Misadventures of a College Girl

by Lauren Rowe

  Tyler raises his arm in response to the professor calling his name. “Hi, Professor.”

  The professor flashes Tyler a beaming smile. “Great game the other night. I lost my mind when you made that interception at the last minute. I thought I was going to pass out.”

  Tyler chuckles. “I had a similar reaction.”

  Everyone laughs.

  “How on earth did you make that catch?” the professor asks, her eyes sparkling with obvious admiration. “It’s like you had a jet pack on your back.”

  Tyler chuckles again. “It was equal parts adrenaline and luck.”

  “And talent,” the professor adds. “Supernatural talent.”

  Tyler’s teammates at the back of the room groan.

  “Don’t encourage him!” one of the guys sitting near Jake calls out.

  “Oh, pipe down,” the professor says playfully. “I’m just giving credit where it’s due. That was one of the most acrobatic interceptions I’ve ever witnessed, and I’ve watched a lot of football in my life.”

  “Come on, Prof,” one of the players in the back shouts. “Don’t make his head even bigger than it already is. With all the interceptions Tyler’s been racking up this season already, his head could barely fit through the doorway of the classroom as it is!”

  Everyone laughs, including the professor and me.

  “Okay, okay,” the professor says gaily. She flashes a warm smile at Tyler. “Stay humble, Tyler. If not, you’re going to get me into trouble here.”

  “Always.”

  The guys at the back of the room groan and scoff again.

  The professor looks down at her paper again, smiling from ear to ear. “Okay, Tyler. You want to know your partner assignment?”

  Tyler looks at me and winks. “Make it a good one.”

  “Your partner is…”

  My stomach squeezes. Please, God, no.

  “…Aaron Heckerling.”

  A loud cheer erupts from the guys at the back of the room. I turn toward the commotion just in time to see an attractive, dark-haired guy next to the golden god fist-pumping the air.

  “Well, hello, Aaron,” the professor says, chuckling at the guy’s exuberance. “I take it you’re familiar with Tyler here?”

  “He’s my boy,” Aaron says. “My partner in crime.”

  “We live together,” Tyler explains.

  “Ah, well, in that case, I’ll expect you two to turn in a particularly stellar project, seeing as how you’ll be able to spend so much time working on it together.”

  “I’ve never seen that guy before in my life,” Tyler deadpans, and everyone, including me, cracks up.

  After reading off ten or so more pairings, the professor finally says my name.

  “Here,” I say, shooting my arm up. Oh, God, this is nerve-wracking. Give me a role with a script and I’m perfectly comfortable. Ask me to make small talk with a total stranger as myself, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  The professor chats with me for a moment, eliciting the facts that I’m a freshman theater major and that I’m in this class to fulfill my science requirement. Finally, she says, “All right, Zooey. Your partner is …”

  I hold my breath.

  “Jake Grayson.”

  I laugh out loud, just as Tyler mutters, “Motherfucker.”

  I turn around and look at Jake several rows behind me. We exchange waves and polite smiles. And then I glance at Tyler and force down a giggle at the sight of him. He looks like he wants to punch a wall.

  The professor fawns all over Jake for a while, telling him how magnificently he played the other night, and how much she admires his talent and skill, and oh my God, she hopes and prays we make it into another bowl game at the end of this season under his deft leadership! And all the while, Tyler’s tense body language makes it clear he’s losing his freaking mind. And, honestly, I’m not sad about it.

  When the professor moves along to the next names on her list, I lean into Tyler’s broad shoulder. “I have this weird feeling the universe is trying to tell me something. I’m just not sure what it is.”

  “It’s telling you to be at my house at eight,” he whispers back.

  “Gee, I don’t think so. I can’t be sure but I think it’s saying… Wait. Hang on.” I put my hand to my ear like I’m listening to a faraway voice. “Oh. I think I hear it now. It’s saying Jaaaaaaaake.”

  The professor finishes reading from her partners list and wraps up the class. “Don’t forget to exchange contact information with your partners, everyone. You’re going to be working closely together for the next five weeks. Oh, and make sure you check the syllabus for the reading assignment. I’ll see you on Wednesday!”

