I need to stop thinking about this. I get up to leave my first class with a semi and head to the student union, which is also known as The Castle because, well, it looks like a castle. It’s a large three-story cylindrical building with a non-functioning turret on the top. There’s ivy growing on the outside, just like the rest of the buildings on campus. I guess they think it gives the campus a medieval feel.
The Castle houses the cafeteria, known at Watters Hall, and several mainstream options like Beantown Pizza, Panda Express, or the in-house dining service known as Jester’s. There are about thirty different food options between the first and second floors. Most of the fast food is on the main floor, with some nicer sit-down restaurants like Jester’s on the second floor.
There’s a coffee shop on every level, because college kids need to stay caffeinated or we crack. Gypsy Juice, which is the best coffee shop in Woodbury, and probably all of Boston, is located on the third floor. It’s is located in the dead center of the floor, and is surrounded by plenty of seating options where students drink coffee, work on homework or sit and visit with friends.
Student mailboxes, the bookstore and the game room are also located in The Castle. They are in the basement. I get all my gear for free from the football team, so I have never actually been to the bookstore. Not even to buy books. We have grad assistants who get all of our class supplies for us. No matter what part of the student union you are in it always smells like Italian seasoning and coffee beans. It’s one of my favorite places on campus.
I walk up to the Gypsy Juice counter and a tall redhead with green eyes and huge boobs rushes over. She locks her manicured claws around my forearm and presses her tits into my arm. Normally, this would have prompted a response from me and Little Mac. Maybe a quick BJ in the bathroom before class. But today I have no interest.
I’ve seen her around before, but I don’t know her name. She attends the parties at Pi Kappa. She’s in a lime green halter top and cut-off jean shorts that are so short Daisy Duke would blush. “Can I buy your coffee, all-star?” she asks. I roll my eyes. Jersey chaser red flag. Referring to me as a stud, all-star, MVP or the like is an immediate indication of three things 1) She will do whatever I ask her to do, 2) She knows nothing about me other what she has read on Wikipedia or heard around campus and 3) She wants to be my arm candy.
“Nah, I’m good, but thanks.” Her smile fades immediately and she sulks away as if I just killed her hopes or her dreams, maybe both. The friends she left to come over and talk to me stare me down. Something tells me she doesn’t face rejection very often.
I wish I knew Kiernan’s coffee order. I would bring her one. I shoot her a quick text since I finally got her number on Sunday.
“Hey, coffee?”
A few minutes later she replies.
“We have class soon, but I can go after.”
She thinks I’m asking her out on a coffee date. And she already said yes. Okay, new plan.
“Sounds like a date.” Rule number two. Buh-bye.
“It’s not a date. It’s coffee.”
“Same diff. I’ll see you in a few.”
I don’t want to bring coffee to class now, or she may not want to go out after. I have to keep letting her know I really want to take her out, to be with her. She is so insecure about everything except softball that I’m walking a delicate balance of clearly stating my intentions, but taking it slow so I don’t scare her away. This is by far the hardest I’ve had to work for a – friendship? Relationship? I don’t even know what to call this. I skip the line and start the trek to Sampson.
I get to the lecture hall and I can see Kiernan is already in her seat. I walk over to my seat next to her. “Hey gorgeous.”
“Hey!” She looks up through her dark lashes, a smile on her beautiful face. She’s wearing workout gear. I love the way her ass looks in yoga pants. Her hair is in her trademark messy bun. She is extraordinary.
“Hey!” Chelsi peeks around Kiernan.
“Hi Chelsi,” I respond and her cheeks turn bright red. “Ready for our date?” I ask Kiernan.
“It’s not a date.” Chelsi’s jaw drops open as Kiernan rejects me, again. Clearly, she’s not used to seeing me rejected either.
“Sure it is.” I flash her my best dimpled smile and Chelsi swoons again. Why can’t Kiernan ever fucking react like Big Red or Chelsi? I suppose if she did, I wouldn’t be this interested.
“Coffee on campus is not a date.” She smiles.
“All your dates take you off campus?” I laugh and she rolls her eyes at me. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Maybe no one has had the balls to ask her out. Un-fucking-believable. She is pretty intimidating and stubborn. Maybe I’ll be the first guy to take her on a real date. I have the balls to do it.
“You know what I meant, jackass.”
Dr. Bigelow and his TA start the lecture, but I can’t focus. All I’m thinking about is what kind of epic date I need to pull off for this amazing chick. Maybe Thursday night, before we leave for Florida on Friday.
Chapter 8: Kiernan
I can’t stop smiling like a fool. Brooks and I spent most of Sunday together. After we finished lifting, we grabbed some food to go. We talked on and off for hours while we watched the football games. Bateman and Blaire hung with us for a while. It kind of felt like a double date for a bit. He even withstood the asinine questions from my roommates. When Watts asked him if he’d ever been in love, I about killed her. But he took it in stride, and to my surprise, he said no. I thought for sure he would have had at least a few serious girlfriends over the years.
