We run along the same main path where I first encountered him, passing one of the libraries and a long assortment of academic buildings. My curiosity is piqued as we pass through most of campus without stopping.

Finally, Jace turns off on a side path. A massive structure looms ahead, and I realize where he’s taking me.

“Is this some sort of test to prove I don’t hate football?” I ask as we stop in front of the entrance to the enormous stadium.

“Yup,” Jace replies, pulling a key out of his pocket and unlocking the metal gate. He jerks it open and gestures for me to enter first.

I roll my eyes, but walk past him through the gate and into a cement hallway. Glancing up, I see the undersides of the thousands of seats that must surround the stadium.

We keep walking for about a hundred feet, until green turf is suddenly visible in front of us. I quicken my pace, until suddenly I’m no longer under the stadium, but rather inside of it.

I continue walking forward slowly. My sneakers press on the soft ground as I advance. I’m amazed as I take in the pristine field covered with stark white lines.

Row after row after row of dark green seats surround the field, glimmering in the early morning sun.

“Wow.” I breathe, spinning around to take in the spectacular view from all angles.

“Pretty impressive, huh?” Jace asks, coming to stand next to me.

I nod in agreement.

Jace jogs over to the sideline, where a white mesh bag sits, filled with an assortment of weathered footballs. He fishes one out and then returns to my side.

“Ready?” he asks, spinning the ball on his index finger casually.

“I’m sorry. What gave you the impression I wanted to play football with you?” I ask incredulously. “The repeated discussions about your cockiness when it comes to, well, everything, but especially this sport? Or your comments about how uncoordinated I am?”

Jace just laughs and strolls about ten feet away from me.

“C’mon Viv,” he coaxes. “You said you don’t hate football, so humor me. If you manage to catch it a few times, I’ll even stop mentioning the fact that you’re a one-woman wrecking ball.”

The only person I’ve ever allowed to call me by a nickname is my father, but for some reason, I don’t feel the urge to correct Jace. I simply scowl as I tighten my ponytail and hold my hands out in a silent acquiescence.

Well-worn leather brushes one of my outstretched fingers and then goes spinning off to the right for a couple feet before dropping onto the grass.

“Solid start.” Jace grins widely.

I groan. “Aren’t you good enough to throw it to me with minimal effort on my part?”

“I could make a trained monkey look like a first-round draft pick,” Jace retorts.

“Great, why don’t we find one of those for you to practice with instead?”

“Notice how I didn’t make fun of you for missing the perfect pass I just threw you?” Jace counters.