by S. E. Hall
Am I really into a guy I only spoke to for a few moments? What is it about him that makes me feel all kinds of girly? Why do I want him to follow me around and ask me more questions? Do I have food in my teeth? You know… the important things. I bet it hormones and the TMI knowledge Sheena—my best friend—shared with me a few weeks about regarding her virginity and the lack of existence of said “V” Card. Since then, that’s all she’s talked about, therefore, all I can think about. Yeah, that’s gotta be it.
Shortly after I finish a warm-up, the rest of the girls join me, having completed their required track time. Coach runs a few drills and I have no doubt in my mind we’ll kill it at the meet in a few days. Practice ends at the same time it usually does and being a creature of habit, I’m the first in the shower and out of the locker room. I love my teammates, but I’m not really into sitting around gabbing while wearing nothing but a towel, sometimes less, depending on the swimmer, for a half hour. I have things to do.
Not only am I shooting for a scholarship for my athletic abilities, I’m well on my way to an academic one as well. My parents never ask me for much, except to try my hardest, and I take that advice to heart. Not to mention, an athletic scholarship is hard as hell to come by, especially if you’re a girl, so why not back that up with a 4.0 GPA? What school wouldn’t want me?
I walk through the parking lot and am almost to my car when I feel his presence again. I know he’s close. I want to scan the area, but I don’t want to look like I’m looking for him, so I continue my path to the back where I always park. When I reach my car, I finally see him standing next to it. I silently freak out, wondering how the hell he knows what I drive, then I realize it isn’t my car he’s waiting at, but his, as he opens the driver’s side door.
“You again,” he teases, tossing his bag in the backseat and leaning against the frame of his oversized truck to match his oversized body. Holy mother of God, that truck makes him look even hotter. How is that even possible?
Words, Charlie. Speak. Don’t be weird.
“I could say the same thing,” I return with a joke of my own. Not nearly as funny as I’d like, but at least it makes sense and I don’t look like a fish with my mouth hanging open and no words being spoken. Taking the win where I can. “Isn’t this the part where you should say “Funny meeting you here,” or something equally as lame?”
“I don’t think it’s funny. Maybe fate, but nothing laughable, that’s for sure.” Well shit. Maybe if the other boys I’ve encountered in my limited seventeen years had half the charm as Rowan, I’d have experience with dating. Is it possible to fall in love this quickly? Very rarely can anyone match my wit, let alone not be offended by my dry sense of humor, but he seems to not only get me, but speak the same language without an interpreter. And the most important part; give it back just as well. He’s a keeper.
“You’re a rare breed, Rowan Thorne.”
“Rare enough that you’d let me take you out Friday night?” Once again, I lose the ability to form words. This isn’t the first time I’ve been asked on a date, but it is the only time I’ve wanted to accept. My only concern is coming off too desperate. He’s new here, and if I jump at his offer, he might assume I’m the same as all the other girls, instead of the ‘smart, athletic, worthy of conversation that doesn’t involve sex’ kind of girl.
“Maybe,” I answer coyly. “I have a meet, and I’m sure you have a game. Another time?” Hopefully he can’t see through my indifferent exterior to the acrobat version of myself doing backflips on the inside, praying he suggests another night for us to go out.
“Saturday?” Yessssss!
“You sure are persistent. If I say yes, what do you have in mind?”
“Dinner? Movie? Whatever you want to do, I guess. I’d just like to get to know you Charlotte …” his words stop and he looks to me to finish. Taking a second to understand the problem, I prove my smarts it and answer his unasked, but evident question.
“Thompson.”
“Thank you. I’d just like to get to know you Charlotte Thompson. So, Saturday? A date? Your choice of activities?”
“Saturday sounds good.” I attempt my best casual demeanor as I stroll over to where he’s standing, pulling a pen from my purse and writing my phone number on the top of his hand. “Call me and we’ll figure out details.”
