Nico Medina’s world is eleven miles away from mine. During the day, it’s a place where doors are open—where homes are lived in, and neighbors love. But when the sun sets, it becomes a place where young boys are afraid, where eyes watch from idling cars that hide in the shadows and wicked smoke flows from pipes.
West End is the kind of place that people survive. It buries them—one at a time, one way or another. And when Nico was a little boy, his mom always told him to run.
I’m Reagan Prescott—coach’s daughter, sister to the prodigal son, daughter in the perfect family.
Life on top.
Lies.
My world is the ugly one. Private school politics and one of the best high school football programs in the country can break even the toughest souls. Our darkness plays out in whispers and rumors, and money and status trump all. I would know—I’ve watched it kill my family slowly, strangling us for years.
In our twisted world, a boy from West End is the only shining light.
Quarterback.
Hero.
Heart.
Good.
I hated him before I needed him.
I fell for him fast.
I loved him when it was almost too late.
When two ugly worlds collide, even the strongest fall. But my world…it hasn’t met the boy from West End.
Christmas Scene
Bonus holiday scene from The Hard Count by Ginger Scott
*Set up: The Hard Count is a star-crossed love, YA high school football romance. The main characters are Nico Medina and Reagan Prescott. Sasha is Nico’s best friend.
Nico Media’s POV
“Dude, aren’t you and Reagan like…what, officially dating now?” Sasha drops the heavy box of dish soap bottles at my feet, clipping my toes. I jump back and rub my hands together because it’s cold as hell out here.
“Yeah, that doesn’t mean you don’t do romantic things for your girl, man. This…it explains a lot about you and your relationship,” I say, pointing at my best friend then bending down to rip open the box I ordered online for overnight delivery yesterday.
“I don’t have a relationship,” Sasha says.
“Exactly,” I respond, standing and tapping my finger into the center of his chest.
He laughs sarcastically then starts helping me pull out the bottles.
It’s three in the morning, which is early, but I still don’t feel like I have enough time. Reagan’s never seen snow, and even I’ve seen snow. I decided to make some fall for her when she woke up so I could ask her to the winter formal under the flurries. My uncle helped me rig his compressor up with the paint sprayer to make flying foam. It’s basically how they make pretend snow for the movies and at amusement parks. At least, according to Google.
It cost me forty bucks to order three dozen generic dish soap containers online, and I promised Coach I’d clean up when we were done. I’m kinda hoping the soap just takes care of itself, but I brought a shop vac in case.
After more than an hour of dumping soap and filling containers with water from the Prescotts’ garden hose, the stage is set. Now, I just need to hear her alarm go off.
“I told you three was too early,” Sasha says through a yawn. It’s nearly five now, so we won’t have to wait that long.
I’m strangely nervous, and I star shaking my foot where Sasha and I are hiding underneath Reagan’s window. He taps his foot against mine to point it out, so I shift my feet and put the other one on top as I cross my ankles.
“You afraid she’s not going to say yes?” he teases.
“No…shut up,” I huff out. I can feel him staring at me, so I roll my shoulders and crack my neck. “It’s just…I don’t know. I guess I want to start things off right. I want to make this special is all. I get that you think it’s dumb.”
“I don’t think it’s dumb,” Sasha says right away.
“Yeah?” I tilt my head toward him and squint one eye. He smirks with a body shaking but silent laugh.
“Nah, man. It’s sweet.” He smiles with tight lips and nods at me, which is like his stamp of approval. I hold up my fist for him to tap.
“Thanks,” I say.
His knuckles knock against mine.
“No problem. Now…you…you’re dumb. But this thing you’re doing. It’s not dumb.” He starts to laugh and I shove him over onto his side. He slips his hold on the sprayer and covers me in a fast layer of foam that kicks off a wave of shivers and more laughter from my friend.
“You wanted snow,” he argues.
