“I likedyourPB&J.” That tiny crumb of praise makes my soul leave my body. But I’m determined to play it cool. Or at least pretend to. Externally. If only my brain could communicate the message to the dumbass smile spreading across my face.
“And you don’t like hockey? Or just hockey players?”
She levels me with a flat stare that shrivels my balls.
“Okay. Noted. What about other sports? Do we hate all sportsballs and sportspeople? Or just the frozen ones?”
Her eye rolls are so impressive I might make it my mission to outdo myself with every single one. She may even have strained her eyeballs with that last one.
“I like football.”
“Go Hawks. Am I right?” Hope has my heart on a frayingstring. If she’s an Iowa State fan, I’m going to cry right here in fake prison.
We have our own football team here at the University of Cedar Rapids, but it’s fairly new. And we suck so damn bad that most of us wish we didn’t have a team at all. Even though we outwardly cheer for our own school, everyone has an inside voice cheering even louder for the Hawkeyes.
Most of us cheer out loud for them too.
“I dunno.” Her tongue trails along her full bottom lip as she flicks her auburn curls over the shoulder of her orange jumpsuit. “Cy is kinda cute.”
Cy is the Cardinal bird mascot thing for Iowa State. I can’t quite tell if she’s fucking with me until she bursts into laughter so melodic I don’t care that it’s at me.
“I can’t even say Herky is cute. Dude’s kinda scary,” I say.
She laughs again. “I wouldn’t fuck with him.”
“Please tell me you’re not a State fan, Firecracker.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not sure I can date someone who cheers for the wrong team.”
She laughs again. “I’d fuck you. But I won’t date you.”
I shake my already spinning head. So she’d fuck me, huh? Good. Glad to know whatever spark of attraction I felt goes both ways. Though trying to send the message to my dick that this woman is a lady, and we’re in a public space is taking longer than I’d like. “Oh, yes. I forgot. No more men. Ever. Except…” I gesture to my crotch. “When you need to scratch an itch.”
Her nose wrinkles and a stray curl falls forward into her face. “If it’s itchy, it’s not coming near my vagina.”
Her frankness is refreshing. I take it back. It might be a love at first sight story after all.
I want to listen to her read random words from the dictionary,rub her feet, and eat her pussy until death threatens to take me from this mortal plane.
I’ve played guitar since I was five years old. I wrote my first song when I was eleven and Brianna Price broke my heart by dating my best friend instead of me. I lost both my crush and my best friend, and the only outlet I had was soothing my beat-up heart through my beat-up guitar.
Never once has the urge to write music about the stranger I’m staring at crashed into me like this before.
Have I just met my muse?
I haven’t picked up my guitar since the summer. Hockey has taken up all of my time. Hockey and making sure my grade point average doesn’t drop.
If I fail, I get kicked out. It’s that simple.
When I first earned my hockey scholarship, I foolishly thought I was home free. But if I don’t maintain my grades, I lose my scholarship, and if I lose my scholarship, I’m out on my ass. My family can’t afford to pay for college tuition. It’s become a whole thing.
I thought I’d be fine with the pressure, but the exhaustion weighing down my muscles and the bags underlining my eyes tell a different tale.
I didn’t think college would be so fucking hard. Do they want to break us before we become real adults?
What happened to all the keg parties and coasting your way through class?