He had to head out before the Sunday night game – we both needed to finish some homework. I’ve been looking forward to bio psych since the moment he left, and now he’s asking me to coffee. My roommates grilled my ass Sunday night after he left, hard. It took all the energy I had not to crack and tell them how I’ve been feeling lately. They’re not used to seeing me spend quality time with a guy. And this isn’t just any guy. This is Brooks McCarthy.
I’m in my favorite spot in the library, listening to The Triple Play Morning Show. It’s almost time for class, so I pack up and head toward Sampson. Bio psych is still my favorite class, but now for more than one reason.
I get to class before Brooks. I’m starting to reassess my choice of clothing as I glance around the room. I am in forest green yoga pants that stretch to my mid-shin, a white CU tank underneath a white Golden Knights softball dri-fit long sleeve, and flip flops. The group of harlots behind me in tight jeans or cut-off jean shorts and tight-fitting shirts are screaming at my psyche that I am underdressed.
“Hey Kiernan!” a voice calls out.
“Oh, hey, Gardner,” I reply with a smile. He’s a basketball player. Nice guy, I think.
Gardner and I make small talk for a minute before he leaves to find his seat. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.” He smiles as he walks away.
That was odd. I continue to unpack my materials when I hear “hey gorgeous” from a deep, familiar voice. It immediately brings an involuntary smile to my face.
Brooks takes his seat and after acknowledging Chelsi, which makes her swoon even harder, asks me if I’m ready for our date. This isn’t a date. Do I really want my first date to be at Gypsy Juice? Am I really being picky about this? I should be fucking thrilled he wants to do this to begin with.
He asks me if all my dates have been off campus and with my response, or lack thereof, his eyes grow wide. Uh oh. I think it finally hit him. I am a dating pariah. Not only do guys never show an interest in me outside of chatting sports and playing beer pong, but I have never even been asked out on a proper date.
“So does that mean I can be your first?” he asks with a coy smile.
If only you knew, dude. You’re my first for everything.
After class, Brooks and I stand to walk out. Sorority row is glaring at me. I can literally feel their eyes follow me. I have no idea why all of a sudden, the stares make me uncomfortable. Girls sta
re at me sometimes, usually because I’m underdressed at parties or other events. This feels different, and I can only assume it’s because I’m treading on their territory. They want him, and he’s leaving with me. I’m sure they think I’m screwing him, because that’s what they would be doing if they were in my position. I can’t blame them. He’s the great white in an ocean full of tuna.
The walk through the Quad draws more stares, but I don’t think Brooks even notices. I suppose he’s grown accustomed to all eyes being on him. He’s casual, carefree and so vibrant. His personality just shines. We share some pleasantries about the weather, which is beautiful for the fall in Massachusetts, and our love for coffee by the time we get to Gypsy Juice.
“Race ya!” I shout and bolt up the stairs two at a time. I’m to the third floor and Brooks is on my heels even though I got a good jump on him, but I win.
“That’s bullshit! I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know we were racing,” he gasps. “You fucking cheated.”
We laugh as we stroll into Gypsy Juice and stand in line. The line is never shorter than at least fifteen people deep, I swear. As we’re standing there, Pauly Sims walks over and starts chatting. He congratulates Brooks on his monster game and then looks right at me, as if Brooks isn’t standing there.
“Looking good in those pants, Kelly,” he says with a wink.
I can feel my body shrink and stiffen. My cheeks turn hot and I know I’m blushing. I hate when guys say stupid shit like that. I can usually fire back with something witty, but Brooks’ presence has changed the dynamic of this situation. He’s glaring at Sims, and I’m uncomfortable with this weird display of manly territorialism in front of me.
As I continue to blush and stay mute, Brooks chimes in, “Thanks a lot, Sims, you don’t like my ass?” I’m so grateful to him for defusing this awkward situation. His words are playful, but his eyes are dark.
“Nah, I want that one,” Sims says in a low growl as he nods toward me.
Sims winks and walks off. What the actual fuck? Sims always comments on my looks when we see each other, but he’s never been this direct. That was rude and presumptuous.
Brooks looks at me. “What would you like?” he asks, ignoring the fact that Sims just basically said he wanted to fuck me right in front of him.
“Medium, light roast, please,” I reply. Brooks orders my drink and a large vanilla iced coffee for himself.
He smiles. “I knew you wouldn’t be a high maintenance coffee drinker.” I’m not. No cream, no sugar, no fluff. Just coffee.
We grab our drinks from the end counter and scoot into a booth overlooking the Quad.
Brooks’ expression grows solemn and he almost whispers, “So you like him, huh?” he asks without looking at me.
“What? How the hell did you get that impression?” I reply, a little annoyed.
“I’ve never seen you speechless before. Sims had some effect on you.”
“Oh, God, that’s not it all. I just don’t like when people say shit like that. I can hold my own in a game of witty banter and smartass comments, but when shit gets serious like that, I panic. I don’t get a whole lot of attention like that, so when I do, I freeze up. That’s one of the many reasons I’ve never been on a real date.”
Brooks almost does a spit take and laughs so hard everyone begins to stare. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asks in between deep belly laughs.
I just stare at him. I am at a loss for words right now.
