“What? That man does not squat for us to ignore his ass. Do you think he could squat me? Oh, —” she drops her pen and lets out a breath, “—how I yearn to be squatted by a man like that.”
“I’m begging you to lower your voice,” I whisper, focusing on my laptop screen instead of engaging in this conversation. “Or at least... stop saying the word squat like that. Professor Stephenson can probably hear you.”
“Let him. He’s been ignoring my stares at the gym for the last three weeks. He needs to know how I and everyone else in this class—bar you—feel about him.”
This statement alone makes me turn and look at her. “You see him at the gym?”
“Mhm, now you’re interested, aren’t you? I knew you were into athletes. You have that vibe.”
“What vibe is that?”
Her hazel eyes take me in. “You’re cute and peppy. Definitely someone’s good luck charm. So tell me, are you a hockey girlie or a baseball baddie? I’m leaning hockey, because you seem way too unimpressed by a great ass.”
I frown. “Do baseball players have great asses?”
“Called it. And for the record, yes. If you want to see a couple of truly great ones, you should look up JB Anderson or Austin James when you’re alone in your room. I promise they will not disappoint.”
“I actually really like football,” I admit. It’s the most I’ve told her about my past since we started hanging out three weeks ago, after she met me in our dorm and realized we were both studying the same major. We instantly hit it off, talking about the books we love, movie adaptations that deserved better, and everything in between. Not once have we talked about my past. It’s always about my future and who I am now. Exactly how I like it.
“Oooh,” she coos. “Well, then what’s your problem with great asses? They’ve got the best.”
I purse my lips, trying to stop my laughter, but she makes it hard when she looks at me so expectantly.
“I have no problem with great asses,” I say. “I just have a little more decorum than you.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Okay, hold on. You lit up when you said football.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.” She points her pen at me. “And suddenly Miss Decorum over here is defending athletes and pretending she’s above appreciating a good ass.”
“You’re insane.”
“Maybe,” she says. “But I’m also observant. You don’t talk about your past, you dodge every personal question I ask, and you aren’t salivating over Professor Yes, Sir.” Her eyes narrow dramatically. “Which means one thing.”
“Stevie—”
“You have a secret boyfriend.”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
I think so.
None of these really fit what Zach and I are to each other right now.
“No.”
“Secret ex, then?”
“No.”
“Secret situationship?”
I close my eyes. “Please stop saying words.”
