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Several girls from the swim team swarm us. They never get a break, swimming all year long. I guess none of us really do. We chat for a few minutes before Ginger and I make our way inside. I make eye contact with one of the football players, Logan Warren. He’s a notorious playboy and the Stallions starting quarterback. And he’s walking straight toward me in all of his bodily glory. He’s way too big for me—I’m five-foot-two-inches on a good day. The smile that glides across his face as he nears me has me preparing for tropical force winds.
“Hey, look who came out of her cave.” He hugs me so tight around my center, I might be popping out the top and bottom, like when you squeeze the middle of a balloon.
I manage to choke out a laugh while wiggling away. “If you were nursing a high ankle sprain, I know where your focus would be.” I look down at my booted ankle and Logan’s eyes follow.
“True.” His smile fades as he considers the thought of being hurt or it might come true. “So that’s why I’ve seen most of the gymnastics team without you—been rehabbing?”
“Yeah, the trainer says I’m about eighty percent.” My voice is perky, knowing I’ll be back in training for the winter gymnastics season. I add, “Plus, some of us have to work. Gymnasts don’t get the same perks as the star quarterback.”
I’m on scholarship but it only covers tuition. I still have to pay for my apartment and the costs that come with that. My dad gives me a little but says he can’t afford more so I took out loans and work when I can, babysitting for our coaches.
He shakes his head in agreement, and I notice it’s traced with a small shadow of embarrassment. Then, he throws an arm around me and says, “Come on Little A. Let’s get you a drink.”
I walk with him but decline a beer and opt for a Sprite. More hands touched Logan in that short walk than have ever touched me. The slaps on the back. The fist bumps. Then there’s the ladies with their paws pressing against his chest and the kisses on his cheeks. “Don’t you get tired of it?” I ask.
He gives me a quizzical glance. “No. I have little downtime and I can’t think of a better way to spend it than with a pretty woman. You should try me some time,” he jokes.
Snorting, my sprite comes out my nose, showering my shirt. “No thank you. I might be the only one you haven’t slept with this at the party. And why don’t you feel weird about it? What if they start comparing stories?”
He smirks but there is a loneliness behind his eyes. “They were all thoroughly satisfied. And there’s only handful—you’re exaggerating.” He hands me a napkin to dab my shirt dry.
“So, who’s that with Josie?” I ask, attempting to sound unphased by the specimen in front of me across the room.
Logan’s eyes dart to the den, surveying the area. “Oh, that’s my new roommate, Mac. He’s a freshman wide receiver. He moved in with me so I can whip him into shape.” He points to another guy in the room and says, “And there’s Hagan, the baseball transfer. They came as a package deal.”
I was definitely talking about Hagan, but Logan doesn’t need to know that. So that’s the guy that has Chaz’s underwear in a wad. I should get to know him just to piss off Chaz. Not.
And now I understand why the girls on this campus have Hagan on their tongues and minds. He’s gorgeous. He stands with one hand in the pocket of his athletic shorts while sipping from a blue plastic cup. His conversation with three girls flows easy like a stream running downhill. He maneuvers his eyes and smile with the flutter of their eyelashes, giving them each attention.
“Do you want me to make an introduction, Little A?”
What I want is for Logan to quit calling me Little A, but instead I say, “No. I’ve sworn off cocky buttholes. I saw some friends outside so I’m going to find them. Good to see you.” I give him a sidearm hug.
“Find me later if you need me or if you change your mind about this.” Logan points to his chest, and I can’t help but laugh. I don’t feel any spark with Logan, and I don’t think he feels one for me, either. I’m an only child and my attachment to him is more like a brother. I know if I needed someone, he would be there for me without a doubt. But do I get all ooey-gooey over the Adonis of campus? No. Not one, single, heart melting thought.
Giving Logan a saccharine smile, I saunter to the front porch. Ginger is cozied up to one of the baseball players who lives here—Joe. They’ve been hooking up for weeks. They’re sitting in the front porch swing, and she has her head on his chest. She looks up at him with her big green eyes and he kisses her forehead.
Maybe good guys do exist.
Suddenly, girls scream from inside, so we all flock to see what’s happening. Two girls are fighting, pulling hair, and barking obscenities. Over what? “I saw him first!” one shouts.
Really? Are we in middle school?
Behind them, Hagan shakes his head, all while sporting a goofy grin that spreads across his face. What an ass. He sees me blazing a hole through his forehead. His smile fades into a seductive smirk with one corner of his lip tugging upward, raising his blue cup in the air, as if giving me a silent,cheers. And I feel the traitorous clench of my core in response.
Hagan seems bored with their antics, and strides toward the backdoor, stepping outside. I wander that way and peek out the screen. Outside, there are even more thirsty girls eating out of the palm of his hand. Erika included, one of the swimmers who lives in the apartment above mine.
I can’t help it—I look him over. He isn’t bulky, but he has well defined shoulders and his forearms are straight out of a baseball commercial. But why would a baseball player be living with Logan? Knocking me out of my Sherlock Holmes persona, Logan leans over my shoulder and whispers, “Who are we spying on?”
He sees the person in my sightline and his expression turns into a frown. I attempt to push him out of the way. He chuckles nice and deep, saying, “Damn, Hagan’s giving me a run for my money.” He playfully, storms out, leaving the screen door to rattle and slam behind him. Logan joins Hagan and the circle. Their bodies are different but both muscular.
Hagan catches me staring, and now, I can’t look away. His dark, shaggy hair is perfectly messy. His body is tanned, and it might fit me perfectly. He looks to be close to six feet, maybe a little less. My body warms at his omnipotent gaze, like he knows my thoughts. This time, there’s not cheers just a slight movement of his left brow, acknowledging my existence.
My thighs shouldn’t be tightening, and my mouth should not be dry.
I turn away and quickly walk to the bathroom. God, I hate guys like that. Think they can have whoever they choose, whenever they choose. If only there were guys that looked like a Greek God, but had a sensitive, romantic side. I’m not stupid enough to get stuck in a jock’s web again. I need myself a STEM man. Someone with brains and a fair amount of brawn, not one that dips his stick in every hole that opens up for him.
After washing my hands, I stare into the mirror, seeking answers to the universal question,When will I find someone to love me, truly love me? I reach for the hand towel laying on the counter and think better of it. Opening the cabinet door, I pull out a clean washcloth. As I’m drying, I overhear a couple talking.
