by Whitney G.
I was stunned. That was the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me about my writing.
“So, all of that said, I’d like to know how we can get on the same page, and you can stop being mean to me.”
“I haven’t been mean to you at all, Kyle.”
“You have.” He placed his hand against his chest, feigning hurt. “And I haven’t done anything—minus the pointless group project to deserve your hate.”
“Your endless flirting with me on the sidelines over the years says otherwise.”
“I never knew that you noticed.”
“I didn’t.”
He smiled. “What else?”
“You have a terrible reputation—according to all of the rumors, so that’s why I’ll forever feel the need to keep you at arm’s length.”
“Your hatred is based off silly rumors?”
“Tons of rumors. All of them can’t be false.”
“All of them can’t be true either.” He leaned forward. “What have you heard?”
“That you’re an insatiable douchebag who plows his way through tons of underclassmen every year. That you keep count, and that you make it your personal mission to have sex as often as possible.”
His lips curved into a smile. “Is that all?”
“No, it actually gets worse.”
“I’m listening.”
“I’ve heard that you’re incapable of committing to anything for longer than five seconds.”
“I’ve committed to this conversation for longer than five seconds. Does that count?”
“You’re obsessed with going to the professional league and you don’t plan on keeping in contact with any friends that you’ve made here.”
“What?” He laughed. “I feel like you just made that shit up.”
“I didn’t.”
“Then what source gave you that one?”
I tried to think of a response—tried to hold back a laugh, but I couldn’t help it.
“Okay, okay. I made that one up. But everything else is a culmination of what I’ve heard, though.”
“Okay, well some of that may be pretty accurate,” he admitted. “But I honestly haven’t had sex in a while. Contrary to the rumors, it looks like that won’t be changing anytime soon. Unless you’re interested, that is.”
“I’m not.”
He laughed, holding up his hands in a slight surrender. “Is this typically a good time for you to meet me?”
“Not really.”
“Care to give me a time that is?”
“Seven in the evening is better.”
“Okay, that works for me, too.” He stood up. “You’ll meet me at Fuel and Fuddle next week, and I get to pick every week’s location until you’re done. And since I’m agreeing to this, you won’t make me look bad with your words. Or else.”
“Or else what?”
“I’ll think of the punishment later.” He smiled.
“Wait,” I said. “I think it’s best if we meet here or in one of the lecture buildings so people won’t think…”
He crossed his arms. “So that they won’t think what?”
“You know…”
“No.” He was still smiling. “I don’t.”
“Dating, Kyle. I don’t want people to think that I’m dating you.”
“I highly doubt that anyone will ever think I’m dating, Courtney,” he said. “They’ll think you’re a hookup.”
What the hell? “Isn’t that worse?”
“No, just means that you should go ahead and consider the idea at some point, since everyone will think it anyway.” He winked. “See you next Wednesday.”
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
Subject: Next Wednesday?
Hey, Courtney,
Something came up, so I can’t meet you today. Does any other day this week work?
I want to make sure you have enough of me for that thesis thing.
Kyle S.
* * *
Subject: Re: Next Wednesday
Hey, Kyle.
Not really.
I’m taking over for two sick staff writers.
“That thesis thing” is my GRADE. I’m pulling an all-nighter at The Pitt News offices tonight. Can you show up to answer a few questions?
Courtney
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Next Wednesday?
Shit.
I didn’t see your email until after I finished my midnight drills.
I’m in the office now and don’t see you.
Next Wednesday, then?
Kyle S.
* * *
Subject: Re: Re: Re: Next Wednesday?
Because you showed up to the office at NOON.
*side-eye emoji*
Yes, NEXT Wednesday.
7:00 p.m. Fuel & Fuddle.
Please set your alarm.
Courtney
* * *
Subject: After Wednesday
Question: Are you going to be formal with me the entire time?
I mean, I’d be more willing to open up and be conversational, if it’s more like a chill thing than an interview.
(Can you please unblock me on Facebook?)
Kyle S.
* * *
Subject: Re: After Wednesday
You’re ignoring me, aren’t you?
(Why did you block me on Twitter, too?)
Kyle S.
Kyle: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
* * *
A week later, I walked into Coach Whitten’s office, armed with my notes on our game against Utah.
“Hey there, Coach,” I said.
“Don’t you dare ‘Hey there, Coach,’ me today.” He seethed, holding up a blue folder. “What the hell is this?”
“That’s my report on The Vagina Monologues. It’s on the inside.”
