feels

by Lauren Rowe

Genres: Small Town & Rural; Billionaires Romance; Sports Romance

Synopsis

Rudy meets Moneyball in a sexy yet warm-hearted, second-chance football romance for fans of Sarah Adams, Tessa Bailey, Monica Murphy, Kristen Callihan, and Lucy Score, as the analytical, math-nerd, type-A daughter of a tough love coach is assigned to babysit the team’s adrenaline junkie pass rusher.

Chelsea Parker, 26, knows football, thanks to growing up with a football coach for a father and two linebackers for brothers. But Chelsea’s true passion has always been math: crunching numbers to predict statistical outcomes for everything from football to stocks to romance. Chelsea dreams of merging her two passions to become the first female head of analytics for an NFL team. But for now, she’s got to convince the powers-that-be at her father’s new team, the Mastodons, the worst in the NFL, to give her that entry-level position in the front office.

Luca Maguire, 26, a pass rusher and adrenaline junkie with a famous last name, knows this upcoming training camp with his new team, the Mastodons, will likely be his last, if he can’t get out of his own way long enough to make the cut. The dire nature of his circumstances is the only reason Luca didn’t quit on the spot when Coach Parker assigned his daughter, Chelsea, a statistics-loving, spreadsheet-making math nerd, as Luca’s “personal coach” for the duration of camp. More like his babysitter, if you ask Luca.

Well, okay, Luca didn’t quit for that reason and another one: the thing that happened seven years ago between Luca and Chelsea as strangers, when Luca’s college football team stayed at the same hotel as Chelsea’s mathletes squad. Luca would never admit this to Chelsea, especially not with her being Coach’s daughter and the newly assigned bane of his existence, but the truth is Luca hasn’t stopped thinking about that cute little mathlete who ditched his ass seven years ago, right before their clothes came off, ever since.

Release date: July 28, 2026

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 320

Sample

Bloomington, Indiana

“LOOKS LIKE OUR serenity is about to get shattered by a pack of starving hyenas.” Daisy snorts. “They’re hot, though. I’ll give ’em that.”

My new friend’s comment prompts me to look up from the color-coded spreadsheet I’m working on for our math team. A college football team—Nebraska’s, based on the logos printed on their T-shirts and sweats—has blasted into the breakfast area of our budget hotel.

“You think they’re a team of some kind?” Daisy asks innocently, surveying the rowdy young men as they raucously descend upon the tepid buffet offerings and jockey to pile soggy scrambled eggs onto paper plates.

I smirk to myself, amused but not surprised my friend hasn’t instantly recognized this breed of athletic young men as football players. For my part, thanks to my upbringing, I’m already mentally sorting them into their positions on the football field, based on body type: running backs, receivers, cornerbacks, offensive linemen, and so on. And let’s not forget my all-time favorite position: linebackers. Better yet if they’re an outside linebacker. And better still if a guy is an OLB that’s an edge rusher—the guy tasked with breaking through the opposing offensive line and taking down his opponent’s quarterback. Yum.

“Maybe they’re a wrestling team?” Daisy offers nonchalantly, her gaze continuing to drift across the testosterone-laden chaos.

Her suggestion is ludicrous, quite frankly, but I refrain from saying so. Daisy knowing I come from a die-hard football family that includes a head coach and two NFL players is one thing; scaring her off by saying something that could make me sound like a know-it-all blowhard would be another.

Daisy’s the only good friend I’ve made so far since starting at Northwestern two months ago, and I’d really like to continue building the friendship. Daisy’s the sort of person I’ve always dreamed of having in my life—a fun, wild-child type—so I’m determined not to give her the ick by revealing Stat-Keeping Football Fanatic Chelsea too early.

“I feel like they’re most likely football players,” I murmur vaguely.

“Well, if anyone would know about that, it’s you.” Daisy scans the melee for another long beat. “Although I’m kinda thinking they look like soccer players.”

I press my lips together. Those are football physiques, as surely as my name is Chelsea Parker. Also, Indiana’s campus is only a few miles away, and today is Saturday—game day in the world of college football. Plus, they’ve all got NEBRASKA plastered all over their clothes, and that particular university is in the Big Ten Conference, along with Indiana, which means the two schools are likely opponents in today’s game. So, put all those facts together, along with the approximate number of them being exactly what I’d expect to see for a traveling football team, and there’s not a doubt in my mind those young men are Nebraska’s football players, come to Bloomington as the visiting team for today’s home game at Indiana.

