Chapter 8 #2
I headed to the coffee shop. I needed sugar and a large coffee. I had no idea where they got their energy from, but I knew I got mine in the form of sugar and caffeine.
My classes were a welcome break from grown men yelling at grown men, and the constant thud of bodies crashing into one another.
Whatever Professor Flannigan saw in my face when he asked me how my first day was caused him to cackle in delight.
I did mention that Dean Cole had just happened to be there, and he gave me a quick wink before starting class as if nothing had happened.
I spent my free hour between two and three doing a crash course in ‘Football for Dummies.’ I was quietly confident that I learned nothing, except that football made no sense to me.
At four, I was loitering in front of the door that was locked to my pass. I peered through the frosted glass of the door but, unsurprisingly, saw nothing.
A light brown hand, warm, familiar in a way it had no right to be, holding a pass, reached over my shoulder, and the card swiped. My body was attuned to him after one kiss. How freaking annoying was that? Dustin opened the door and held it for me. I murmured my thanks.
“You’re everywhere,” he grumbled, following me in.
“I’m doing my assignment.”
“You’re distracting.”
“That sounds like a you problem.”
He huffed out something between a laugh and a scoff. “Just . . . stay out of my way, okay?” He glanced at me. “And stop watching me. I’m not your assignment.”
Fuck him.
“I’m not watching you.” I’d been totally watching him. “Why do you want me to look away even if I was? Worried I’ll write something mean about you?”
His eyes met mine — steady, sharp, too aware. “No,” he said quietly. “Worried you’re looking for trouble, and it’ll find you, and somehow you’ll drag me into it.”
The air tightened between us. Just enough to make breathing feel optional. Then he cleared his throat, broke the moment, and walked away as if nothing had happened.
I stood there, notebook in hand, pretending my heart wasn’t tap-dancing in my chest. He’d said “drag me into it.” Not the team. Not the problem. Him.
Interesting word choice. Or was it?
God, this was supposed to be easy. A soft cover story. A simple assignment. A feature review of Mike . . . while using the chance to observe this shady program.
It did not involve Dustin Slater.
But if day one was already this messy? Yeah. This feature was going to kill me.
Mike came out of the room that Dustin had gone into. He was already in his practice clothes. Uniform? Shit, I needed a more basic football breakdown. Maybe the idiot’s guide to the idiot’s guide.
“Hey, you need to be here about twenty to thirty minutes before.” He had no malice or reprimand in his voice. “We start at four. So we need to be here before that.”
“Oh, okay.” I frowned. “We definitely need to coordinate schedules. I have class before this, and I already ran across campus. Tell me your day,” I instructed, and hastily wrote it all down, seeing how to make this work.
When I had it, we walked to the doors that led to the room where they watched film of themselves and got told, again, why they weren’t good enough.
Football was not for those with low self-esteem, I learned.
I also learned that film session was my personal hell.
The room was dark, cold, and silent except for the echo of the coach shouting over footage.
My job was to sit behind Mike and quietly observe his routine, which would’ve been easy if Dustin weren’t sitting two rows ahead of us, turning his head every few minutes to give me the kind of look that said he didn’t understand why I existed.
I glared back every time. Professionally, of course.
Halfway through film, someone muttered, “Slater’s got himself a stalker, she keeps watching him,” and the room erupted in quiet laughter.
I didn’t blush often, but I did then.
Dustin turned around, wearing a dangerous smirk. “Oh yeah?” he said to his teammates. “She wishes.”
My pen nearly broke in my hand. Mike glanced at me and gave me a tight smile. I put my head down and didn’t raise it again until the lights came back on. We were some of the last to leave, and I was braced for whatever came next.
I hoped he wouldn’t resent the ‘stalker’ comment. Mike led me to the tunnel.
I needed to break the awkward silence. “These first few days will be you getting used to me, and then we’ll be more in sync, and you’ll forget I’m even here.”
I knew who snorted behind us. I ignored him.
“Let’s move it, freshman,” Dustin said, walking past us. “Coach doesn’t slow down for a piece of tail, neither should you.”
Piece of tail? What a dick. I resented the fact I’d kissed him. One more hour — that’s all I had, and day one would be over. I’d go home to Milly, and we’d spend the night in silence. Sweet, blissful quiet.
Mike gave me an apologetic smile; he didn’t say anything in my defense, but he’d heard it too and chosen not to comment. Was it because Dustin was untouchable in this environment, or because Mike had learned not to?
Probably both.
I rolled my eyes, letting him know it didn’t bother me, which made him grin. I wasn’t going to be the reason Mike was uncomfortable.
One more hour. That’s all I had left.
Easy.
By the end of the day, my feet ached, my hair felt heavy, and my notebook pages were full. And somehow, Dustin Slater had managed to wedge himself into every part of my assignment without being the assignment at all.
I’ll do better tomorrow, I promised myself.
I didn’t believe me either.