“It’s four sentences long.”
“I know.” I smiled. “You told me to summarize what I learned, so I made sure to be as concise as possible.”
He opened the folder, glaring at me as he read. “Women have vaginas. Vaginas experience feelings. Men need to respect these feelings. The next time I’m buried deep inside of one, I will make sure that I respect those feelings.”
He let out a breath. “Really, son?”
“Would you like me to write four more?”
“You’re going to write a ton more.” He gestured toward the chair. “Have a seat.”
“Wait.” I looked at my watch. “I have an important meeting with someone in twenty minutes. Can I come back after that for my next dose of punishment?”
“Kyle fucking Stanton.” He looked like he was seconds away from losing his shit. “Your next hookup can wait.”
“This girl isn’t a hookup, Coach,” I said. “I mean, did you not catch a word of what I said a few weeks ago? Granted, she’s sexy as hell, but she’s not into me.” I tapped my chin—envisioning her pink lips and deep brown eyes, the way her latest violet-colored dress clung to her curves. “I don’t think she’ll ever sleep with me, though.”
“Sit down, Kyle.” His head looked like it was about to explode. “Now.”
I didn’t dare risk seeing what the next stage of his anger might be, so I reluctantly gave in and took a seat. I pulled out my phone to let Courtney know that I would be late, but Coach snatched it from my hands and tossed it into his drawer.
“That can wait, too.” He picked up his desk phone. “You can bring Professor Kline in for us, Coach George. Kyle is ready to listen and take notes on the theme of the play now.”
Five essays and three long lectures later, Coach finally returned my phone.
I started to message Courtney to apologize for missing another Wednesday, but she’d already sent me a slew of emails.
* * *
Subject: Today’s Session.
Subject: We’re still on, right? It’s seven-thirty.
Subject:
SERIOUSLY? It’s TEN o’clock.
* * *
Shit.
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
I should’ve known …
I drafted a second email to Miss Hopewell, taking out all the curse words and “I refuse” lines in my previous version.
She’d called me twice this week, saying, “I can’t wait to read what you find on Kyle!” And “Ask him if he’d be willing to sit for a photoshoot with The New York Times at the end of this. I’d love to have his picture on my wall.”
She’d also sent me several texts a day asking how the process was going, as if I’d been doing this for longer than a month. She was honestly making me choose her as my honorary guest advisor.
Kyle Stanton is not a topic worthy of my thesis, and I’m not sure what type of strange, older woman, younger man fantasy you’re trying to re-live through my work, but …
I let out a sigh and removed that line, too.
I wasn’t just upset with her and Kyle. I was upset with every person on The Pitt News staff for leaving early. Again.
Just as I was about to change course and work on a mass email to them, heavy footsteps filled the office.
“Why weren’t you still at Fuel & Fuddle for my interview?” Kyle suddenly stepped in front of my desk.
“I was there.” I looked up at him. “I was there for three freakin’ hours, so I decided that I should leave before closing time.”
“Well, is now a good time for you to ask me questions?”
“Never would be better.” I was done with him and this thesis topic that I’d never asked for. “Look, I get it. Your future is pretty much set and you don’t have to worry about trivial things like grades, your forever girl, and graduation, but I do. So, to save us both the time and disappointment of working together, I’ll research the only interviews you’ve done via ESPNU and College Football Magazine and craft some type of piece about the system of college football as a whole.”
I shrugged and slid my purse over my shoulder. “You know what else? I’ll even let you read it before I send it in to my advisor. Good luck with the rest of the season.”
I walked straight to the elevators. Pressing the down button, I let out a sigh of relief once the doors glided open.
“Okay, wait. Wait.” He stepped onto the car before the doors closed. “I don’t want you to email me the questions.”
“You’ll come off way better in the piece if you do.”
“I honestly doubt that.” He had the audacity to smile. “I think that your style of writing combined with my real answers will be the best bet for this. I also think that I can compel you to help me with my Vagina Monologues punishment paper.”
“Ha! I’ll pass. I can’t keep making time in my schedule for you. I have a dating life, Kyle.”
He looked somewhat surprised by my last line, but he cleared his throat. “How about if I did something to make up for the past couple of weeks?”
“Something like what?” I desperately wished there was a “straight to the bottom’ button for the elevator. “I do need help in my Orthopterology class, but I doubt you’re the right person to help me with that.”
“You’re wrong.” He pulled out his phone. “The team gets access to the best tutors on campus, in any subject, and we get to let one friend take advantage as well. So, seeing as though we’re now friends—”
“We are not friends, Kyle.”