I don’t feel the need to convince Daisy I’m right, however, so I simply shrug and return to my spreadsheet. But only a few seconds later, Daisy pokes my arm and whispers, “Hey, do any of those hotties catch your eye?” She waggles her eyebrows. “I know you said you don’t want a boyfriend for at least a couple years, but maybe you could have your first fling tonight after the competition.” She smiles mischievously. “I bet any of those boys would be more than willing to make out with you for your first time.” She snickers. “Or with me for my twentieth.”

I roll my eyes and return to my spreadsheet. “You do you, Daisy. But that’s not what I came here for. I came to win.”

“Why can’t we do both?”

I look up from my screen. “Even if I were going to let myself get distracted like that, why would I do it with someone I’d never see again? They’re Cornhuskers, Daisy. From Nebraska.”

“That’s exactly my point. You could have some fun checking off some of those boxes you keep talking about and never have to worry about the guy turning into a cling-on and suddenly thinking he’s got the right to tell you what to do.”

She’s parroting my own words back to me. That’s what I told her during freshman orientation when the topic of boyfriends came up, because that’s how it went down for two of my best friends from back home, once they got their first boyfriends. After living under the watchful, protective eyes of my father and two big brothers my whole life, why would I want any man thinking he’s got a say in what I do, now that I’m finally free and on my own?

“Well, regardless, I couldn’t possibly do that tonight because I’m one hundred percent positive we’ll make it into the finals, which means we’ll need to come back here and prepare as much as humanly possible before getting to bed at a reasonable hour so we maximize brain function with a full eight hours of sleep.” As Daisy well knows, the top six teams in today’s first round of the competition will advance to tomorrow’s finals, and it’d take an act of God to keep a team like ours out of them.

Daisy pats my hand. “I say this with love, but you need to live a little. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. There will be other math competitions over the next four years, but when will we ever be staying in the same hotel as a bunch of hot athletes? It’s a rare gift from the gods of horndoggery and we should seize the opportunity.”

I can’t help giggling. I’ve never met anyone like Daisy Brenner. She’s certainly nothing like my straitlaced friends back home in Ohio. “Well, it might be a rare gift from the gods of horndoggery for you, but I’ve traveled with my father and his team, and my two brothers and their teams, for as long as I can remember, so staying in the same hotel as a bunch of football players is nothing new to me.”

Daisy flashes me a naughty look. “But have you stayed in a hotel with a bunch of football players when you’re away at college and your daddy and brothers aren’t around to watch you and all those football players like a hawk?”

I can’t help but return her playful smirk. “No. Can’t say I have.”

“For the first time ever, you’re surrounded by a bunch of hot football players and you’re not the head coach’s daughter to them. Think about that.”

She’s making some sense, actually.

“To them,” she adds, “you’re just some random hot girl on a computer who hasn’t paid any of them a lick of attention, even though they’re all trying to catch your eye.”

“They are not.”

“Yes, they are. Several of them have been scoping you out this whole time, and you haven’t even noticed.”

“If they’re looking over here, they’re looking at you, Daisy.”

“Some are, for sure. But others are into you. And I can most definitely tell which are which. Come on, Chelsea. Look around for a minute and pick one you like, and I’ll go over there and play matchmaker for you.”

I gasp. “Oh my God, Daisy. Absolutely not.”

She laughs. “Are you sure?”

“If I promise to try to ‘live a little’ when we get back to school, will you drop this? Right now, we need to be laser-focused on advancing today and taking home the trophy tomorrow.”

Daisy huffs out a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

“Thank you.”

We both return to our computers, and for a quiet, blessed moment, I think Daisy’s finally moved on.

“It tracks that they’re Cornhuskers,” she says, out of the blue. “Since they all look so damned corn-fed. Oooh, look at that stupidly hot one that just came in! Yummy.”

Football players are a dime a dozen to me, no matter what they look like. But I can’t deny I’m curious what my new friend’s idea of “stupidly hot” might be, especially if she’s planning to play matchmaker for me when we get back to school; so I take a quick peek against my better judgment. And that’s when I see the most stupidly hot, gorgeous body I’ve ever seen. He’s got his head turned when I look over there, as he talks animatedly to one of his teammates, but even so, I can tell that he’s extremely tall and muscular, with dark, thick hair and NEBRASKA emblazoned across his broad, impressive chest.

“Yep. He’s pretty hot,” I concede, returning to my computer.

“You didn’t wait for him to turn his head. His face is gorgeous.”

But she’s already lost me. After seeing that boy’s insane body, I’m already searching the internet for Nebraska’s roster so I can confirm whether he’s a linebacker or a tight end. With a body like that, he’s one or the other, for sure, and I’m dying to find out which.