  I lean into Tyler. “Best class ever.”

  “It’s about to get a whole lot better,” he mutters. With that, he lurches out of his seat and beelines up the aisle toward Jake and his teammates.

  I watch Tyler striding up the steps. His movement is graceful and powerful. When he reaches Jake, he puts his muscled arm around his friend’s shoulders like a mob boss, and whispers into his ear.

  Dang it. If ever there was a time I could use some bionic hearing, now would be it. That handsome guy with dark hair who was paired with Tyler leans into the huddle. The three of them pow-wow. Jake fist-bumps Tyler and then the dark-haired guy, and the three of them head down the aisle toward me.

  Immediately, I look down and begin packing up my laptop, awaiting Tyler’s inevitable return. But when he still hasn’t approached me in what seems like more than enough time, I look up. Crap. All three guys are talking to the professor at the lectern! What the hell? I watch the action closely, taking in the guys’ facial expressions. Oh, man, those boys are all pouring on the charm. The professor’s back is facing me, but her body language seems highly receptive to whatever they’re saying. And now, all three boys appear to be saying variations of “Thank you, Professor.” Suddenly, it’s abundantly clear to me. I’m going to be partnered with Tyler Caldwell, whether I like it or not.

  “Zooey Cartwright?” the professor calls out. She scans the crowd, apparently not remembering which student is me.

  I walk toward the lectern like Anne Boleyn shuffling stoically toward the chopping block.

  “Hi, Zooey,” the professor says warmly.

  I glance at Tyler, and he smiles like an executioner unsheathing his sword.

  “I don’t know if you’re aware that Jake here is the quarterback of the football team?” the professor says.

  “Yes, of course.” I glance at Jake and blush crimson when he flashes me a huge smile.

  “Well, Jake was just telling me about some of the demands on his time, things he has to do each week that aren’t necessarily required of anyone else on the team—or anyone else at the entire school, frankly. And so, because of Jake’s special situation, he says he’d be extremely grateful if I’d make an exception to my ‘no switching partners’ rule, just this once.”

  My eyes flicker ever so briefly to Tyler, and he flashes me a look that’s so cocky, I want to slap it off him.

  “So, if it’s okay with you,” the professor continues, “I’m hoping you’ll be amenable to a switch? Jake seems to think it would make the most sense for him and the team if he’s paired with another player, preferably one on the offense, since those are the players who share Jake’s practice schedule. Aaron here is a wide receiver so he’d be a good fit.”

  Oh, for the love of all things holy. What the hell kind of snow job is this? My dad played college ball, so I happen to know the offensive and defensive players attend the same practices at the same times. Yeah, Jake probably spends more time than other players watching films and working with his quarterback coach, but there’s absolutely no reason why he and Aaron would have “the exact same practice schedule” any more than Jake and any defensive player. I look at the three guys. All of them are smiling at me. But Tyler’s smile is nothing short of diabolical.

  “Um. Sure. No problem,” I say. />
  The professor looks at Tyler. “You’re sure this swap will work for you, Tyler?”

  “Yep. Anything to help Jake,” Tyler replies.

  The professor looks concerned. “You don’t think you should maybe be assigned to a teammate, too, given the heavy demands on your time with practices and games and travel?”

  I roll my eyes. What the heck happened to “Don’t bother asking me to change partners”? Perhaps the professor more accurately should have said, “Don’t bother asking me to change partners, unless you’re a handsome football star, in which case go right ahead.”

  “No, it’s fine,” Tyler says. “But thanks so much for asking. I’ve got a lot going on, for sure, but not quite as much as Jake. He’s got to be ready to command the entire ship, as it were. I’ve just got to be ready to chase after whatever guy on the opposing team happens to be going after the little brown ball.” He smiles like he’s just uttered the understatement of the year, and the professor giggles.

  Christ almighty. Of all the professors on this campus, I had to get the one who’s a diehard football fan?

