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“Journalism,” I said. “I would ask for yours, but I don’t think attending class is your thing.”
“It’s not a requirement for football.” He smiled, revealing two deep dimples. “I’m thinking about majoring in Pre-Law, though. I’ve always wanted to be a lawyer in another life.”
“Really?”
“Hell no.” He laughed. “I’ll probably pick something easy like Communication and call it a day.”
“I wish it was that easy for me…” I muttered.
“You probably have the next ten years of your life planned out, don’t you?” He steered the car onto Fifth Avenue. “You strike me as that type of girl.”
“Well, you’re wrong,” I said. “I’m as spontaneous as they get.”
“You’re wearing a button-down shirt, slacks, and your hair is pulled into a perfect fucking bun—at two in the morning,” he said. “I’d be willing to bet that you’ve ever done a spontaneous thing a day in your life.”
I tried to think of a way to dispute that, but I couldn’t.
I remained silent and looked outside my window. I knew that there was no point in admitting that I drafted a spreadsheet for every semester of my college career. That I’d broken down everything from potential relationships, student activities, and how many things I needed to accomplish in order to achieve my dream of becoming a renowned journalist.
A few minutes later, Kyle pulled the car in front of the three freshman dorm towers that stood at the center of campus.
Putting the car in park, he unbuckled his seatbelt. Then he pulled his blue hoodie over his head and handed it to me.
“Here,” he said. “Put this on since you don’t have an umbrella.”
I tugged the hoodie over my head and pulled the drawstring super tight as he stepped out of the car.
The moment it was secure, Kyle opened the door and reached for my hand.
Like the gentleman that I would’ve never guessed he would be, he escorted me up the steps and across the walkway to Tower B.
“Thank you, Kyle.” I stopped walking in front of the entry doors. “Give me a few seconds, so I can give your hoodie back.”
“No, that’s okay.” He stepped back. “Keep it. It gives me a reason to come see you.”
“I’m giving it to your coach at the next game, then.”
He laughed. “In that case, I’m looking forward to seeing you cheer for me on the sidelines this Saturday.”
“I’m cheering for the team, not one of its egotistical players.”
“For now.” He smiled, and I hated that that’s all it took to make butterflies flutter in my chest. “I guarantee that you’ll be a huge fan of mine by the end of our senior year.”
“Are you making plans to win a Nobel Laureate by then, or something?”
“Of course not,” he said, lowering his voice. “I’m planning to get a deeper understanding of you, though.”
The way he emphasized the word ‘deeper’ told me to run away right now before I fell under his spell like everyone else.
We stood staring at each other for several seconds.
The rain and wind battering the windows was the only sound between us.
“I think you’re the type of girl I’ll marry someday,” he said, looking genuine. “I’ll see you at the altar years from now.”
“I’m not into polygamy, Kyle.”
“What about orgies?” He smirked.
I rolled my eyes and took two giant steps back. “Thank you for the ride. I’ll continue keeping my distance.”
“No, thank you,” he said. “This was the best night of my college career so far.”
He winked at me and walked away without saying anything else, leaving me confused and aroused all at once.
Snap out of it Courtney. He’s Kyle Stanton; he was feeding you a script.
You’ll never EVER talk to him again.
Courtney: Now
Friday
Super Bowl Weekend
I tucked Kyle’s final letters into my bag, as the small jet landed on the tarmac.
As if the universe let him know that I’d landed, my phone buzzed with a text.
Kyle: Good luck on your first presser with your own company today.
Me: Thank you. Will you be granting me an interview?
Kyle: Depends on if I have an answer about us before the end of the game.
Laughing, I stepped off the jet-bridge and followed the guide toward a town car.
“What the hell?” He stopped and looked up, and I did, too.
The hotel billboard ahead of us lit up in bright blue and yellow lights, asking, “Will Courtney be mine (finally) again? Say yes. Love, Kyle.”
“Wow,” the guide said. “This Kyle dude seems desperate as fuck. What do you think?”
“I think he’s very persistent.” I smiled and snapped pictures, playing dumb as the guide harped on how much of a “beta-male” Kyle had to be.
Slipping into the backseat of the car, I sent Kyle a text.
Me: Just saw your note on the billboard. Nice steal from the movie ‘Take Me Back.’ I could’ve sworn you fell asleep on that one senior year.
Kyle: I woke up and saw the only part I liked. It’s a serious question, Court…Will you be mine finally?