Before I get to the roster, I peek at the Cornhuskers’ schedule and quickly confirm they’re playing the Hoosiers today. “I was right,” I murmur. “Indiana is playing—”

“He’s looking over here!” Daisy blurts. “At you!”

“Who?”

“The crazy-hot one! He’s looking right at you!”

“Liar.”

Certain she’s just teasing me, I look up and instantly lock eyes with the hottie in the buffet line. Without missing a beat, he shoots me a wide, dimpled smile when our gazes meet. One that sends heat flashing into my cheeks and makes me look down.

“He’s so scorching hot, he physically sears my corneas,” Daisy whispers.

He’d sear mine, too, if only he didn’t so strongly resemble a certain enemy of my people. The devil incarnate. Roman Maguire. The former Michigan quarterback every Ohio State loyalist hates with the passion of a thousand suns, thanks to the way he decimated my father’s team in two consecutive seasons several years ago on his way to back-to-back national championships and the Heisman Trophy.

Feeling deeply flustered, I quickly click into the Cornhuskers’ roster to find him. When I do, I discover the dimpled Roman Maguire doppelganger in the buffet line doesn’t coincidentally look like the Prince of Darkness. He’s the devil’s kin. Roman’s younger brother, Luca Maguire. Number Ninety-Five. A guy who plays my all-time favorite position. Outside linebacker. Even worse, he’s an edge rusher.

Shoot.

With my heart rate increasing, I read the short bio next to Luca Maguire’s name. He is a freshman like me, but he’s a full year older at nineteen. Surely his parents started him in kindergarten on the later side to give him a leg up in sports throughout his school years. I’m not surprised, given Luca’s pedigree. My parents did the same with my two older brothers, and it worked out spectacularly well, considering they’re both linebackers in the NFL now.

“Good morning, ladies,” a smooth male voice says.

Holy shit.

I jerk my gaze up from the dimpled, smiling face of Luca Maguire on my laptop and discover the same dimpled, smiling face staring down at me from mere feet away.

“Good morning to you!” Daisy replies brightly as I try not to choke on my own tongue. Can Luca see his grinning photo on my computer screen? Given our positioning, that shouldn’t be possible, but based on the cocky grin he’s shooting me, one that’s making me feel like this boy knows all my secrets, I’m irrationally worried there’s some kind of reflection behind me. A window or mirror that’s giving me away.

Barely able to breathe, I slam my laptop shut and glance behind me, and thankfully there’s nothing there but a beige wall.

As I turn back around, Luca asks, “Can I take this?” He motions to the empty chair at our small table, and embarrassment washes over me to find out he didn’t come over here to flirt with Daisy and me, like I thought, but only to drag an empty chair to a table with his friends.

“It’s all yours,” Daisy chirps, batting her eyelashes.

“Thanks. I’m so hungry, I could eat a Hoosier.” With that, Roman freaking Maguire’s smoking-hot younger brother plops his piled-high plate of food onto our small table and slides his muscular ass into the chair next to mine. “Thanks for letting me crash your party, ladies. I’m Luca, by the way.”

I exchange a flabbergasted look with Daisy. Plainly, she didn’t expect this incredible specimen of a man to sit down at our table any more than I did.

“Hi, Luca. I’m Daisy and this is Chelsea.”

“Hey, Daisy.” Luca’s dark eyes shift to me. “Chelsea. It’s great to meet you both.” To my shock, he continues staring only at me when he speaks again, even though it’s Daisy who’s brazenly flirting with him. “So, what brings you to the world-renowned resort town of Bloomington, Indiana?” An embarrassing snort escapes me at Luca’s silly joke, and he snickers at the comical sound. With twinkling brown eyes, he sets his forearm onto the small bit of space between us at the table and leans toward me. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, Chelsea, but you have really pretty eyes. The bluest I’ve ever seen. Wow.”

I blush crimson. “No, I-I don’t mind you saying that. At all. Thank you.” I realize after a beat, I should probably compliment his dark eyes in return, since they’re warm and soulful in a way that’s extremely alluring. But I just can’t bring myself to compliment a Maguire, even after he’s complimented me.

As a general matter, Ohio State’s heated, to-the-death rivalry with Michigan has always been legendary—like a religion. In fact, most people agree it’s the biggest and most contentious rivalry in all of college football. But thanks to Roman Maguire’s recent one-two punch in back-to-back seasons, my entire hometown of die-hard Buckeyes despises not only Michigan these days, but Roman “Satan” Maguire, too. And, of course, my family is particularly committed to the hatred, given that my father is Ohio State’s head coach and my oldest brother played linebacker during both embarrassing losses to Satan and his minions.

