At 5’9”, I tower over a lot of the women on campus, and a fair share of the men, too. It can make wearing heels feel like overkill, since the 4-inch stilettos I was wearing tonight rock me up to over 6’ tall. With the average man sitting at 5’10”, I spend most days feeling a bit like a Sasquatch.
But Jeremy? I had to look up when he sauntered over in his bare feet a few minutes ago to shake my hand. That means he’s at least 6’3”. Six feet and three inches of breathtaking, stunning, startlingly attractive… maleness. And even though I know plenty of guys think I’mhot, which was made painfully clear when my fifty year old gym teacher commented on it when I was a junior in high school – can we all agree how gross that is? Like, you’re married and old enough to be my dad, Mr. Dalton – it’s been a long time since someone has called me beautiful.
“But you said I’minfamous,” I finally get out, leaning away slightly. As much as I’m enjoying being this close to him, it’s kind of overwhelming. “What has my sweet roommate told you about me?”
He tilts his head and taps his fingers against his jaw, as if he’s trying to recall the memory. “If I remember correctly, you’re from Nebraska and you want to be a nurse, right?”
I smile.
“Good memory, but those details hardly make me infamous.”
“I may have exaggerated on the infamous part. A little. But I can promise you that moving forward from right now? It’s gonna be hard work to forget you.”
I let out a small laugh, very much enjoying his ridiculous flattery. “You’re just as charming as all the girls say.” He blushes slightly. “So tell me, Mr. Jameson, what areyoursecrets?”
He considers me for a second, determining what to share. Maybe trying to figure out my level of trustworthiness. Or trying to decide how to make another innuendo.
“You wanna know a real secret?” I nod. “I’ve had two professional soccer teams reach out about recruiting me in the past week.”
My eyebrows fly up. “Wow, are you serious? I didn’t realize Glendale could produce athletes good enough to go pro.” The minute the words are out of my mouth, I realize how insulting they are.
“Have you ever been to one of our games?” Jeremy asks, thankfully not seeming upset by my foot-in-mouth moment. When I shake my head he laughs. “Why am I not surprised? If you watched us play, you’d understand. We might be a smaller team, but we’re a powerhouse in the college soccer world, regardless of division.”
I nod, making a mental note to pay more attention when RJ talks about soccer. And her brother.
“Is RJ excited about it? I mean, she lives and breathes soccer, so I feel like she would be over the moon for you.”
He shrugs. “I haven’t told her yet, so I’m not really sure.”
My brows furrow. “Then why did you tell me?”
He shrugs again, pausing and looking away from me and out the window that showcases the campus quad, before saying, “I don’t actually know.”
The conversation wilts, then, a silence overtaking the room that is both uncomfortable and yet, at the same time, startlingly calm and soothing.
Growing up attending my parents’ dinner parties, I was always told how quickly a lack of conversation could completely tank an evening. I might be from a little town in Nebraska, but I’m also a Davenport. And in the Davenport house, there is no such thing as a comfortable silence. Davenports lead the conversation, or so my mother says. But while she thinks being well-read and knowledgeable about local politics is the best way save the day, I have my own tried-and-true method of furthering along a conversation.
Flirting.
And while flirting with the upper crust of my small town growing up was pretty taxing, trust me when I say that flirting with Jeremy is no hardship.
I clear my throat and lean back towards him. “So, I don’t watch a lot of soccer,” I say, my voice taking on a slightly different wispy quality. “What position do you play?”
His eyes drop to my mouth, less than a foot from his.
“I’m a striker,” he responds, leaning ever-so-slightly towards me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I power the ball into the net.”
“Are you good at it?”
“Oh, Charlie, I’msogood at it.”
I giggle. “Would you teach me sometime?”
“Oh, I could…”