“I can put your name on my list and the team counselor will get whatever you need. He’ll even have the tutor meet on your terms.”
“Wait a minute.” I hesitated to accept. “If you have tons of tutors at your fingertips, why don’t you make straight A’s every semester?”
“Because that’s not a requirement to get into the league.” He followed me off the elevator. “What do you say?”
I sighed. I could use the help, but dealing with Kyle for another day was something I needed to think about for months.
As if he could sense my hesitation, he placed his hands on my shoulders. “In addition to that, how about letting me help you with something else?”
“There is literally nothing else that you can help me with, Kyle.”
“How about being friends?”
“Excuse me?”
“I noticed on your Facebook that you don’t have any, and my best friend is currently M.I.A. as fuck, so…”
“So, you’re willing to be my friend with sympathy?”
“More like with benefits.”
“Yeah, okay, hell no.”
“Why not?” he asked. “You had tons of stuff written on that ‘Things I Want to Do During My Senior Year’ status you posted, and you can’t do all of it alone.”
“How long did you spend going through my profile?”
“Long enough to know that I’m making you an offer you shouldn’t refuse,” he said. “What do you say? Friends?”
“No.” I shook my head, sighing. “I just don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It’s a great idea.” He looked me over again. “How about you make up your mind after I answer some of your questions? To show you how serious I am, I’ll answer eight of them via email before requesting another sit-down session with you.”
“Will you answer the questions thoroughly?”
“Sure.” He smiled. “I’ll go as deep inside as you want me to.”
“Kyle…”
“I’ll answer them thoroughly.” He laughed. “Thanks for reconsidering.”
“I haven’t yet.”
“You will.” He winked at me before walking away, and I hated that I was attracted to him. That one glimpse of his smile was enough to make my panties wet.
Later that night
My phone pinged with an email once I stepped out of the shower.
Subject: My Answers.
Kyle.
I walked over to my fridge and poured myself a glass of wine before subjecting myself to what I assumed were all one-word answers and things he’d copied and pasted from other interviews.
Carrying the bottle over to my desk, I powered on my laptop and opened my inbox.
* * *
Court (I’m going to call you that because friends shorten each other’s names.)
* * *
I’m attaching each of my answers in a Word doc, but I’ll copy and paste the first one in the body of this email so you can see how I write.
* * *
(I write pretty fast, by the way.)
Question:
When you have tons of press vying for a few words from you in this sport, why do you insist on remaining silent?
* * *
My Answer:
* * *
For one, I like to let my performance on the field speak for itself.
* * *
For two, I don’t trust that many people in my life. People in my family have let me down, so I find it hard to place a level of trust in strangers. Journalists (no offense) are self-serving and only looking for sound-bites to advance their careers.
* * *
I clicked through the other documents, feeling my jaw drop to the ground as he elaborated on each question I gave for five pages each.
My phone buzzed with another text from him.
Kyle: We good?
Me: Yes …
Kyle: Nice to know. Tell me whenever you’re meeting up with director-dude so that I can help. Oh, and unblock me from FB now.
Me: Why? You have my phone number.
Kyle: I don’t have any of your pictures …Want to send me some?
I unblocked him and put him on mute for the rest of the night, reading through the rest of his answers like a voracious reader.
A very surprised reader …
Courtney: Then
Senior Year
Pittsburgh
At four in the morning, I sent Kyle a brand new set of questions and poured Julia a freshwater bowl in the kitchen.
“Oh shit!”
“I didn’t know that your roommate was going to be here this weekend, JA!” Judy-April’s boyfriend, a much older guy I’d seen a few times, sat up on the living room couch.
Awkwardly smiling at me, he pulled a blanket over his lap—covering his bare crotch.
Judy-April stepped into the room and shrugged. “What are you talking about? I don’t have a roommate.”
He looked between us. “She’s standing right there.”
“I don’t see anyone.” She stared right at me. “My roommate died weeks ago. It was quite tragic.”
I rolled my eyes and grabbed my backpack. I filled a canteen with hot coffee, double-checked to make sure I wasn’t leaving anything, and stepped outside.
“I knew you were the ‘get up early’ type.” Kyle was leaning against a truck, smiling. “Here I was, seconds away from emailing you instead of knocking.”
“How did you know where I live?”
“That’s not important.” He smiled, handing me a protein bar. “What’s important is that we can kill two birds with one stone within the next two hours.”
