by Linda Kage
“Thanks,” I muffled out my appreciation to the girl who’d just handed me my snack. My parents would’ve scolded me for talking with my mouth full, but here, no one cared. Delighting in my shameful deviousness, I turned and nearly plowed into two girls waiting in line behind me.
“I have an algebra class with him, and oh my God, he is so fine,” one of them was saying, not even realizing I needed to get by.
“True that.” The second girl fanned herself. “I’d have Noel Gamble’s babies in a heartbeat.”
Oh, brother. Rolling my eyes, I muttered a harsh, “excuse me,” and turned sideways to slip between them. But this was bad. I was lusting after the same guy as a pair of airheaded teenie-bopper skanks. What the hell was wrong with me? And why the hell was I making my obsession worse by attending the spring scrimmage...where he would obviously be playing?
Maybe because I actually loved football, despite how much all the other professors I worked with senselessly thought it should come before a good education. Or maybe I just wanted to watch Noel Gamble in tight pants throw a ball around all afternoon long. I shivered from the thought and entered the football stadium through the first gate I found. My seat was two sections over, but I didn’t mind the walk. It helped clear my head for what I was about to watch.
A couple players were on the field, warming up, but I didn’t know who anyone was by their number or with their helmets on, so I focused on finding my seat. It had been taken by a pair of squatters, but I ran them off with a meaningful glance to my ticket before sending them my arched-eyebrow teacher stare.
Once settled in with my popcorn in my lap, I pulled my ball cap lower on my head, hoping I’d disguised myself well enough. Going incognito was also part of the fun. Since I’d never dared to do anything my parents had disapproved of when I’d lived at home, I’d never had the thrill of sneaking out.
Here, where it was perfectly fine for me to attend a game that would appall Mallory and Richard Kavanagh, I didn’t really have to sneak. But it was still fun to pretend. Besides, I didn’t want to be recognized as Dr. Kavanagh just now. Students always approached with some kind of assignment question, and right now, I just wanted to be Aspen, spectator of hot men in tight pants—er, I mean, of football. People didn’t tend to recognize me when I was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with the campus mascot of a Viking on it. So I went with it.
Lifting my hip just enough to pull the roster I’d purchased and rolled up from my back pocket, I unfolded it and immediately checked for you-know-who’s name. He was number twelve.
Twelve became my new favorite number.
The only off-season game, this scrimmage was an exhibition. And boy, was I ready for a show. Delving into my popcorn, I ate handfuls at a time and sucked on my drink, feeling surprisingly young and lighthearted. Mmm, refreshing.
Raised by two university professors who’d had me in their forties, I sometimes felt as if I’d never been allowed a childhood. I’d been expected to rise above the rest; and I usually had. When I’d started school, I’d immediately been stuck in gifted classes. I’d always been younger than all my classmates and yet expected to act as mature as they were, if not more mature because of my IQ. And since no one ever wanted to associate with the freak, genius girl, I’d never had any friends who might’ve taught me how to be a normal kid.
Today seemed like it might be one of those days where I could feel as blithe as I wanted to.
This end of the stadium was shaded perfectly from the afternoon sun, so when a gentle wind blew across my face, it actually chilled me a little. I cuddled deeper into my shirt, curling my shoulders forward to keep in as much body heat as possible, only to jump when a rowdy group of guys in the next section over burst out laughing amongst themselves.
I glanced their way and smiled slightly at how much fun they were having. The perplexing dynamics of friendships had always eluded me, but in a curious way. Just because no one had ever befriended me didn’t mean I hadn’t observed the social cliques over the years, or yearned to be welcomed into one. I watched, and wondered, and envied.
But as I watched them, the shine on my euphoria dimmed, and my shoulders slumped while the loneliness crept in. The rowdy group grew louder as the guys jostled each other and passed friendly insults back and forth, setting up a pecking order of sorts. Honestly, how could friends be so mean to each other and call each other names I wouldn’t pin on my worst enemy, only to smile and laugh as if they’d handed out the ultimate compliment?
