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“Um, is there a scandal or a cover-up at this magazine or something?”
“Quite the contrary,” she said. “I noticed that for all of the press that the football team receives, the majority of it is directed toward Grayson Connors, and not much has been written about Kyle Stanton. Don’t you find that odd?”
“Not really.” I flipped the magazine over. “He’s not that important.”
“He’s the second most popular college player in the country, Miss Johnson. And with the exception of a basic interview he gave in the locker room earlier this year, he’s never said a word to the press.” She tapped her lip. “Only his parents have spoken, and they always say the same thing—like they’re robots or something. So I would like to know more about him.”
“I don’t.” I shrugged. “And I don’t think I should have to dedicate the most important assignment of my college career on someone like him.”
“Someone like him?”
“I don’t want to get into specifics about his reputation.”
“I’m sure it’s quite terrible.” She smiled. “But that doesn’t mean there’s not much more beneath the surface. That’s the mark of a great writer, by the way: making us fall for someone we wouldn’t expect.”
I shook my head, refusing to accept this as my fate. “Between his hectic football schedule and all the things that I’m sure he has to do, I doubt he has the time. I don’t either, to be honest.”
“You’re an Honors Scholar, Miss Johnson,” she said. “You have two classes and a thesis. That’s it.”
I sucked my lips into my mouth.
“I want you to get under Mr. Stanton’s skin over the following semesters. I want you to get into his head and really dive deep into his dreams and background.”
“Kyle Stanton is as deep as a petri-dish.”
“Excuse me, Miss Johnson?”
“Nothing, I just—” I paused. “The ballboy never gets any press. Neither do the equipment managers. Perhaps I can write a piece about those guys and do a blue collar type thing, or write about everything it takes to support a college football organization instead?”
She stared at me as if I’d lost my mind.
“Or, I can just do a profile on Kyle Stanton.”
“Yes, do that, and you’ll be thanking me in the spring.” She smiled. “And you’re in luck. I was so excited about this idea, that I called Mr. Stanton to see if he would be interested in this type of arrangement. Want to guess what he said?”
“I’d rather not.”
“He said yes, and he’s waiting for your first session at the cafe downstairs, so you two can set up a schedule together.”
“What?”
“You’re welcome,” she said, heading to the door. “I’m looking forward to reading your work. Hurry up and meet him before he assumes you’re not coming. As you mentioned, he’s a very busy guy.”
Fifteen minutes later, I stepped off the elevator and grabbed a chicken sandwich from the Chick-fil-A stand before walking into the seating area.
To my surprise, Kyle was sitting alone by the windows, and his usual flock of thirsty fangirls was nowhere in sight.
Before accepting defeat, I silently begged the university to bless Pittsburgh with a sudden earthquake, so I could get out of this.
I shut my eyes, waiting to hear rumblings, but it was no use.
Sighing, I made my way over and took the seat across from him.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey.” He smiled. “I missed seeing you at the make-up play this morning. Where were you?”
“In the back.” I lied.
“I think that’s where I should sit next time, then. I don’t think the actors appreciated my snoring in the front row.”
I shook my head. Then I set my recorder on the table and turned it on.
“I want to ask you a few questions to start my groundwork, and then we’ll work on a schedule for when I’m able to ask you more.” I cleared my throat. “Can you tell me why you’ve never talked to the press when they’ve all been clamoring to hear from you?”
He leaned over and shut off my recorder. “Can you accept my apology for the group project from freshman year?”
“No.” I turned on the recorder again, but he leaned over and shut it off.
“That project wasn’t mandatory,” he said. “It was for extra credit and I assumed that everyone already had an A in the class.”
“I had an A minus …”
“Then I need to rescind my apology.” He smiled again, as I restarted the recorder.
“Like I was saying before, Kyle Stanton.” I looked directly into his gorgeous green eyes. “Can you tell me why you don’t talk to the press when they’re all clamoring to hear from you?”
He leaned back in his chair. “I realized last week that you were my crush on the university’s cheerleading team during our freshman year.”
“Kyle Stanton—” I was seconds away from screaming. “Can we please stick to the interview questions?”