Chapter 2
The First Date
As if my week couldn’t get any better, our meet ends with a win. Luckily, I’ll have more than enough time to head home, wash the chlorine from my hair, maybe even put some lotion on my chemically dry skin before the football game later. Sheena, my best friend and the anchor of our four-by-four relay acts as my fairy fashion godmother; my hair’s impeccably styled and makeup sexier than I’ve ever worn it before. It’s not every day I give her free reign to play dress-up, so needless to say, she’s rather excited. Me? Not so much. Before I give myself a once over in the mirror, I quickly change from my track-pants and swimsuit into a pair of faded jeans with strategic rips in the denim across the thighs. I match them with a fitted black and blue Cougar tank to show off my school spirit … and the little bit of cleavage I actually have.
Well, hold the entire hell up, this doesn’t work for me. “Sheena? Is there a reason I look like I fell into a stockpile of Sephora and came out looking like I wanted to be all the Kardashian’s at the same time?”
“Oh, you look fine. Come on,” she reassures and I’m not buying it. Bypassing her and her cocked hip, I head straight into the bathroom. I grab the special towel my mom hangs for company and scrub the caked-on makeup from my face.
“One more chance, chick. Subtle is what I’m going for, not lady of the night, mmkay?” I raise my brows while I wait. We don’t have all day, sugar.
“Never taking any chances, always doing the same thing,” she finally mumbles as if she has any semblance of an inside voice, coming at me with the same pallet of eyeshadow. I grimace and she huffs. Eventually, she returns with some neutral colors.
“Excellent choice,” I tease and sit on the closed-lid toilet so I’m at a better height and angle. As it should have been the first time, but I let my judgment get away from me, she’s finishing up in less than five minutes and we’re heading out the door.
Of course, we arrive late—half way through the first quarter—and there isn’t a single open spot in the bleachers. Like every other high school across the country, the football program supplies the rest of the athletic teams with funding, so it isn’t surprising the stands are packed on both sides of the field. Football makes the world go ‘round, in case you didn’t know. And Varsity players … they’re gods.
“Better keep your eyes on newbie running back, Rowan Thorne, Fighting Cougars. Number Twenty-Two just ran for a whopping forty yards before he was tackled on the Tiger’s fifteen,” the announcer in the box cheers and my eyes automatically divert to the field.
Number Twenty-Two. Rowan Thorne. Him.
The quarterback, Jansen Avery, captures the attention of his team in the middle of a huddle probably calling a play. After they all clap their hands and move into position to finish the drive, a very stunning #22 scans the crowd, almost as if he can feel my presence—at least that’s why I’m hoping is the case. Then again … I’ve had far too much good luck lately for that to be the case; new boy—new hot boy—with hundreds of red-blooded girls… yeah, he’s looking for someone, most likely not me.
Underneath his face mask I can’t read his expression, but his eyes squint a little like he’s zeroing in on someone in close proximity to me, then crinkles a little at the corners, kind of like when you smile. Taking a chance, that maybe it is me, I return a grin of my own, and mouth “Go, fight, win.” He nods his head and quickly runs behind the quarterback as the ball’s hiked, then he takes off like a bat outta hell, running faster than I’ve ever seen someone run. Very impressive, Mr. Thorne.
Jansen dodges what would’ve been a sack and searches downfield for Rowan, and spots him just be
fore the five-yard line. He pulls back and sends the ball sailing through the air, Rowan catches it without difficulty, cradles it between his arms and swiftly jogs into the end zone before the members of the opposing team can figure out what the hell’s going on. The entire Cougar crowd’s on their feet, stomping the metal bleachers, cheering for the hot new kid. Horns sound and the school song starts playing courtesy of the marching band.
“Onward, onward, go you Cougars, fight for victory,” I start singing along with the rest of the attendees on the ‘home side’ as the players on the field group around Rowan, patting him on the back. We’ve never been a bad team, but certainly never been this amazing.
“Touchdown, Cougars!” the announcer yells as the ‘fight, fight, fight’ part of the song strikes and I can’t suppress the smile on my face. Sheena’s lost in the excitement and begins jumping around like the cheerleaders lined up on the track. Polar opposites, we are, but it’s hard to not love her. Even when she goes out of her way to look like a lunatic. Also, hard to not join in when she makes it look so fun.