  “If it helps Jake, then I’m more than happy to partner with Chloe here,” Tyler adds magnanimously.

  “Zooey,” the professor corrects.

  One side of Tyler’s mouth hitches up. “Zooey. So sorry.”

  “No problem, Taylor,” I say.

  “Tyler,” Tyler says. “Tyler Caldwell.”

  I return his smirk. “Tyler. So sorry.”

  The professor claps her hands together. “Okay, I’ll see you all on Wednesday, then.” She begins gathering her stuff, signaling this conversation is now over.

  I sling my backpack over my shoulder and march toward the exit.

  “Zooey!” the professor calls after me and I turn around, a fake smile on my face. “Be sure to get Tyler’s contact information. You two will need to get together to map out your game plan for the next five weeks.”

  “Thanks for the reminder, Professor,” Tyler says sweetly. “Yeah, we’ll want to get together as soon as possible, for sure.”

  I nod. It’s all I can muster at the moment. Without saying a word or even glancing at Tyler, I turn on my heel and march out of the classroom.

  Chapter Ten

  “No, I’m not ‘elated’ about it,” I huff. Despite my best efforts to elude Tyler after Social Psych, he sprinted after me, and now he’s tagging alongside me as I make my way toward my next class in North Campus. “I was honestly excited to partner with Jake.”

  Tyler scoffs. “Bah. I did you a huge favor, cupcake. Unless, of course, your goal in life is to never achieve orgasm as long as you live—in which case, yeah, I definitely thwarted that plan. Sorry, not sorry.”

  “Gee, that’s not a preposterous leap in logic. Me being Jake’s partner on a class project during my first year of college would lead to me never having a single orgasm throughout my entire life? How do you figure that one, cupcake?”

  “I’m just connecting the dots,” Tyler replies. “If I’d left you partnered with Jake for five weeks, you would have lost your virginity to him, no doubt about it.” He rolls his eyes. “And that means you would have fallen in love with him, despite the fact that he’s got the personality of paint drying, just because you’re a newbie, and he looks the part of Mr. Right. Fast forward twenty years and ten babies later, and there you’d be, lying in bed one night after deeply unsatisfying sex with your boring-ass husband, and a little voice inside your head would whisper, I wonder if Tyler Caldwell would have been able to make me come the way my boring-ass husband never has?”

  I scoff. “Careful, Tyler. Your jealousy is showing. Unless you’ve had sex with Jake yourself, you’re in no position to comment on his sexual skills or lack thereof. Have you had sex with Jake?”

  “Nope. I’m straight. But I’ve got intel straight from the horse’s mouth.” He lowers his voice. “What I’m about to tell you is highly confidential, okay? Seriously. You can’t tell anyone.”

  “Fine.”

  He leans toward me. “For the last couple of years, Jake’s been asking me for tips to use with his girlfriend. You know, techniques. Apparently, no matter what he tried with her, he just couldn’t get her off. Not once. So, you see, all I’m trying to do here is protect you from a disastrous first time, followed by an entire lifetime of sexual dissatisfaction.” He motions to the phrase on his shirt. “You’re welcome.”

  “Thanks, but I don’t want or need your protection,” I say. “I’m quite confident I can find myself a guy who’ll buy me a cheeseburger before de-virginizing me without your assistance.”

  We arrive at MacGowan Hall, the main building of the theater department, and I stop walking. “This is me,” I say, motioning to the building. “Now fly and be free, Tyler Caldwell. I’ll text you to figure out a time for us to work on our Social Psych project later this week, okay? Bye.” I’m about to turn on my heel and walk into the building, but the devilish smile on Tyler’s face stops me. “What?”

  “Your next class is in MacGowan?”

  A sinking feeling grips my stomach. “Yeah.”

  “Is it Modernizing Shakespeare by any chance?”

  I close my eyes and exhale.

  “Lucky you, I’m fulfilling my arts requirement with that class.” He chuckles. “Gosh, when the universe works this hard to put two ridiculously good-looking people together, it’d be downright arrogant of them not to have sex, don’t you think?”