God, I wanted someone to call me a dirty name and then sling an arm around me, squeezing me with genuine companionship.
With my next glance at the loud boys, my brow wrinkled with jealous irritation. Did they have to rub in their happiness like that? I knew good and well I was all alone over here without a single—
“Getting to you too, aren’t they?” the man next to me asked as he glanced over and took in my expression.
I blinked and turned my attention to him, startled to find him smiling at me. He appeared to be in his early to mid-thirties with light brown hair and tea-colored eyes to match. Wearing loose blue jeans and a T-shirt supporting the college, he could be anyone.
Rolling his eyes to exaggeration, he tipped his head toward the rowdy crowd. “Seems like it’s always my luck; I get stuck by the unruliest group of immature idiots in the entire stadium.” Just as he said that, every guy in the rowdy bunch stood up as a trio of pretty girls passed. Whistling and catcalling at them, they lifted their shirts to show off their painted bellies, which spelled out the word “Viking” with each letter on a different chest. The impressed girls laughed and shouted back compliments but kept walking.
“See what I mean?” My companion set his elbow on the back of the empty seat between us, which made him seem suddenly very close. “Idiots.”
I sent him a small smile, not about to confess I’d been craving to be an idiot right along with them. “At least they excel in school spirit,” I answered diplomatically.
Throwing back his head to reveal a strong tanned neck, the man laughed. “That’s probably the only thing they excel at. I swear I’ve flunked at least half of that crowd.”
Sitting up straighter, I perked to attention. “You’re a teacher at Ellamore?”
With a regal kind of nod, he held out a hand. “Philip Chaplain. I’m a professor for the history department.”
“Then we’re neighbors.” Brightening, I took his hand. I knew the history department building was located next to Morella Hall, my building, but I’d never met any faculty from there. “I just started this semester, teaching literature.”
Surprise reigned on his features before he gave an uncertain smile. “You’re a graduate assistant?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m straight up faculty. Like you.”
It usually annoyed me when someone mistook me for a student or a mere teacher’s assistant. But Philip was being so nice, I forgave him without a thought.
Again, he looked surprised and confused before his face cleared. “Oh,” he drew out the word as recognition lit his eyes. “You’re the—” Gaze traveling over my face and down my body until his eyes paused on my chest, he nodded. “Yes, of course you are.”
Those four murmured words confused me. Of course I was what? Had even he heard I was the only professor on campus willing to flunk Noel Gamble? Maybe Frenetti had been right; I was going to get a bad reputation if I didn’t—
“Your reputation precedes you, Dr. Kavanagh,” Philip cut into my thoughts, his smile flashing with genuine warmth. “We’ve all heard about the youngest faculty member to ever teach for Ellamore, but no one from my department has actually met you yet. We were beginning to think you were a myth the English people had created, because you know, they do like their fiction.”
I refrained from rolling my eyes at his corny pun. “Yes, we do. But I can assure you I’m quite real. Please, call me Aspen.”
“Aspen,” he repeated, his eyes taking on a husky kind of glow and h
is voice lowering. “A lovely name for a lovely woman.”
I flushed from head to toe, not sure how to take such a compliment. I kind of liked it, but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to.
Before I could stumble out some halfhearted thank you, the game’s announcer broke in over the speaker system, kicking the day’s events into gear.
Philip and I turned our attention to the end zone where a gigantic Jumbotron sat. A series of two-second clips from various players flashed across the screen, creating an inspiring monologue from the team as a whole. When they showed Noel wearing a number twelve jersey with a ball cradled in his large hands, my insides jumped with restless energy.
“It’s about that moment when everything comes down to nothing but the drive and determination to succeed,” he said to the crowd before a new player’s face lit up the entire screen.
Still picturing number twelve though, I pursed my lips, remembering another “D” word he’d used to describe the game he played. It hadn’t been drive or determination, but desperation.