“Did you see that? Oh my gosh, that was amazing,” she screams and drags me to a few seats recently vacated near the front of the bleachers. They’ll be pissed when they get back, but it’s their own fault. Everyone knows to stay put until halftime, then, and only then, go grab a hotdog or pop. Rookies.
“It was pretty awesome,” I respond, my miserable attempt at playing it cool and concealing how amazing it really was not getting past Sheena. I try to not be salty about it, but I’m a great swimmer and I’ll never get this. We don’t get to hear the yells from the crowd. Our validation comes from winning the heat and getting our water-filled ears to pop after a long race. Oh, and the whole school never shows up to watch us—hell, I wouldn’t either, the pool is humid and hot as hell. Not that I need the attention, but as excited as I am about Rowan’s touchdown, I’d like a little something when I stomp the girls from Salem by more than three seconds.
Looking back to the field, my gaze zeros in on Rowan still celebrating with his team. He’s taken off his helmet and even from this distance, his glee is evident. I chuckle to myself as a few of the guys slap Rowan on the ass. Didn’t think it was a real thing, or at least for high school boys. Wouldn’t have pegged them to be comfortable enough with their sexuality to put their hands on another man’s butt. When the kicker takes his spot for the field goal, Rowan looks around—first to my previous location then down more until our eyes lock. This time there’s no doubt he’s smiling at me. The stadium lights click on and it all feels kind of magical. The universe’s on my side and everything’s coming up Charlie. I’ve always liked flying under the radar, lurking in the social shadows; not anymore though. Stepping into the light feels great.
“So, is that him?” Sheena asks, nudging my hip with hers. I glance over in time to witness her waggling eyebrows. With this girl, if it’s not one boy, it’s another. And God help me if I let my guard slip and she finds out I might have a thing for Rowan. I’ll never hear the end of it.
“Is that who?” I feign innocence with a slight attitude—maybe indifference—to throw her off my scent.
“The reason you tried on like three pairs of jeans and a half-dozen tops before settling on this.” She tosses back her head, giggles and claps her hands together as if she’s found Carmen San Diego, and that bitch’s been right under our noses the whole time. And damn her intuition. Nine times out of ten I love not having to spell everything out for her, ‘cause she just gets it. But then there’s that one time she’s too close for comfort, reading signals I’m desperately trying to hide.
“Did you want me to wear my swimsuit? You did my hair and makeup … least I could do was put on something decent. And him? If by him, you mean the dude who just scored, yeah, that’s the new kid. I met him on the track a couple days ago and he’s taking me out tomorrow night, I think. Well, he said he wanted to do something this weekend, I gave him my number, but I’m not holding my breath. Seriously, it’s not a big deal.” I brush off my insecurities and pretend like I couldn’t possibly care less if he calls or not. Truth be told? I really hope he calls. I’m actually looking forward to trying out this dating thing. It’s not every day you actually want to be asked out by a nice guy instead of feeling accosted any time a boy your age comes near you. Players and man-whores be damned. Your services are no longer needed now that Rowan Thorne moved to town.
“By the look in his eyes, baby cakes, I don’t think you’re getting tomorrow night. He’s staring at you like he wants you right now.” I risk a glance to the sideline only to find Jansen and Rowan looking at us, smiling and holding a conversation of their own.
“Oh geeze, Sheena. Calm down. He only smiled. He didn’t declare his undying love or anything.” Then again, Sheena’s been in love. Ten times. Since third period. She’s the one who falls hard and fast. Again, polar opposites.
“Yeah, well, he’s only smiling at you. Look.” She gestures toward the bench and before I even turn my head, I know his stare’s locked on me. Gosh, shoulda acted like I didn’t know him. “That boy has it bad for you.”
“He does not,” I dismiss and divert my attention away from Rowan. “I want nachos. Coming?” I don’t wait for her to respond before I start making my way down the steps. Yeah, yeah, I know we’ll probably lose our seats, but she’s too observant. I haven’t even figured out if I like the guy and Sheena’s picking out china patterns and wedding colors.
