“A, would you please tell this girl I’m not doing the boosters for Gavin.”
I hear Vee’s voice, understand her statement, but my brain is having a difficult time processing the meaning. I push back against the cool metal chair and look between them. “She is,” I say to Haley. “But anyway, she’s already been in his jockstrap.”
Vee groans and Haley laughs. “So just suck it up and make your move, Vee,” Haley says, swirling a wooden coffee stirrer around in her cup. “You’ve built this up to epic proportions. It’s pretty simple, really. He’s a guy. Guys like sex. Offer him sex.”
On that note, I scoot my chair back and stand, reaching for my jacket. “I forgot Professor Hayden asked me to drop off my first pages before class. I slacked off yesterday.”
Vee nods, as if she remembers this fact. “Okay. You want us to head back with?”
I shake my head. “You haven’t even eaten yet, but thanks. I’ve got a fruit cup.” I pat my side tote.
They don’t know what happened at the event, but Vee’s pretty observant. She’s just giving me time to tell her on my own terms. I’m still not sure what it even is, or if it’s a real thing to be discussed…but it’s enough to keep my stomach in knots.
Especially since something as petty as the bonfire incident was enough to turn a whole college football team against me, it seems plausible that Ryder—whose mood can shift from cool to hot in a flash—was more than offended. What he said about filling out my dance card…ugh. That stung. But he seems kind of sensitive that way. His friends wouldn’t take up his defense so easily, otherwise. Or maybe that’s just team mentality.
Oh God, but I’m obsessing again. Maybe I should get that damn aftercare treatment. Or anxiety meds, something. This is getting stupid.
I force my feet to move, needing to get away from Vee and Haley before they figure out how unhinged I really am. Pushing open the coffee shop door, I head out into the chilly fall air, eager to get back on campus and gain some equilibrium.
I’m rounding the sidewalk corner, my hands tucked under my arms for warmth, when I spot Ryder sitting on a bench. Crap. My head lowers, and I brush my hair forward to hide my face.
There’re five benches from here to the West Hall, and of course he’s sitting on the one closest to the sidewalk. My feet start moving me across the grass, cutting a straight path toward the building, when I hear, “Hey, carrot cake.”
The debate whether or not to ignore him lasts a bit too long; the wind creaking the tree branches causes enough noise to feign ignorance. But that name just frays my nerve endings, and my spine locks taut. I pivot around to face him. “I thought we were past that.”
A smile crawls across his face, and his blue eyes squint in that adorable way. It’s like the past couple of days never happened, or maybe even the past few weeks. Like he’s attempting another do-over.
I suddenly feel exhausted. There’s no such thing as a do-over, and Ryder and I just don’t mix. We’re worse than oil and water. We’re Pop Rocks and soda.
But that doesn’t stop him from hopping off the bench and walking in my direction, shoulders forward, on a mission. “I don’t give nicknames to just anybody.”
“Again, I should feel flattered?”
This time around, he nods with certainty. “Absolutely.” With one wink, I’m all dumb girl and goo. It’s ridiculous. And not at all safe.
“Why are you out here…in the cold?” I change the subject.
He notices, clearing his throat before he says, “I needed to concentrate before my next class. The lunchroom doesn’t give me time to myself.” He zips up his leather jacket, shutting out the wind.
“What class?” I really need to leave, to just end this now. I wasn’t fabricating a complete lie when I told Vee and Haley I had to hand in pages to my professor; I do—not today, but I was planning to get a jump on it. Distract my brain.
Ryder slips his hands into his jeans’ pockets, shrugging. “Writing. Well, one of my creative writing classes. It’s an important one, anyway.”
I feel my face scrunch up at his vagueness. Then I remember how revealing his major to my father seemed to embarrass him. Ryder doesn’t come across as the type to be embarrassed by anything. So this must be a delicate subject for him.
After how we parted last time, I tread lightly. I know there can’t be anything serious between us, but I can’t help feeling there’s more to this guy than just sports. Like if I peeled back the layers one at a time, slowly, this whole genuine, thought-provoking person would unfold.
I want to know him.
Just…objectively. From a safe, shielded distance.
“Was writing your first choice in major?” I ask, and stuff my now-numb hands into my jacket pockets. “I mean, I’m not trying to sound insensitive, but that’s a strange major for a guy planning to go pro after college.”
He nods once, as if he’s thinking it through, then jerks his head sideways. I follow him to the huge elm in the middle of the courtyard. “I know it’s strange. Believe me, it wasn’t easy to convince my coach in my second year that I wanted to switch majors.” He leans against the bark of the tree, then grasps my jacket and tugs me closer.
My stomach flutters where his hand lightly brushes, then just as quickly, I’m shielded from the wind. By him and the tree. “You look cold,” he says, the wind pushing his dark hair into his eyes. “Anyway, yeah. Always loved to read, always enjoyed writing, when I had time. So I thought…I don’t know. Why not?”
I squint up at him. “Nope. Not buying it.” And I’m not. The way he hesitated before when revealing his major to me and my family makes me think there’s more to it. “But, keep your secret for now. We all have them.”