Chapter 6
Chapter Six
STELLA
Ican’t believe Alex came to my room to see if I was okay.
Not only that, but I’m about to have dinner with him.
I’m living in an alternative universe. My lower back tingles where his large hand rests.
The elevator doors open, and when people see him, they part like the Red Sea.
I now know he’s an athlete. He must be pretty good if people treat him like he’s royalty.
Before we enter the dining hall, I stop. Placing my hand on his forearm, I urge him toward the wall so I can ask, “Are you some kind of a celebrity around here or something?”
He looks down into my eyes and chuckles. “Something like that.”
“Well, what is it you do here? What is your sport?”
“I play football,” he says proudly.
My eyes drift down to his broad chest and shoulders. “Well, now that makes sense. What do you do on the football diamond?”
Alex laughs. “You mean field? The football field?”
“Oh, yeah, that’s what I meant.”
“I’m a tight end.”
This makes me giggle. I’m tempted to ask him to turn around so I can see if he’s got what it takes. Instead, there’s a rather lengthy silence. Am I supposed to know what a tight end does? Maybe Alex is waiting for me to comment, because he’s just staring at me now. “I think I hear crickets.”
Alex belts out a laugh like he’s surprised I said something funny. I can be funny. He’s got a great laugh. It makes my stomach flutter.
“Sorry, I was waiting for your next question. You know, something like, ‘Alex, what is a tight end?’ Then my answer would have been, ‘Well, Stella, it’s the hardest and best position to play on the football diamond.’” He gives me the cutest smirk, and I want to swoon.
“Seriously, it’s okay; I’ll tell you. My position as tight end is on offense.
I help protect the quarterback by blocking players from getting to him, but I also catch the ball like a wide receiver. ”
I blink. That’s a lot of information about football in a short amount of time.
I literally know nothing about football.
I probably should have learned something from my dad, but I tend to tune him out when he’s yelling at the television.
So, I keep looking at him, nodding like I understand what the heck he’s saying.
It’s interesting to watch because he’s so animated.
It’s obvious that he’s passionate about his sport.
Not to mention the fact that he’s easy on the eyes.
I could probably look at him forever and never get tired of the view.
Deciding to admit my lack of football knowledge, I say, “Well, it’s a little confusing.
I guess I’ll have to google it. Or do they have Football for Idiots available at the bookstore? ”
“I think there’s an app for it.” He laughs. His voice is rich and deep. His laugh is even better.
Entering the cafeteria, it happens again.
Students part to let Alex pass. I’m staying close since I’ve no idea how any of this works.
I look away from Alex to take in the famous cafeteria.
Holy crap, it’s packed with people, and it’s huge.
There must be fifty tables in the place, all various sizes.
I’m not surprised when I notice all eyes have turned to look at Alex and, unfortunately, at me.
It makes me feel self-conscious right away.
My legs feel wobbly, and sweat appears on my forehead.
He reaches down and takes my hand in his, making a sense of calm fall over me. How did he know?
His hand is warm and callused, probably from football, but I like it. It makes him real. He leads me to the entrance to all the different food areas. He explains how it’s set up. “It’s arranged by food groups, like soup and salad, main dishes, side dishes, then desserts, and so on.”
I nod as I leave his side to look around at all of my choices.
Everything smells delicious, and there’s so many choices.
On a normal day, I’d probably want one of everything, but honestly, I’m not that hungry.
I wasn’t making that up. I guess a breakup does that to you.
Maybe I’ll lose some weight over all of this. That’d sure make my mom happy.
Not only that, I’m not excited about eating in front of Alex.
I mean, I know he can tell that I like to eat, but I don’t want him to actually see me doing it.
So, my solution to that is to only get a salad.
I take a small plate and place a few carrots, some green peppers, and some chopped lettuce on it without dressing.
Mom would be appalled if I used anything besides lemon juice on my salad anyway.
Damn, she’s over an hour away and I can still hear her diet advice.
Next I check out the soup station. Nope, it has the potential to be too messy, and I don’t want to make any strange slurping sounds and draw unwanted attention to myself.
I guess it’s too late for that since I’ve got a guy the size of the Hulk next to me.
Leaning over me, Alex grumbles as he points to my plate. “What the hell is that?”