She ends up following me, gabbing my ear off the entire way about how much she thinks Rowan digs me even though she’s never said two words to him. She’s sure of it. To be honest, I kind of am too. If not, why bother looking and smiling and making me feel all important in a sea-full of eligible bachelorettes? Unless, he knows I haven’t dated, therefore haven’t had sex? Is my virginity enticing? And there we go … thinks too much Charlie’s back and overanalyzing every damn thing that hasn’t even happened yet.
I’m not sheltered by any means, yet I haven’t had much interest in the opposite sex… until now. I’ve tried going on dates a few times with a couple different guys, mostly over the summer, but none of them held my attention long enough to get a second date. As odd as it is, the way Rowan makes me feel—even if we’ve only had two interactions—is different than any others. I just need to be sure that it’s real and not just me seeing things that don’t exist so I’m not a third-wheel anymore. As nice as it would be to have a guy of my own, I don’t want to settle for something not real.
“Nachos and a water please,” I order when we reach the front of the line. I pull out a ten-dollar bill, ready to pay, when Sheena squeezes in beside to me, undoubtedly adding on and I’ll be the purchaser.
“And a package of Air Heads. Oh, and another water.” Sheena smiles sweetly at me; her way of asking me to pay for her goodies. See, we just know each other too well.
“What she said,” I groan and fork over the cash. The Booster hands me back my change and our stuff just in time for the mascot—a six-foot-tall cougar decked out in blue and white—to tap me on the shoulder, damn near causing me to drop everything. Rule Number One: if girls are alone at night, don’t sneak up on them. Our daddies taught us how to fight.
“You’re Charlotte Thompson, right?” he asks with a muffled voice underneath the mask. He couldn’t just take it off?
“Yeah?” I skeptically answer. “Is that why you creeped up on me? To confirm my name?” Nothing good can come from a wild animal asking questions. “You almost got hit with my superb ninja skills, dude.”
“Yeah, and my fist,” Sheena throws in for good measure.
“Rowan wanted me to tell you to meet him at the diner across the street after the game,” he addresses me and ignores my co-signer.
“Excuse me?” I reply, shocked and Sheena’s still pissed about being ignored.
“Diner. Across the street. After the game. Be there. I gotta go now, they need me. Bye.” Like a furry fury, he runs onto the field in time to do a cartwheel as Ro
wan scores yet another touchdown. Either this other team sucks real bad, or he’s just that good. Not even the obvious ass whoopin’ they’re taking is making this any less fun. Watching Rowan play is my new favorite thing.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Sheena laughs as she picks at my tray of nachos. Not sure why she didn’t get her own …
“Oh shush,” I slap her hand away. “Now they can just be my nachos, sassy pants. They all go there after game night, and judging by the scoreboard, the Tigers aren’t catching up any time soon, so a celebration’s in order.”
“I guess your little stud muffin couldn’t wait until tomorrow night to take you out. Who would have thought?” she giggles again and I can’t lie, inside I’m giggling too. When she’s right, she’s right.
“Or maybe he just wants to hang out. Chill with people he knows? You ever think of that? He is new here and can’t possibly know many people.” Is this a girl thing? Finding every excuse to think the boy doesn’t like you when he really does? If so, we’re all stupid.
“Nope.” Sheena winks as she pops a piece of candy in her mouth. “He wants the goods and he wants ‘em bad. And P.S. Charlie, football players in every school in the history of ever know everyone. It’s written in the rules.” Again, when she’s right, she’s right. Who thought it was a good idea to let me teenage girl for the first time ever?
We walk back to the bleachers side by side, me refusing to entertain her wild ideas about Rowan’s recent request, because, duh, dumb girls. Instead, I overanalyze each word spoken by the man-cat, wondering if he got something lost in translation somewhere. I mean, it can’t be easy to hear inside that costume, especially by a man who was speaking through a helmet. And his talking was awfully muffled. Maybe I’m the one who heard wrong. In the off chance we are invited to dinner, Rowan’s probably being nice after seeing Sheena and I in the stands and didn’t want us to feel left out of the unofficial victory party. Yeah, that’s it. He’s just being a gentleman. And I kind of like it. I’m gonna start blaming my new attitude on hormones, heat and chlorine poisoning.
