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I start to laugh. In Spencer’s language, any woman who isn’t throwing her panties directly in his face is giving him a hard time. He has a vision of himself as kind of a Romeo, I guess. I don’t see it.
“So, you just signed me up? Don’t you think jeopardizing my GPA is going to be worse for the team? Did that even occur to you? I don’t need more credits this semester.”
“You don’t have to keep a 4.0,” he grumbles.
“Not really up to you!” I shoot back. “Besides, my 4.0 is a big deal tome. To me personally. That should be enough.”
Spencer shrugs, but I know he actually does hear me. She must have really gotten under his skin. Pretty funny, really. I would have loved to have seen that. We only have one woman dean, and she is an absolute knockout. I bet he was shaking in his boots.
“Well, it’s an art class,” he mutters. “How hard can it be to get an A?”
“Hey, those art classes are pretty tough,” Diego joins in from the back seat. “Those guys really work for their projects.”
“Oh, walking around naked through the art school gives you a real insight into the academic process, does it?” Spencer replies archly.
Diego scoffs. “Yeah, it actually does.”
“Wait, do I have to see Diego naked?” I ask.
“You would be lucky to see me naked! All of you!”
“Jeez, Diego, calm down,” Spencer chuckles into his hand. “We’ve all seen you naked, remember? Every day at practice.”
“Every morning, in our room!” Trevor adds from the front seat.
“Just about every other night, in the dorm shower,” I shrug.
“Yeah, fine, whatever.”
Come to think of it, we all have seen a lot of Diego. And the art school has seen of lot of Diego. There are paintings of him in the student galleries.
Diego may be the most well-known naked torso on the entire campus. Weird.
“Okay, here we are!”
Frankie pulls the parking brake and unlatches the doors. We all pile out of the moving van he borrowed, amusing the people on the sidewalk who look at us like we are escaping from a clown car.
It probably is a little weird seeing five big guys emerging from a white panel van. On the football field, it’s totally normal to see us all together. In real life, I guess it’s probably a little bit different.
I never make it over to this part of the town. I usually stay on campus. Even to hang out, I would rather be at a frat party than one of the bars over here. I just don’t see the point in wasting money when I can drink for free.
But as we roll the tall cases down the narrow alleyway, I can see why people would want to do this. It’s kind of like a movie set. The old buildings. The neon sign. Kind of makes you feel like you are doing something extra, not just the Disney-like environment of class after class, frat house after frat house, football practice after football game.
The M Club smells like food and wet concrete. Frankie is just over the moon. When we start unloading his gear, he turns into a master tech, directing us to stack the cases here, put up the lights there, rearrange the whole thing.
The speakers and stuff all fit on these telescoping upright supports. Everything is black and practically brand-new. Even the lights are new, with a couple of bulbs still wrapped in cellophane. I start peeling the plastic off of one in order to get it to the same height as the other bank on the opposite end of the DJ booth.
Diego is in my way, standing with his arms crossed, watching the far end of the room.
“Hey, I need to get back there,” I mutter.
“Mm-hmm,” he grumbles distractedly.
“What’s the problem?”
“I know that guy. Those guys.”
I squint across the room. It’s kind of dark in here, especially since all the lights around the opposite end of the bar is much dimmer. It’s hard to see over there.
