Even though it’s only the two of us, our weekly dinners are set for three people.
I tell myself to stare straight ahead and not glance in his direction.
Don’t do it!
Don’t you dare do it!
Damn.
My gaze reluctantly zeros in on him like a heat-seeking missile. Long blond hair, bright blue eyes, sun-kissed skin, and muscles for miles. And he’s tall, somewhere around six foot three.
I’m describing none other than Rowan Michaels.
Otherwise known as the bane of my existence.
My dad discovered the talented quarterback the summer before we entered high school and took him under his wing. Which has been...aggravating. In the seven years since, Rowan has become an irritatingly permanent fixture in my life. He’s the brother I never wanted or asked for. He’s the gift I wish I could give back. He’s the son my father never had but secretly longed for.
On a campus with over thirty thousand students, one would think that avoidance would be easy to accomplish. That hasn’t turned out to be the case. Somehow, we ended up in the same major—Exercise Science. I get stuck in at least one class with the guy each semester. This time it’s statistics, which is a requirement. Three times a week, I’m forced to see him. And then there are the weekly dinners at Dad’s house.
Every Wednesday, Rowan shows up without fail.
It’s so annoying.
No, he’s annoying!
Our gazes collide, and electricity sizzles through my veins before I immediately snuff it out and pretend it never happened.
I am not attracted to Rowan Michaels.
I am not attracted to Rowan Michaels.
I am not attracted to Rowan Michaels.
Maybe if I repeat the mantra enough times, it’ll be true. That’s the hope I cling to. I’ve made it through the last seven years trying to convince myself of this. I only have to get through our final year together, and then we’ll go our separate ways—me to graduate school or maybe to the Women’s National Soccer League, and Rowan to the NFL. He’s one of the most talented quarterbacks in the conference. Hell, probably the country. There is little doubt in my mind that he’ll be a first-round draft pick come next spring.
Trust me when I say that Rowan Michaels fever is alive and well at Western University. His fanbase is legendary. The guy is a major player.
Both on and off the field.
Girls fall all over themselves to be with him. They fill the stands at football practice, show up at parties he’s rumored to be at, and basically stalk him around campus.
It’s a little nauseating. Don’t these girls have any self-respect when it comes to a hot guy?
I wince at that unchecked thought.
Fine...I’ll begrudgingly admit it; he’s good-looking.
I shake my head as if that will banish the insidious thoughts currently invading my brain. Enough about Rowan. It’s time to focus on the reason I’m at the stadium at this ungodly hour. I rip my gaze from him as I hit the cement staircase. After half a flight, all thoughts of the blond quarterback vanish from my mind. How could they not when my quads, glutes, and calves are on fire, screaming for mercy as I force myself to the nosebleed section. By the time I finish, my legs are Jell-O, and I still have a two-mile run back to the apartment I share with my best friend off-campus.
I give Dad a half-hearted wave before leaving. It’s the most I can muster. His lips quirk at the corners as he shakes his head. He thinks I’m crazy. At the moment, I can’t argue with his assessment of the situation. Although, it’s the extra training I put in that helps me run circles around the other team in the second half of the game.
The jog home feels like it will last forever. By the time I unlock the apartment door, I’m ready to collapse. I beeline for the shower and jump in before it’s fully warm. My skin prickles with goose flesh, but it feels so damn good. Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and ready to take on the day. My hair has been thrown up in a messy bun, and I’m making a protein smoothie that will fuel me for my morning classes.
Just before taking off, I poke my head into Sydney’s room. I know exactly how I’ll find her, and that’s buried beneath a small mountain of blankets. She doesn’t disappoint. We met the summer before freshman year in training camp and have been besties ever since. She’s the yin to my yang. The peanut butter to my jelly. The Thelma to my Louise. Where I’m more introverted and cautious, she’s loud and boisterous. She’s been known to leap without necessarily looking at what she’s jumping into. Every so often, it gets us into trouble. Sydney and I have lived together since sophomore year. I gave up trying to cajole her ass out of bed for a six o’clock run after the first week of us cohabitating when she nearly took my head off with an alarm clock.
“It’s that time again,” I sing-song obnoxiously, “rise and shine.”
There’s a grunt and then some shifting from under the blankets that tells me she’s alive.
When I chant her name repeatedly, each time escalating in volume, she growls, “Get the fuck out!”
“Awww,” I mock, “that’s so sweet. I love you, too.”
Sydney snorts before a hand snakes out from beneath the blankets to give me a one-fingered salute. Then she grabs a pillow and tosses it in my general vicinity. It falls about five feet short of its mark.
I stare at the dismal attempt. “If you’re trying to cause bodily harm, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Piss off.”
“All right then.” I shrug. “See you after class.” With that, I close the door behind me.
My farewell is met with another indecipherable mouthful. If this weren’t something we went through on the daily, I’d worry she was in the midst of a stroke. Sydney is definitely not a morning person. She’s more of an early afternoon person. Another thing I’ve learned over the years? The action of waking up to a brand-new day is a gradual process. She’s like a bear rousing prematurely from hibernation. It’s not a pretty sight. She’s lucky I don’t take her insults personally.
