Chapter Seventeen #2
He stares down at me, looking stunned. A breeze ruffles the leaves of the palm trees overhead, and I tuck a lock of wayward hair behind one of my ears.
“I … I don’t even know what to say to that,” Wyatt finally says. “But thank you.”
He has no idea how smart and amazing and wonderful he is, I think. If I can do anything for him during our brief time together, maybe I can give him this. Maybe I can help Wyatt see himself as so much more than a hockey prodigy.
It’s the very least I can do after all that he’s done for me.
“Thank you is good,” I say, squeezing his hand in mine. “Now go on, drop some wisdom on me.”
He blinks. I can tell he forgot what we were talking about.
“We were talking about artistic swimming and budget cuts,” I remind him.
“Right. Okay. If they were going to do anything like that, you’d hear huge rumblings. Reports of deficits in the athletic budget. Shit like that. There’s been nothing. And if there isn’t a big deficit, I’m really pissed your locker room isn’t better.”
“There. Spoken with your business brain,” I say, grinning at him. Then I grow serious. “And thank you for what you said. I needed to hear it.”
We reach the dining hall, and Wyatt opens the door for me so I can step inside first. I look around with a sense of awe as he swipes his access card in the kiosk.
I know this is available to me as an athlete, this massive dining hall that looks more like a buffet set up at a five-star resort.
I should take advantage of it more often, but I cherished my time eating with my friends in the dorms last year.
I swipe my access card as well. Then Wyatt takes my hand, and we wander to the food area, filled with all kinds of options to meet the nutritional needs of athletes.
The hall is modern, with hardwood floors and lots of glass, and I know there is patio dining around a large fountain, too.
There are long tables, smaller tables for two or four, and booths.
Each chair has a shark cutout in the back of it, which is a nice touch.
Monitors are everywhere, showing OCU sports.
And of course, there are what seem like endless food stations and gorgeous displays of food.
There’s a sandwich bar. Smoothie bar. Separate protein and carbohydrate stations.
A large counter with pastas and sauces. Options for almond milk, oat milk, and soy milk.
An area just for wood-fired pizzas and freshly baked breads.
I frown. And I ate dorm food last year instead of this? Good thing I love my friends, I think with a smile.
“Let’s see what’s on the menu tonight,” Wyatt says, leading me through the hall.
He’s greeted by loads of people, and I can’t stop smiling when I see the shocked expression on their faces when they notice he’s holding my hand or keep my stupid heart from skipping inside my chest when he introduces me as his girlfriend.
“Score. It’s Tuscan beef at the carving station tonight,” Wyatt says, and there’s no hiding the excitement in his voice. He tugs me over to the carving station, where I spot a beautiful herb-crusted roast beef resting on a wooden board. “Ten out of ten recommend this.”
“Okay, if you recommend it, then I want that,” I say. “I’ll get us some trays and plates.”
“I can get those,” Wyatt says.
I wave him off. “No, I’ve got it. Stay here and stand guard over the Tuscan beef. Kick anyone’s ass who wants it. Unless it’s a big, huge football player who can kick your ass. Then get pasta.”
He grins at that, and I head down the row where there are stacks of white plates and trays. I grab a tray, and I’m about to take some plates when I hear a deep male voice behind me. “Hi, Grace.”
I freeze at the sound of the familiar voice. Then I turn around and find myself facing Asher. “Hey,” I say, wondering if Wyatt is right about him. Because I somehow doubt he happens to need a plate from this exact food station at the same time that I do.
“You never come here,” Asher says, giving me a friendly smile. “I couldn’t believe it was you at first. But maybe the universe is telling me something, running into you twice in the same day.”
I ignore that comment. I turn back around and put two plates onto the tray, then begin adding silverware. “I’m here with Wyatt.”
“Listen, Grace, about Wyatt. There are things you should know—”
I immediately cut him off with a glare. “Asher. Wyatt is my boyfriend. I do not care to hear what you think about him.”
He moves next to me. “I know he’s your boyfriend. Believe me, I know that.”
I furrow my brow. He exhales and rakes a hand through his hair. “Listen, can we talk sometime? Just us?” he asks.
“Why? I’ll see you at football mixers with our houses,” I say. I don’t disclose the fact that I know I’m his buddy. “We can talk then.”
Asher stares at me. “Grace. I messed up last semester. I liked you. But you didn’t seem to be into me, so I never asked you out.”
What?
I’m so stunned, I can’t even speak. But then I think about what Wyatt said, and I wonder if that is at play here. I finally decided to date, and now Asher wants what Wyatt has.
Or did he really just not shoot his shot last semester and now he wants a chance?
“Listen, I know you have a boyfriend now,” Asher says quickly. “But he’s Wyatt Jacobs. He hooks up. If you’re looking for something serious, this guy isn’t it. And all I want is the opportunity to get to know you so when he does mess up—and he will—you’ll consider taking a chance on me instead.”