Steamroller

I was so screwed if he decided to report me. With all the boosters, all the money, everything riding on him he… he….

“Huh.” I had thought of something. “That’s weird, isn’t it?”

“What’s that?” Tracie asked.

Leaning forward, I actually took a look at him, back to playing touch on the lawn in front of Wesley Hall. The autograph session had been suspended, and he had resumed throwing the ball. What the hell?

Seriously?

“Vince?”

“Why is he doing that?”

“Doing what?”

“Playing football without any protective gear.”

“Oh c’mon,” Matt said, chuckling. “I’m sure no one would dare to actually try and hurt him. It’s just touch.”

But really, what kind of Mensa candidate tempted fate by playing with the guys in his frat or on the team and running the risk of getting hurt? Seriously, the man was twenty-one at the most, and he was screwing with his future. All it took was some freak accident and his career would be over before it started.

“Good morning,” the waitress said as she stepped up beside the table. “How are you all today? May I get you started with some fresh-squeezed orange juice?”

“Can I have a mimosa?” Tracie asked, and the waitress smiled at her.

“If you’ve got ID, you bet, because as far as I’m concerned, that’s the only good use for orange juice there is.”

I sat there and listened to everyone talk, but my focus kept shifting back to Carson Cress out there on the lawn. No matter what anyone thought, what he was doing was reckless, and for the life of me, I couldn’t think of why fooling around was worth the risk.

3

After breakfast everyone walked with me and Matt to the hardware store a street over on Lexington to get a key made so he could have one for the apartment, same as me. When he put it on his ring, the smile I got made me shake my head.

“You know you love me, Vin.”

“Just don’t fuck me over again, okay?”

“Never happen,” he assured me, pulling my hat off and tousling my thick curls that fell almost to my shoulders.

“You’re such a tool.”

“I know.” He grinned, green eyes sparkling.

I noticed several girls walk by and turn back to look at him. My best friend was very pretty. The blond hair, the flashing green eyes—he looked like Captain America or something, all wholesome goodness.

Every bulletin board we passed, if it had a flyer for an apartment, he grabbed one of the pieces hanging off the bottom so he could call. He really didn’t want to live in the cave.

We ran into one of Rick’s buddies from work, who told us about a party at the biggest frat on campus. Everyone would be there. They were all excited except me. It was not a place I would ever be comfortable.

“We should all go.” Matt was bouncing on his toes.

I would rather have a root canal.

Once we were close to campus, I decided to walk to the rare book store another block down, and since no one had anything better to do, they decided to tag along. Crossing at the light on Bridgewater, pulling my beanie down because it was cold, I saw Carson Cress bolting across the street, in traffic, dodging cars. I stopped and stared, and because I froze like a statue, it must have grabbed his attention. His eyes were really a gorgeous shade of violet. I had looked at them close up on the internet many times, examined them for flaws and found none. They were almost purple.

“Oh shit, there’s Cress,” Matt whispered.

“Hey!” Cress called out.

I ignored him, hurrying.

“Hey!”

“Wait!” Matt was as stunned as everyone else. Tracie looked like she was ready to pass out. “Did he just yell ‘hey’ at you?”

“No,” I answered quickly, ducking into the store on the left, not thinking, not even looking to see what it was, my flight reflex kicking in hard. I race-walked in without even registering where I was until the sea of red-and-black brought me up short.

Well, crap….

Moving fast, I made it to the back of the store and went into one of the fitting rooms and locked the door behind me.

For the love of God.

Duncan Sports was not a store I had ever been in. The one Everson University T-shirt I owned simply had a small EU logo on the front of it on the upper left-hand side. I was not a supporter of any team, especially not football. I had bought it at the bookstore on campus the first week of school. I had no reason to buy a jersey or any form of sports memorabilia or equipment and so had no earthly reason to have even stepped foot in Duncan’s. But now I was stuck in the fitting room, waiting for the star of the football team—the quarterback, the biggest man on campus—to walk by the front door and not have noticed me.