I grab my backpack from the small table crammed into the breakfast nook area along with a coffee before heading out the door. The apartment I share with Sydney is located three blocks from campus, which is highly sought out real estate. We’re fortunate Dad is friends with the guy who manages the building. It’s probably one of the only perks of having a father who is a head coach of a college football team.
You’d think there would be more, but you’d be wrong. Honestly, being Nick Richard’s daughter is more of a hindrance than anything else. People assume you receive special treatment on campus, from professors, or that you have an in with all the football players.
Or worse...
Much worse.
After a bunch of ugly—not to mention untrue—rumors circulated freshman year, I’ve done my best to distance myself from the Wildcats football team. They’re a great bunch of guys, but I don’t need all the ugly gossip and speculation that comes along with being friends with them.
As I reach Corbin Hall, the mathematics building for my stats class, my gaze is drawn to a clump of students standing around outside the three-story, red-brick building. In the center of that crowd is Rowan. I don’t have to see him physically to know that he’s close. The muscles in my belly contract with awareness. It’s like a sixth sense. One I wish would go away. He’s the last person I want to be cognizant of.
As I jog up the wide stone stairs to the entrance, my gaze fastens on him. A smirk twists the edges of his lips, and my eyes narrow before I drag them away and yank open the door to the building. Relief rushes through me as I step inside the air conditioning and disappear from sight.
“Hey, Demi, wait up!”
I turn at the sound of my name before slowing my step. The dark-haired guy jogging to catch up smiles before falling in line with me.
Justin Fischer.
He’s a baseball player and teammates with Sydney’s boyfriend, Ethan. We’ve been seeing each other for about a month. It�
��s still casual at this point. With school and soccer, I don’t have a ton of time to invest in a relationship. He seems to understand that and isn’t pushing to be more serious.
When he leans in for a kiss, I angle my head. At the last moment, he tilts in the opposite direction, and we end up bumping teeth instead of locking lips. With a grunt, I pull away and chuckle. My fingers fly to my mouth to make sure I haven’t chipped a tooth.
Maybe I’ve been reluctant to admit it to myself, but that kiss sums up our relationship perfectly.
Awkward and a step out of sync with each other.
“Sorry,” he murmurs with a slight smile. I search his face and wait for any telltale sign of sexual chemistry to ping inside me. Unfortunately, my insides remain completely unfazed, which is disappointing but not altogether unexpected. I had a sneaking suspicion when we first got together that it might turn out this way.
“No problem,” I say, hoisting my smile and brushing aside those thoughts.
“I haven’t seen you for a couple of days,” he remarks as we turn a corner and continue walking.
“It’s been busy.” Which isn’t a lie. School might have recently started, but the academics at Western are rigorous. And being a Division I athlete is more like a job. If you’re not ready to put in the work, don’t bother showing up. There’s no half-assing it around this place.
“When’s your next game?” he asks.
“Tomorrow at six.” My gaze flickers in his direction. Not that I expect him to come, but...
Fine, so maybe I do. If he wants to be my boyfriend, then he needs to show a little support.
His dark brows draw together. “That sucks. I’ve got a mandatory study hour I have to attend.”
I shrug off the disappointment. It’s another nail in the coffin of this relationship as far as I’m concerned. “That’s cool. It’s not a big deal.”
“But I’ll see you tonight?”
Oh. Right.
Tonight.
Well, damn. In a moment of weakness, I threw out an invitation to join our Wednesday evening dinner. It’s one I now regret. If only there were a gracious way to rescind the offer.
“If you’re busy, I totally understand—”
“Are you kidding? No way.” With a grin, he shakes his head. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’m looking forward to meeting Coach Richards.”
Great. So this is more about my father than me? Exactly what every girl wants to hear.
I force a brittle smile. “Awesome. He’s excited, too.”
That might be something of an overstatement.
Justin nods toward the end of the corridor. “I better get moving. Professor Andrews is a real stickler for punctuality.”
“Yup. See you later.”
This time, when he leans in, our lips align perfectly. The kiss is nothing more than a fleeting caress. There and gone before I can sink into it.
And I’m left feeling...absolutely nothing.
I bury the disappointment where I can’t inspect it too closely before giving him a wave as he takes off. For a moment, I stand rooted in the hallway and watch as he disappears through the crowd. There’s nothing to distinguish Justin from the thousands of guys who look exactly like him on campus. He’s of average height and build with dark hair and espresso-colored eyes. He’s nice enough. Although, if I’m completely honest, he’s a little self-absorbed. He talks about baseball all the time. If Ethan hadn’t introduced us, he’s not someone I would have looked twice at. We don’t have a ton in common.
As much as I hate to admit it, this relationship has probably reached its expiration date.
Now it’s a matter of pulling the plug.