  “I’m not going to have sex with you, Tyler.”

  He smirks. “Oh, yes you are. You know it. I know it. The universe knows it. But we don’t have time to discuss that right now—we’ve got to get to our Shakespeare class.” He slides his hand into mine like he’s been doing it for years, and my skin electrifies at his touch. “Come on, Zooey Cartwright. If we’re late, we might not be able to find two seats together.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Fate. It’s a fickle little bitch.

  This morning as I headed off to my first day of classes around nine, I never wanted to see Tyler Caldwell again. I told myself if I happened to see him on campus, I’d bolt in the opposite direction. And now it’s six o’clock on the same day, and I’m walking to Tyler’s house to brainstorm not one but two partner projects with him. That’s right. I’ve been assigned as Tyler’s partner for two class projects thanks to my Shakespeare professor’s decision to assign partners based on last names.

  I turn off the sidewalk and onto the front walkway of Tyler’s house, my mind reeling. Of course, now that I’ll be working closely with Tyler on two projects, it’s especially clear to me I simply cannot sleep with him. Not when my grade in two classes depends on me being able to work with him for five long weeks. I suppose once both our projects are turned in, we might get together for one night of meaningless sex, assuming I don’t hate his guts by then. But for now, considering the situation, I’m absolutely determined that no sex shall transpire between Tyler Caldwell and me.

  I reach Tyler’s front door, take a deep breath, and knock. A moment later, there he is. Standing in the doorframe. Freshly showered. Smelling of soap. He’s holding a barbeque spatula and wearing an apron that reads Kiss the Cook! And the look on Tyler’s face? He looks like a spider welcoming a fly into his web.

  “You’re early, partner,” Tyler says. “Well, aren’t you an eager little beaver.”

  “I’m not eager, just prompt,” I say stiffly, marching through the door. “Now that we’re double-stuck together, we’ve got a ridiculous amount of work to do.”

  “Double-stuck? Oh, baby. I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

  I stride into the living room, feeling like a dork for lobbing such a softball to him…even though, honestly, I don’t understand how “double-stuck” could possibly be any kind of sexual innuendo. I stop short. The song blaring through the overhead speakers is “Let’s Get It On” by Marvin Gaye. I whirl around to face Tyler. “No, Tyler.”

  Tyler smiles. “What?”

  I poin
t up, referencing the song.

  “Oh. You think I’m sending you some sort of coded message with this song? No, cupcake. This is a random playlist. Pure coincidence. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll skip ahead to the next song.” He pulls out his phone and presses a button, and a new song begins. “I’ll Make Love to You” by Boyz II Men. “Is that better, sweetheart?”

  I stare at him, determined not to smile, but when he starts singing along to the cheesy lyrics, I can’t help myself.

  “I’m wearing you down,” Tyler says.

  “I’m only smiling because you’re singing off-key,” I say. “My smile means only that I find you amusing. Nothing more.”

  “Okay. I respect that. I’ll change the song, then. Enough playing around. Sorry. It was worth a try.” He presses a button on his phone, and “I Want Your Sex” by George Michael begins blaring.

  I giggle.

  “I could do this forever, babe,” he says. He winks.

  “Oh, I’m sure you could.”

  “You want another one?” he asks.

  “No, leave it here. I like George.”

  “So do I. ‘Careless Whisper’ is one of my all-time favorites. When I sing you that one, you’re going to drop your panties for me on the spot.”

  I bite my lip. I’m not sure Tyler is going to need to sing “Careless Whisper” to get me to do that. Indeed, the sexy look he’s shooting me at the moment would surely make a nun rip off her habit.

  “Oh, on a totally unrelated topic,” Tyler says. “I hope you don’t mind I asked my roommates to make themselves scarce tonight. I figured a girl like you would want to talk about social psychology and Shakespeare without any of them around.”

  My clit pulses. “A girl like me?”

  “A freshman.” Another smile. “I hope you’re hungry, little freshman.” He motions to a nearby table laid out with two plates of food. “Because I made us cheeseburgers.”