In the thick silence, Luca bites his lower lip and flashes me a flirtatious look that makes the small channel of air between our bodies feel supercharged all of a sudden, causing me to blush.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” Daisy says with a laugh. Plainly, she’s clocked the sudden shift in energy between Luca and me.

“No, it’s okay,” I blurt.

“I want to do some prep before the competition, anyway.” She closes her laptop and pops out of her seat with a wicked smirk. “Take your time, Chelsea. We’ve got plenty of time before we need to go. I’ll be in the room.” She says her goodbyes to our guest, shoots me a wink that says, “Go for it, tiger,” and off she goes with a swish of her hips and her computer bag on her shoulder.

As Daisy leaves, Luca asks, “What’s the competition she mentioned? Cheerleading? Dance? You look like a dancer.”

Man, I’d love to jump right in and trash-talk his big brother. And then, if he’s still standing and willing to talk to me, find out as much as possible about the Cornhuskers’ defensive scheme, since Ohio State will be playing them later in the season.

I think the Cornhuskers use a 3-3-5 stack defense, but I can’t remember without looking it up. The last time the Buckeyes played them, they used elements of a 3-3-5 with varied fronts, I believe. Maybe even elements of a 4-2-5. But since talking about any of that stuff is totally out of the question, I simply answer his question.

“A regional math tournament. Daisy and I are on our school’s math team with four other teammates.”

A grin hitches up the left side of Luca’s beautiful lips. “You’re a mathlete?”

It’s not a first. Nobody ever pegs me as a math nerd at first sight. In fact, throughout all of high school, whenever I went on the field to help my father or his linebacker coach, I was often mistaken for a cheerleader.

I open my mouth to say something snarky like “What, girls can’t be good at math?” But before I get a single word out, Luca adds, “What a crazy coincidence. So am I!”

My anticipatory hackles simmer down as a chuckle escapes me. “A mathlete?”

“Yep. The same as you.”

I can’t help but giggle. Non-math people always use that word in relation to math nerds like me, thanks to Mean Girls popularizing it. And while it’s theoretically possible this towering D1 athlete in a high-intensity football program is telling the truth and he’s somehow found the time to pursue his side passion for math along with football, it’s highly unlikely.

“Wow, that is a crazy coincidence,” I agree.

“I love math so much, in fact, I signed up for today’s math competition, too.”

“You did? No way.”

“But then, dang it, I found out today’s football game conflicted, and my coach wouldn’t let me skip the game to pursue my true passion.”

“Of math?”

“Absolutely. I live for math, Chelsea. It’s my drug. My reason for being.”

I can’t help but snort again. “Well, Luca, you’re probably not going to believe this, but the team you’re playing today asked me to come to Bloomington to play for them, but my math coach wouldn’t let me skip today’s competition to pursue my true passion.”

“Football is your true passion?”

“I live for it.” I snicker to myself at the veiled truth of the statement.

I don’t think it’s likely Luca would put two and two together about my identity if I were to admit my genuine passion for football to him. But then again, women with a detailed and in-depth knowledge about the sport are pretty rare, especially when it comes to women my age, so the conversation would likely spark Luca’s curiosity and lead to nothing good for me. College football is a small world, and I’m extremely findable online, since I’ve stood next to my father on the sidelines and during postgame interviews too many times to count.

“What are the chances?” Luca says.

“Worse than getting kicked by a snake, I’d say.” When Luca chuckles at my word choice, I add, “I can’t take credit for that. My mom always says funny stuff like that.”

“You had to get your funny from somewhere.”

My heart rate quickens. I think I’m hilarious, actually, but mostly with my math friends. My math puns are seriously elite. But in other contexts, and especially with cute boys, I’ve never been particularly lauded for my sense of humor. And yet now, out of nowhere, this unbelievably gorgeous football player—a guy who’s an edge rusher, to boot!—is specifically calling me funny? It’s a huge rush for me, even if a part of my brain knows Luca’s almost certainly a flirt who’s merely telling me what I want to hear.

“So, what position do you play?” Luca asks, jerking me from my thoughts.

“We don’t really have official positions on the math team, but I think I’ve become our unofficial team captain and strategist.”

Luca cracks up. “No, on the football field. What’s your position?”

“Ooh.”

“You must be damned good for the Hoosiers to beg you to come play for them today.”

I laugh with him. “I’m a quarterback, of course. It’s the only position I know, so it was my only option.” Even Daisy knows quarterbacks exist, thanks to movies and pop culture references, so it’s my safest answer. The last thing I need is for Luca to figure me out and then brag to a teammate he flirted with Coach Parker’s daughter and she never once chewed his brother or Michigan out. If that were to happen, it’d only be a matter of time before my father and brothers would find out I engaged in a flirtatious conversation with a Maguire without defending my people.

