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Trust me when I say that Rowan Michaels fever is alive and well at Western University. His fanbase is legendary. The guy is a major player.
Both on and off the field.
Girls fall all over themselves to be with him. They fill the stands at football practice, show up at parties he’s rumored to be at, and basically stalk him around campus.
It’s a little nauseating. Don’t these girls have any self-respect when it comes to a hot guy?
I wince at that unchecked thought.
Fine...I’ll begrudgingly admit it; he’s good-looking.
I shake my head as if that will banish the insidious thoughts currently invading my brain. Enough about Rowan. It’s time to focus on the reason I’m at the stadium at this ungodly hour. I rip my gaze from him as I hit the cement staircase. After half a flight, all thoughts of the blond quarterback vanish from my mind. How could they not when my quads, glutes, and calves are on fire, screaming for mercy as I force myself to the nosebleed section. By the time I finish, my legs are Jell-O, and I still have a two-mile run back to the apartment I share with my best friend off-campus.
I give Dad a half-hearted wave before leaving. It’s the most I can muster. His lips quirk at the corners as he shakes his head. He thinks I’m crazy. At the moment, I can’t argue with his assessment of the situation. Although, it’s the extra training I put in that helps me run circles around the other team in the second half of the game.
The jog home feels like it will last forever. By the time I unlock the apartment door, I’m ready to collapse. I beeline for the shower and jump in before it’s fully warm. My skin prickles with goose flesh, but it feels so damn good. Twenty minutes later, I’m dressed and ready to take on the day. My hair has been thrown up in a messy bun, and I’m making a protein smoothie that will fuel me for my morning classes.
Just before taking off, I poke my head into Sydney’s room. I know exactly how I’ll find her, and that’s buried beneath a small mountain of blankets. She doesn’t disappoint. We met the summer before freshman year in training camp and have been besties ever since. She’s the yin to my yang. The peanut butter to my jelly. The Thelma to my Louise. Where I’m more introverted and cautious, she’s loud and boisterous. She’s been known to leap without necessarily looking at what she’s jumping into. Every so often, it gets us into trouble. Sydney and I have lived together since sophomore year. I gave up trying to cajole her ass out of bed for a six o’clock run after the first week of us cohabitating when she nearly took my head off with an alarm clock.
“It’s that time again,” I sing-song obnoxiously, “rise and shine.”
There’s a grunt and then some shifting from under the blankets that tells me she’s alive.
When I chant her name repeatedly, each time escalating in volume, she growls, “Get the fuck out!”
“Awww,” I mock, “that’s so sweet. I love you, too.”
Sydney snorts before a hand snakes out from beneath the blankets to give me a one-fingered salute. Then she grabs a pillow and tosses it in my general vicinity. It falls about five feet short of its mark.
I stare at the dismal attempt. “If you’re trying to cause bodily harm, you’ll have to do better than that.”
“Piss off.”
“All right then.” I shrug. “See you after class.” With that, I close the door behind me.
My farewell is met with another indecipherable mouthful. If this weren’t something we went through on the daily, I’d worry she was in the midst of a stroke. Sydney is definitely not a morning person. She’s more of an early afternoon person. Another thing I’ve learned over the years? The action of waking up to a brand-new day is a gradual process. She’s like a bear rousing prematurely from hibernation. It’s not a pretty sight. She’s lucky I don’t take her insults personally.
I grab my backpack from the small table crammed into the breakfast nook area along with a coffee before heading out the door. The apartment I share with Sydney is located three blocks from campus, which is highly sought out real estate. We’re fortunate Dad is friends with the guy who manages the building. It’s probably one of the only perks of having a father who is a head coach of a college football team.
You’d think there would be more, but you’d be wrong. Honestly, being Nick Richard’s daughter is more of a hindrance than anything else. People assume you receive special treatment on campus, from professors, or that you have an in with all the football players.
Or worse...
Much worse.
After a bunch of ugly—not to mention untrue—rumors circulated freshman year, I’ve done my best to distance myself from the Wildcats football team. They’re a great bunch of guys, but I don’t need all the ugly gossip and speculation that comes along with being friends with them.
As I reach Corbin Hall, the mathematics building for my stats class, my gaze is drawn to a clump of students standing around outside the three-story, red-brick building. In the center of that crowd is Rowan. I don’t have to see him physically to know that he’s close. The muscles in my belly contract with awareness. It’s like a sixth sense. One I wish would go away. He’s the last person I want to be cognizant of.
As I jog up the wide stone stairs to the entrance, my gaze fastens on him. A smirk twists the edges of his lips, and my eyes narrow before I drag them away and yank open the door to the building. Relief rushes through me as I step inside the air conditioning and disappear from sight.
“Hey, Demi, wait up!”
I turn at the sound of my name before slowing my step. The dark-haired guy jogging to catch up smiles before falling in line with me.
Justin Fischer.
He’s a baseball player and teammates with Sydney’s boyfriend, Ethan. We’ve been seeing each other for about a month. It’s still casual at this point. With school and soccer, I don’t have a ton of time to invest in a relationship. He seems to understand that and isn’t pushing to be more serious.