I still wondered why he’d said that and what he’d meant. It’d been two days since our meeting in my office and he’d yet to turn in his revision paper, but I was curious to learn why he’d chosen that one word.
“So, you like football, huh?” Philip’s voice broke into my thoughts and I literally jumped, making him chuckle and reach out to set a hand on my shoulder, steadying me. “Sorry about that.”
I waved my hand, instantly forgiving him. “No, it’s fine. I was...woolgathering. But, yes, I’ve always enjoyed watching. It’s almost like a chessboard, but more...physical.” Rolling my eyes, because I probably sounded like an idiot, I sent him a bashful smile. “There’s not a lot of contact in my vocation, so I’ve always been curious and somewhat stimulated by it.”
Glancing up to catch his reaction, I abruptly decided physical, contact and stimulated might not have been the ideal word choices. That glimmer in his eyes he’d gotten when he’d said my name returned.
His lips twitched with an amused smile. “I love it when a woman is stimulated by football,” was all he said before the people in the crowd around us flew out of their seats and began cheering. I ripped my attention away from Philip and turned to the field to see all the players making their big entrance. Immediately, I stood up with everyone else.
It didn’t take me long to find player number twelve. He was jogging near the front of the line, wearing a maroon jersey, while half the team wore white. With his helmet on and his pads making his shoulders impossibly wide, he epitomized the perfect football star. I held my breath and brought my knuckles to my mouth, stretching up onto my tiptoes so I could keep a constant visual of him.
“With Gamble as a senior next year, I think we’ll take national championships, no problem,” Philip said, leaning in toward me.
I jumped, already having forgotten he was there. But seriously? How had he known to mention Noel Gamble just when I was thinking about him? Ugh, probably because I was always thinking about Noel Gamble.
I sent the history professor a weak smile. “So, he’s that good, huh?”
Philip’s grin was knowing and kind of flirtatious. “Just watch. He’s the best QB we’ve probably ever had.”
“Hmm.” I tried not to appear too intrigued. But there was no way to mask my anticipation twenty minutes later when Noel’s side took the offensive and he jogged onto the field. On his first play, he wound back his arm as soon as the center snapped the ball into his hands. With perfect precision, he zipped it toward another player racing down the field. His receiver didn’t have to slow down or speed up. He didn’t even have to stretch for the catch. He merely cupped his fingers and the pigskin landed within the gloved cradle of his waiting palms.
“Oh, my God,” I murmured, astounded. “He could be the next Aaron Rodgers.”
Next to me, Philip moaned and then laughed as he set his hand over his heart, wincing. “God, please don’t tell me you’re a Packers fan.”
With an arch of my eyebrows, I turned to him, ready to defend my team loyally. “Of course. Why, which pro team do you support?”
“Hello. We’re in Illinois. I’m Bears, all the way.” I wrinkled my nose, but he was quick to add, “But my favorite quarterback in the league is Tom Brady.”
Nodding, I let him have that one. Brady wasn’t bad. Not bad at all. But... “I’m pretty partial to Alex Smith myself.”
This time, it was Philip’s turn to nod as if allowing me that concession before he added, “At least you didn’t say Manning.”
I grinned. “Which one?”
He pointed at me, a big grin spreading across his face. “Hell, you do know your quarterbacks. Very nice, Dr. Kavanagh.” He never did tell me whether he was talking about Eli or Peyton, but he seemed so impressed by my sports knowledge, I guess it didn’t matter.
Pleased I’d been able to impress him, I smiled back and reminded him, “It’s just Aspen.”
“Right. Aspen.” As his gaze heated in that interested-male way of his, I bit the inside of my lip, not sure what to do with all his attention.
Around us, the stadium went crazy. I wrenched my attention to the field just in time to see number twelve dodge a hulking defender and leap into the end zone, scoring a touchdown.
“Hey, what’re you doing next Saturday?” Phillip asked, distracting me again, and shocking the ever-loving crap out of me. “Because I’d love to take you out.”
