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1
A loud pounding on my door pulls me out of my own head as I rub a towel over my wet hair. I miscalculated one pass this afternoon—and one pass only—but that’s all it takes to change the entire momentum of a game. The season starts in a few short days and I need to play better than I ever have in my life. Everything’s on the line and I’m pissed off at myself for the handling error, even if Coach went out of his way to praise my precision. Which is practically unheard of.
“Hey, Chief, two very insistent girls are here to see you,” Jake’s voice echoes through my door. “They refuse to take no for an answer. It’s those blond girls who’ve been stalking you.”
“Which ones?” West laughs, pushing my door open and barging in like he owns the place. “Are you decent, O’Shea? I need to borrow your charger. Someone stole mine.”
“Have you ever heard of the concept of fucking knocking, West?” I finish wrapping a towel around my waist.
“Have you ever heard of the concept of a lock and how to use it?”
“I’ll make sure I do from now on.” I just stepped out of the shower after a grueling practice. I introduced Coach Fox to my dad’s take on an empty set with a compressed bunch formation that used to be one of my dad’s favorite plays back in high school, when he was the coach of our team. That was before his health issues got the better of him. Coach was intrigued by the sound of the play and we’ve been practicing variations of it all afternoon.
“They’re on their way up,” Jake informs me, leaning casually against the door jamb. “Gabe tried to stall them but he wasn’t having much luck.”
I got roped into West’s plans to hit the town tonight, to check out the first wave of incoming freshman girls. Most of them won’t be here until tomorrow but a few have already started moving into their various dorms. The campus was a chaos of SUVs, teary-eyed mothers and their red-faced husbands hauling boxes into dorms. The usual move-in day stuff.
“Why has my room morphed into Grand Central Station?” I mutter. “Out, people.”
West helps himself to my charger. “Why, were you practicing some ‘self care’?” Using air quotes.
“He doesn’t need to,” Jake steps aside, making way for the two girls. Gabriel has followed them up. I’m used to being the center of attention but this is ridiculous. I’m standing here dressed in nothing but a towel, still wet, and there are five people practically inside my room.
“Hey, Mandy. Bella,” Jake greets them with his signature charm. “Nice of you two to stop by.”
“Hi, Jake.” One of the girls twirls a long strand of hair around a finger. She blinks fake lashes at me. “Hi, Elias.”
The girls seem vaguely familiar. It’s possible that I know them. I’m not a bed-hopping player like West or a brooding romantic like Gabe, just a guy who basically won the lottery on a bunch of different levels. I try not to be an asshole or egomaniac about the whole thing, but I’d be a fool not to appreciate the hell out of the hand I’ve been dealt and run with it from time to time.
I’ve always been popular. High school was an endless procession of giggling girls trying to get my attention. As for college, my teammates call me the Chick Magnet and I guess it’s hard to argue with that. For the first three years at Hawthorne, I made the most of my superstar-on-the-rise status. As the starting quarterback for the Hawthorne Wildcats, everyone on this campus not only knows who I am but seems to want a piece of me. Not that I can complain.
“I hope you don’t mind us coming by to see you, Elias,” the second girl says as she checks me out. Her gaze wanders down my chest to my abs, and lower, before finally roving back up to my face. “We just wanted to see if you were free tonight before your schedule gets…you know, too busy.”
I could have both these girls naked in my bed within thirty seconds if I wanted to. Two years ago—or even last year, who am I kidding—I’d be doing exactly that.
But right now I’m not feeling it. I’ve been out of my usual carefree groove for a while now and I have no idea why.
Maybe it’s the plastic eyelashes, which are seriously testing the limits of their design. Last time, it might have been the overload of cheap perfume. The time before that, I honestly can’t remember.
I’m not exactly thrilled about the situation. I should be zeroing in on the usual not-quite-perfect-but-close-enough details that allow me to live my best life. Instead, all I can see are the imperfections. I mean, I don’t want to be cruel about it, but it’s not just the eyelashes. It’s the weird outfit. The watery eyes. The goosebumps on her nearly-blue skin because she’s not wearing enough for the cold night. The entire package just isn’t quite working for me. Times two.
I don’t know why this keeps happening. Standards are a good thing to have but when they start sabotaging my sex life, I’ve got a fucking problem on my hands.
But I smile and let them down gently. “Actually, we’re heading out tonight. But maybe we’ll see you downtown.”
“Oh.” Mandy or Bella—whoever she is—blinks the plastic lashes at me in starstruck disappointment. I’m almost worried about the welfare of her eyeballs. Those things look downright dangerous. “Which bar are you going to?”
“I think we might be going to a party first. Isn’t that the plan, Jake?”
“Yeah. TKE.”
Mandy/Bella perks up. “Oh, we were thinking of going to that!”
“Great. Maybe we’ll run into you later, then. Jake will see you out.” It’s not the most polite dismissal I’ve ever come up with, but there’s not much point giving these girls false hope when they have no chance.
Plus, I feel strung out tonight. Not just because our season is about to start, but also because the universe keeps cockblocking me. Why can’t I just relax and go with the flow like I used to?
Jake escorts the girls back down the stairs and out the door.