Luca’s not the Maguire, of course. Thankfully. God help me if I’d told Satan himself I didn’t mind him complimenting my eyes—my family and hometown would probably disown me. But, still, in my world, this boy is a Montague, and I’m a Capulet, so doing everything in my power to keep this conversation safely under wraps forever is mandatory.

“Now that I know you’re a quarterback,” Luca says, “it’s a good thing your math coach didn’t let you play me today. As an outside linebacker, one of my biggest jobs is taking down the opposing quarterback without mercy.”

I bat my eyelashes the same way Daisy did a few minutes ago. “But you wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”

I can’t believe what a flirt I’m being. It’s totally out of character for me to partake in this sort of silly communication style, especially when I’ve got an important math competition to prepare for, but Luca’s drawing me in and giving me tingles like nobody’s ever done before.

Luca nods slowly with mock solemnity. “Sorry to inform you, Chelsea, but I’d most definitely do it to you. I’m an edge rusher. That means I show exactly zero mercy to everyone, including you.”

I gasp. “No.”

Once again, Luca’s expression conveys the utmost seriousness. “I’ll show you mercy anywhere and everywhere else, but football is war, baby.” Luca drags his teeth over his lower lip as his dark, sparkling eyes remain locked with mine. “But, hey, if it makes you feel any better, I promise if I’d had to take you down like a clown, it would have hurt my very soul to do it.”

Football is war. Hell yeah, it is. Goddamn, those are the hottest words anyone’s ever spoken to me. In fact, hearing Luca say them while looking at me like he wants to lean in and kiss my lips is sending heat flashing over every inch of my skin.

“Well, at least you’d have a conscience about your war crimes,” I tease.

Luca laughs. “See? Funny. Like I said.” His cheeks flush. “Funny and pretty.”

Holy crap. Flustered, I shift in my seat and blurt, “So, in all seriousness, tell me more about what you do on your team. I don’t really understand what you meant when you said you ‘take down the opposing quarterback.’”

Luca lights up. Clearly, he’s excited to explain this to me. “Okay, so you know teams have offensive and defensive players, right? The offense, led by the quarterback, tries to score points, while the opposing team’s defense tries to stop them. Well, I’m on the defensive side of the ball, and one of my jobs is to try to stop the opposing quarterback from successfully throwing the ball to another one of his offensive players. To do that, I have to get past all the offensive players trying to protect their quarterback. Which is super hard to do. But if I do it, then I literally tackle their quarterback to ground. But only if he’s still holding the football, of course.”

“So you only tackle him before he’s gotten the chance to throw the ball to another player?”

“Exactly right! You’re getting it now. When I tackle the QB to the ground while he’s still got the ball, then that’s what’s called a sack.”

“A sack. Got it.”

“It’s a really big deal when I get one. Like, the holy grail for my position. There’s other important stuff I do, too, but that’s the biggest thing for me.”

“How often do you do this sack thing? Every game?”

He chuckles at my intentionally clunky word choice. “If I’m lucky, I’ll get one sack per game. Two, if I’m really on fire. Three or more sacks in a single game would be considered a truly amazing performance. My best game ever in high school I got four of ’em, and that was seriously the best day of my life.”

He’s so cute. Man, I’d love to find out everything there is to know about his best game in high school. I’m sure the play-byplay would thrill me. But I can’t push my luck.

“What’s it called when you take down the quarterback after he throws the ball?” I’ve been asked this ridiculous, clueless question several times myself, so I know it’s a realistic one for a non-football fan to ask.

“A huge penalty,” Luca replies with a laugh. “That’s a massive no-no.” He leans forward, his passion evident. “Sometimes, a quarterback doesn’t even try to throw the ball. Sometimes, he just quickly hands it off to someone to run with it, which means there’s not even a chance for me to try for a sack.”

“Oh no.”

“In that case, I try to take down whoever’s running with the ball, instead of the quarterback.”

“Interesting. So, you’re busy during the game pretty much no matter what, then?”

“Yep. It’s nonstop action for me when it’s my turn to be out on the field. I mean, sometimes the guy with the ball doesn’t come anywhere near me on the field—outside linebackers line up on the outside, which is toward the sideline, rather than in the middle of the field.”

“Ah.”

“But even then, I’m gonna be blocking someone to help my teammate or running around like a madman to try to get to the play.”

“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.

“Right again!” I choke out as Luca celebrates w