My mouth fell open. “Umm...” I couldn’t believe this. I’d come here to ogle another man, and ended up getting asked out by a coworker. Shaking my head because I was still confounded by the fact that this was actually happening, I sputtered. “Doesn’t the administration look down on that type of thing? Coworkers...mingling?”
Philip shrugged. “I wouldn’t exactly call us coworkers. We work in totally different departments. Besides, there’re a couple faculty members on campus who’re actually married to each other. The only policy I’m certain they have about mingling is between teachers and students.”
I glanced toward number twelve on the field, who was currently getting mauled by his teammates as they congratulated him. The twinge in my chest told me I was disappointed to hear the teacher/student policy spoken aloud, though I already knew it existed. I was even more boggled about my reaction because even if we’d been free to date, Noel Gamble would never give me the time of day, and the last thing I needed was a man-whore like him. So why was I upset?
Turning back to Philip, I took a deep breath. My heart thudded fast in my chest, unable to believe I was actually going to do this. “Okay then,” I said. “Yes. I think I’d like that.”
He grinned back. “Really?” When I nodded, he drew in a deep breath and sent me a huge, relieved grin. “Great. It’s a date then.”
Wow. A date.
A cheer from the crowd had me jerking my attention to the field just as the defense intercepted the ball, and Gamble’s offense trotted back onto the field.
I shook my head in bewilderment. I couldn’t help but wonder what number twelve would do if he knew he’d just assisted me in setting up my first date in eighteen months. Since he hated me, I’m sure it’d annoy him, so I smiled even wider. Good. It served the guy right for making me think about him as inappropriately as I did.
CHAPTER SIX
“Men go to far greater lengths to avoid what they fear than to obtain what they desire.” - Dan Brown, The Da Vinci Code
~NOEL~
Tuesday morning, I entered Literature class cantankerous and on edge. After coming straight from the nearest print lab where I’d printed out an eight-page remake paper for Dr. Kavanagh, I felt cracked open and raw.
She had demanded I talk about my feelings. So I’d talked. I’d poured my soul into the dumb assignment. I had dug inside myself and laid it all on the line, uncovering things I hadn’t realized I’d even felt.
Without a word to the woman already seated behind the desk as she dug through an opened briefcase, I slapped the
stapled pages onto a bare spot, facedown.
Her head jerked up, wide green eyes making her look way too young to have a PhD.
Narrowing my gaze, I spent a second to glare before I turned away and found a seat.
After settling into my chair, I glanced her way to see her eyeing the essay curiously. Then, without turning it over to read it, she slipped it gingerly off the desk and tucked it into the mesh pocket inside the lid of her briefcase. After clicking the latch shut, she lifted her attention and began class...as if nothing earth shattering had just happened.
I blew out a breath. There. It was finished. Done. I didn’t have to stress about that stupid, ridiculous thing again.
Though a couple of my fingers were taped together because I’d banged them up in the scrimmage this weekend, I drummed them ceaselessly on my thigh. I couldn’t take my gaze off that closed briefcase. With blood rushing through my veins like a speeding train, I just couldn’t brush off this crazy, antsy, panicked feeling flooding me.
Halfway through class it suddenly struck me what I’d done. I’d let a woman I totally disliked into my innermost thoughts. Jesus, I’d spilled everything to her, all my fears and insecurities, my deepest wishes and dreams, my fucked-up childhood and all my siblings’ problems, too. And my biggest secret ever.
Now she’d know how many times I’d had to stay home to babysit while my mother had left us to get drunk and stoned before she came home to fuck some stranger as loudly as possible on our couch. She’d know how many times I’d gotten the shit beat out of me in school for being a member of the Gamble family. She’d know exactly how poorly everyone in my hometown really thought of me. She’d know...she’d know...
Holy shit, she could break me with all the fodder I’d just stapled neatly together and hand-delivered to her. What the hell had I done? What had I been thinking to write all that shit? As soon as I’d started typing, though, purposely going overboard on my thoughts and feeling and home life, I just kept on, unable to stop. The words had bled out of me.
