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“Elias, I just wanted to say thank you. The Sea Glass called me and I’m going to meet with them. They changed their minds because of the post. It was a nice thing to do. But please don’t post anything else about me or my paintings, okay? I don’t want you to take risks like that for me. As I told you, I want you to play football. I want you to win all your games and get to the NFL and have all that hard work pay off for you. I’ll be watching from the sidelines. Good luck on Saturday. Bye, Elias.”
Rule Number One. Rule Number One. Rule Number One.
Do not ruin his chances of going pro by complicating his relationship with his coach.
He’ll break your heart. It’s what they do.
I end the call.
17
“Let me in, Kit.” I’ve known Kit Peyton since we had a freshman economics class together. She was one of the first people I met at Hawthorne. She and Gabriel and I sat together and we became friends. We spent a lot of time studying together freshman year. She’s one of the few women friends I have, as a relationship that never evolved into anything physical. Possibly because she’s always had girlfriends.“You have to buzz me through.”
It makes me think for a second about what I would seem like to Coach—to a father who’s worried about his innocent daughter being corrupted or used. I get that. I know I have a reputation as a playboy, and it was true enough for a long time. There’s no point regretting it now, and I don’t. It got me here, to the point where I know for a fact that none of them were the one.
Because she is. The gorgeous little artistic genius with the green eyes and the holes in her heart the same shape as mine.
This feels like more than chemistry, it feels like fucking quantum physics—the kind where the universe decides that your DNA is a perfect match and until you make it happen, you’re going to crave her with an obsessive, relentless madness.
Every cell in my body felt it the second I saw her. And I’m not entirely prepared for the gargantuan shift my life has taken since then. The craving that feels like I’ll die if I can’t be near her. The overload of need that’s a desert thirst for more of the taste and scent and sight of her. I want to drink in every piece of her.
It’s fucking intense.
“Elias, I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that. I would definitely lose my job and possibly get arrested. We sign contracts, Elias. People choose this dorm specifically for its air-tight security and they take that shit seriously. Besides, this position actually pays well. I can’t afford to lose it. Who are you trying to see, anyway?”
“I’ll pay you. Name your price.”
“Elias, I can’t.”
“I’ll double whatever they pay you for a month. For six months. For the whole year.”
I try the door that leads to the elevator lobby, rattling it, trying to break the fucking thing, but it won’t budge. Of course it won’t.
“There are cameras on you right now, by the way, Elias. Why are you acting like this? Who is she?”
“I’ll get you season tickets. I’ll get you an executive box.”
Kit gives me a look. “I already have season tickets. And since when are you this desperate, O’Shea? You’re chasing after freshmen now?”
“Just let me in, Kit.” Zara wasn’t in her studio. And she’s not answering any of my calls. She left me one message, a sort of formal, dismissive thank you, but she’s deluded if she thinks she can avoid me or get rid of me that easily.
Kit picks up her phone. “I’m calling Gabe. He can deal with you. I’m not letting you in. I’m sorry, Elias.”
“Forget it.” I start heading for the door. “I’ll find another way.”
“Why don’t you just call her?”
“She won’t answer my calls.”
“Wow,” Kit muses. “I never thought I’d see the day when the hotshot quarterback is getting turned down by a freshman.”
“Yeah, well, this time it’s different.”
Kit smiles sympathetically. A part of her is enjoying this. “You okay, O’Shea? You don’t seem yourself. Is the stress getting to you?”
“You could say that.”
“Do you want me to page her? Who is she? What’s her name?”