“You get hit on more than any other girl I’ve ever met. You literally can’t walk ten feet without some guy, or sometimes girl, coming up to you with fuck-me eyes and a stupid grin on their face. I had no idea you were so oblivious to all this. I thought you were just friendly or trying to play it cool. Oh, my God, you are literally my favorite person. I have never met someone so gorgeous and awesome, but who is so humble. You’re a unicorn.”
“I do not! I am not a unicorn! Whatever that means.” I huff. I am not some oddity.
“Yes, you do. Haven’t your BFFs ever told you that some guy was hitting on you? They should have clued you in at some point. They’re terrible friends,” he laughs in reply.
I sit quiet for a minute. He’s right. All three of them have repeatedly told me that guys were hitting on me at parties and encouraged me to talk to them outside of a game of beer pong. Duncan even pushed me to dance with a basketball player my freshman year. It was so awkward I left the party after he grabbed my ass. PDA isn’t my thing.
As a joke, last Christmas, those bitches stole one of the blinking lights off a construction barricade and wrapped it up. They said I needed to pay more attention to the signs. How does Brooks know me so well already? He is very intuitive.
“So, I will take your silence as acknowledgement that I’m right. They tell you all the time, don’t they? And you blow them off. I’ve seen it. Do you seriously think you’re that good at beer pong that all those dudes want you to be their partner? They want you.”
“I’m fucking great at beer pong,” I retort.
“Yeah, that’s true. You are pretty good. I witnessed it firsthand. But they still think you’re epic hot,” he says with a half-smile.
“Okay, enough.” I blush and fan my hand at him. “Let’s talk about something else. Florida is this weekend. That will be a helluva game. They’re ranked ninth in the new poll. You guys are number fourteen. You win this one and you can crack the top ten.”
“You’re something else, Kiernan,” he continues, “I love that you know that. Yes, we’re working our asses off. Practice all week and then we leave on Friday.” He pauses. “Would you want to go to dinner with me Thursday night? I’d love to take you out somewhere nice before we leave. Like a real date. Would you want to go to Bella Luna maybe? Do you like Italian?”
I wonder if he can hear my heart beating out of my chest at this point.
“I’d love to, but we play Tuesday and Thursday this week. We won’t be done until about 6:30 or 7 on Thursday, and I know you have a curfew,” I say, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. But I would be so pissed at myself if he missed curfew and got benched because of me. One loss like that could blow their whole season, and they won’t beat Florida without him. “I do love Italian, yes.”
“You’re the only chick I know who cares if I make curfew. So, maybe we save the fancy dinner until I get back from Florida? How about just a quick bite together after your game?”
“Are you coming to the game Tuesday?” I ask, with too much hope in my voice. Football players never come, except Bateman. The basketball guys are usually the only student-athletes that come to every game. They sit down the left field line, get plastered and heckle the shit out the other team. Even in fall ball.
“Well if Sims will be there, then fucking right I’m going. I’m not letting that dick near you.” He smiles as if he’s joking, but I think he is half serious. “I’m planning on coming after practice with Bateman. I’ll be there for the second game. We have practice until five. So, what do you think?”
I hesitate. He’s fucking jealous of Pauly Sims. I stifle my laughter. He’s also asking me on a date.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” he says, a bit dejected. I don’t think he does this often, and when he does, I know the girls don’t pause to think about it. It’s always an immediate yes. I don’t know why I’m hesitating. I’ve been thinking of nothing but him since we met. It’s a bit scary, and I’m in a place I’ve never been. It isn’t like we’re doing anything crazy though. Just do it, you chicken shit.
“No, I want to. I just don’t want to keep you out. You guys totally have a shot and I don’t want to be a distraction.”
“You’re not a distraction. You make me happy. I love hanging out with you. This is the most relaxed I’ve been, well, in my whole life I think.”
My heart skips a beat with those words. I make him happy and relaxed. I smile because I know the feeling. I don’t want to ask what he’s been so uptight about his whole life
. I will save the personal questions for our date. Insert heart flutter here!
“Okay, I’m in,” I agree and my heart bursts into a million little hearts that float around me.
“Awesome! I’ll see you after your game. I gotta run to practice. See you tomorrow, gorgeous,” he says. He flashes me toothy smile that pops his dimples, and he gets up to leave. As he moves, the eyes of the coffee house move with him. His magnetic presence commands attention.
I have practice too, but I can’t move. My whole body is tense with excitement. I’m smiling like Miss America when I manage to say, “See ya,” as he walks off. I have a date with Brooks McCarthy. An official date.
Chapter 9: Kiernan
It is GAME DAY! This is a big week. It’s just the fall season, but we’re playing a pair of non-conference rivals this week. UNC didn’t make the NCAA tournament last season. They lost in the regional to Florida, who moved on and finished fourth overall. Florida lost to Arizona, who we beat, which earned us the chance to play for the title against Alabama. Very early preliminary polls have ranked Bama first, us second, and Florida third. Arizona graduated their stud pitcher, so they slipped to number 16. UNC isn’t ranked in the top 25, but they are still tough. They have one of the best leadoff hitters in the NCAA.
Exception (Cambria University Series Book 1) Page 9