I look up at him, startled. “What do you mean?”
“Are you a vegetarian or something?”
“No. Why?”
“Well, you need to eat more than rabbit food.”
“I told you I’m not very hungry,” I whisper, feeling embarrassed.
I take the opportunity to look at his tray.
It’s heaping with food from every station.
It appears he’s grabbed one of everything.
Wow! What would that be like, to be able to eat anything you wanted?
A girl can dream, can’t she? It doesn’t hurt that he probably burns about 10,000 calories at football practice every night.
“Well, if you aren’t going to eat much, make what you eat count. Come on, there’s pizza over here. If you get one with vegetables on it, you’ve covered most of the food groups.” He smirks.
“Alex, I don’t want pizza. It’s not good for me. Do you know how many calories are in a slice of pizza?”
“Yeah, I do.”
I don’t want to stand here arguing with him. People are still watching. I place the pizza slice on my plate. Next Alex shows me where the ice cream machines are.
“I’m not getting both pizza and ice cream!”
“Why not?”
“Well, do you know how many calories—”
“Yes, I know the calorie count, but ice cream will make you feel better. It’s a scientific fact that if you eat ice cream when you’re sad, the sadness disappears.
It’s true. I’m talking science here.” He’s giving me that toothy grin I’m starting to crave.
“Besides, I won’t take no for an answer; I’m getting you ice cream.
Stop arguing with me. I’m Alex Emerson, star tight end of the Northwestern Wildcats. Don’t you know who I am?”
That makes me giggle.
Alex laughs too. “I’m just teasing. I know you don’t know who I am. Just do this for me this once so I can believe I made you feel better. Ice cream can cure anything, I swear.”
Reluctantly, I agree to the ice cream. I choose chocolate, which seems to be Alex’s favorite too. He tries to talk me into some candy bar toppings and hot fudge, but I only want the ice cream. “Thank you, Alex.”
“For what?”
“For bringing me to the cafeteria and showing me how to navigate all of this. I was nervous thinking about coming down here alone.”
“My pleasure. I’m glad I could help.” And I believe he means it. “We should make this an every night kind of thing. I can stop by and get you after I get back from practice, and we can come to dinner together. How does that sound?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. It would be putting you out. I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“No imposition. I like you, Stella Matthews. You’re funny.”
Oh. Right. Of course. I know what it means when a boy says “You’re funny.
” I’ve heard it many times before. I’m the funny fat chick––every guy’s dream friend.
I’m the entertainment while the thin girls get all the good stuff.
It figures. I knew he didn’t really see anything in me.
Why would he? I try to shake off the bad thoughts.
Instead, I ask, “Hey, how did you know my last name?”
“I have my ways.” He winks. “Okay, it’s settled.
You’re my dinner date from now on. Now follow me, Miss Matthews, I’ll show you to your seat.
” He raises his arm and bends at the waist like Prince Charming.
I laugh as he grabs my tray and starts to walk.
I’m relieved he’s carrying my tray. People like to look at my plate when I’m out to eat.
I guess they want to know what not to do.
He stops moving in front of a gigantic rectangular table.
It’s not just large; it’s humongous. It looks like they put about three of those eight-foot tables together to make it big enough to house twenty people comfortably.
“Here we are.” He turns and steps back so I can take my seat.
As I look around, I see a group of men—none of whom are average.
They’re all huge––really huge. I know my eyes must be bulging out of my head because I hear a couple of the guys chuckle.
“Guys, this is Stella. Stella, these are the guys.”
A few of them say, “Hey.” The rest merely grunt.
I raise my hand slightly in a weak little wave and squeak, “Uh, hi.”
“Okay, you sit here, and I’ll get this jackass over here to move so I can sit next to you.”
The guy in Alex’s seat just grumbles and rolls his eyes, but he gets up, picking up his tray as he goes, saying, “I was done anyway, you tool.”
Alex laughs. Feeling my legs shake with nerves again, I quickly sit down.
Alex places my tray in front of me, and I pick up a fork and start to move lettuce leaves around my plate to make it look like I’m eating.
Glancing around the table, I count about twelve football players and four girls at the table.
I look at each of the girls one by one and smile.
A couple of them smile back, but the other two give me nasty looks. What did I do to deserve that?