Ugh. I hate breakups. Although, it’s doubtful this will end up destroying him. I’ll have to make it through tonight and figure out the rest.
With a sigh of resignation, I head to the classroom and find a seat tucked away in the far corner of the small lecture hall. A lanky guy I recognize from a few of my other classes settles beside me. He flashes a dimpled smile as we empty our backpacks.
The tiny hair at the nape of my neck rises seconds before Rowan enters the room. It’s like my body knows when he’s within a thirty-foot radius. I glance at him from beneath the thick fringe of my lashes before shifting away. Air becomes wedged in my lungs as I wait for him to take a seat. And it won’t be next to me because I’m—
“Hey man, would you mind moving?”
Surrounded on both sides.
Damnit. I’m hoping the cutie next to me will tell Rowan to go take a flying leap.
What? It could happen. Not everyone at this university is enamored of the football-playing god. Although I realize the odds aren’t stacked in my favor. Rowan is the most recognized athlete on campus. People fall all over themselves to accommodate him.
It’s a little sickening.
Okay, maybe more than a little.
“Sure, no problem, Michaels.” The guy next to me hastily packs up his books before vacating the desk. Unable to ignore him any longer, I glare as Rowan slides onto the seat next to me.
“Did you really think you could evade me that easily?” Laughter brims in his deep voice. A voice, I might add, that does funny things to my insides.
“One can always hope, right?”
“Oh, answering a question with a question.” He leans closer, eating up some of the much-needed distance between us. “I like it.”
I roll my eyes as his lips stretch into a satisfied grin. Irritation bubbles up inside me when sexual tension blooms at the bottom of my belly. Or maybe that tension has settled a little lower.
It’s definitely lower.
I’m tempted to swear like a sailor. How is it possible that I feel nothing for the guy I’m actually dating, and yet my pulse skitters out of control for someone I don’t even like? It’s so freaking ironic. It’s been this way since we met, and nothing I do stomps it out. I can try to fool myself into believing it’s not there, but that doesn’t make it any less true.
It’s a relief when Professor Peters takes his place at the podium and clears his throat. Once he’s captured everyone’s attention, he delves headfirst into the probability of dependent and independent events.
Grateful for the excuse to ignore Rowan for the next fifty minutes, I open my textbook and concentrate on the lesson. Just as the blond boy fades into the background, his bare knee bumps into mine. Electricity ricochets through my entire being. I glance at him to see if he’s noticed the strange energy we always seem to generate and find his ocean-colored gaze fastened to mine.
My guess is that he does.
Damnation.
Have you read Campus Player? You can buy Demi and Rowan’s story here -)
https://books2read.com/u/mYAxqV
The Girl Next Door
Mia
Summer before freshman year of college…
“Get your butt over here,” my best friend squeals from the window where she’s taken up sentinel, “you need to see this!”
That’s a negative, Ghost Rider. I’ll take a hard pass. I have zero interest in spying on a yard full of drunken classmates who are partying it up at my neighbor’s house. Reluctantly, I glance up from the toes I’m painting with a pale pink polish. Coney Island Cotton Candy, to be precise.
When our gazes lock, Alyssa waves me over. She’s practically vibrating with excitement. Kind of like a schnauzer.
“Everyone is over there!”
“Not true,” I mutter, lacquering my baby toe with an impressively steady hand. “We’re right here.” And that’s exactly where I plan to stay.
“Yeah, that’s kind of the problem.” She steeples her hands together before shaking them at me. “Please?” she begs. “Can’t we go over there for a little bit? Just a little? That’s all I’m asking.”
That’s all she’s asking…ha!
I’m calling bullshit.
Alyssa knows I’d rather chew my arm off than crash one of Beck Hollingsworth’s parties. I didn’t
mention it to her, but Beck shot me a text earlier this afternoon with all the details. If she even suspected an invitation had been issued, she would have dragged my ass across the lawn that separates our properties as soon as the first guest pulled into the drive.
No, thank you.
It’s obvious from all the commotion coming from next door that the entire senior class has shown up to celebrate our newly graduated status. If we didn’t live on a quiet cul-de-sac tucked away in a gated subdivision, I’d expect the police to make an unannounced visit and shut down the festivities.
Then again, no one wants to mess with Beck’s father, Archibald Hollingsworth. He’s a high-priced attorney with a fleet of underlings working for him. He’s one of those overly tan guys with blindingly white veneers you see on television yapping about if you’ve been injured, you need to call them—they fight for the little guy! The dude is everywhere. Billboards. Commercials. Newspaper and magazine advertisements.
The local police have tangled with Archibald several times over the years because his son is a magnet for trouble. Let’s see, there was the time (or five) when he was picked up for underage drinking. When Beck was fifteen years old, he borrowed his parent’s brand spanking new Range Rover and did a little off-roading. And the police were involved when he super glued the locks on the high school building doors for senior prank day.
Campus Heartthrob (The Campus Series Book 2) Page 29