I fling my soapy hands, trying to get my friend back, and just as we both get to our feet we see light spill out from the window above our heads.
“Hide, you asshole,” I say, pulling the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him against the wall with me. We both stand with our backs flat against the brick, holding our breath as we hear Reagan’s window squeak open.
“I hear you guys,” she says, and my head falls forward.
Damn. I wanted to surprise her. Just when I’m about to scrap everything and just toss up the teddy bear I bought and ask her to be my date, Sasha hands the spray nozzle to me and holds his finger to his mouth.
“Reagan. I need you to come to your front door, okay?” Sasha asks.
It takes Reagan a few seconds to answer, and she finally breathes out “okay.”
I hold the nozzle forward and test a spray, looking at my friend.
“Just because she knows we’re here doesn’t mean it’s not cool that you’re making your girl snow. Hand it over and go get your Romeo on, brother,” Sasha says, taking the hose from me and shoving my arm so I stumble my feet out into the front drive of her house.
My smile is crooked and my laugh goofy as Reagan opens the door. My hair is matted to my head and I look up at it, catching the soapy tips hanging over my brow. I blow at them then smooth it back.
“If you hit me with a water balloon Nico Medina, I swear to God…”
“I won’t. I promise.” I chuckle and urge her to step outside with my palm. One hand reaching inside my jacket for the bear, I wait until Reagan’s fingertips brush into mine before I pull it out and hand it to her. She takes it in her other hand.
“Awe. So sweet,” she says, her eyes widening when she catches the first glimmer of white foam floating slowly through the air.
“I wanted you to see snow. Seemed like this was how a guy should ask the girl he’s crazy about to the winter formal. I don’t know…maybe it’s…”
“I love it!” She hushes me before I can slam my own idea. Her eyes flash to mine, warning me to not disparage this moment at all.
The crooked smile stretches my mouth up on the right side again, and my hands slip into my jean pockets.
“Yeah? You love it?”
I love the way she says that word—love.
She holds the bear close to her body and slowly turns with her other palm open to catch the small bubbles that mimic the real thing. It doesn’t get cold enough here to snow, even though my teeth are chattering right now.
Glimmers of white catch on her hair, covering her in soapy diamonds and frost. Her purple pajamas are dotted with white, too, and by the time she’s facing me again, a dusting rests on her eyelashes.
“Whataya say, Reagan. You wanna be my date?” I shrug my shoulder on one side and lean my head to the right, feeling the pressure of my best friend looking on. My cheeks are starting to burn, and I blink a few times as I look down at my shuffling feet. Reagan’s hand moves to the center of my chest, her palm flat above my heart as I look up into her eyes.
“I’d love to, Nico. Thank you for bringing me snow.” She steps up on her toes and presses her lips to me softly. My hands leave the warmth of my pockets to cup the softness of her cheeks until our lips part and our foreheads rest against one another.
“I’d bring you the stars if I could,” I say.
“The snow…that’s perfectly enough,” she says.
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Ginger Scott
Young & New Adult Contemporary Romance Author
Ginger Scott is an Amazon-bestselling and Goodreads Choice Award-nominated author from Peoria, Arizona. She is the author of several young and new adult romances, including recent bestsellers Cry Baby, The Hard Count, A Boy Like You, This Is Falling and Wild Reckless.
Ginger believes tomboys deserve love stories too, so her heroines often play hard and fall harder — and they don’t lose to the boys. She has been writing and editing for newspapers, magazines and blogs for a helluva long time, and she has told the stories of Olympians, politicians, actors, scientists, cowboys, criminals and towns. For more on her and her work, visit her website at http://www.littlemisswrite.com.
When she’s not writing, the odds are high that she’s somewhere near a baseball diamond, either watching her son field pop flies like Bryce Harper or cheering on her favorite baseball team, the Arizona Diamondbacks. Ginger lives in Arizona and is married to her college sweetheart whom she met at ASU (fork ’em, Devils).
