The Freshman (College Years 1)

Football is it for me. My one outlet that no one can take away from me. It helps me forget about my troubles and focus on the game. I need that. More than I realized.

“When’s your next game?” she asks.

“This Saturday. It’s a home game,” I answer.

“I’m going,” she says firmly. “I want to watch you play.”

“Good luck, I don’t get on the field much.” There’s no point in lying.

“Why not?”

“First, I’m only a freshman, as you like to remind me.”

She grins.

“Second, I kind of fucked around at the beginning of the season with Jackson, and now the coaches hate us,” I explain.

“What do you mean, you fucked around with Jackson?” Her brows shoot up. “Sounds dirty.”

“Ha, right. No, nothing like that.” I stop at the front of my car. I almost passed right by it. “How about I explain everything over dinner.”

“Okay.” She nods, her expression neutral. “But I’m paying for my own meal.”

“That’s fine.”

“And I’m sitting across the table from you, not right next to you.” She waves her finger between us. “This is not a date.”

“We’ve already established that,” I say coolly.

She rolls her eyes. “Are you always this calm?”

“Not in bed.” I grin.

“Who says we need a bed?”

Touché, Hayden.

Motherfuckin’ touché.

Ten

Hayden

We end up at a sushi place not too far from campus, and it’s packed with fellow college students. I’ve been here before, and while it’s not the best sushi I’ve ever had, it’s worth the price and the crowd.

We pick out a couple of rolls to share. I order an iced tea, Tony sticks with water. I watch him as he speaks with the server, noting how his hair is damp, as if he just took a shower, but his cheeks and jaw are faintly lined with stubble. I withhold the sigh that wants to escape the longer that I stare at him. He’s hot.

So hot.

His gray T-shirt stretches across his wide chest, tight enough to offer me a teasing outline of his pecs. I bet he has a six pack. I’ve been with attractive guys before, but there is something exceptional about Tony.

“You’re staring,” he tells me once the server leaves our table.

“Sorry.” I prop my elbow on the edge of the table and rest my chin on my fist. “You’re pretty.”

“Pretty?” He doesn’t appear happy with my assessment.

“Yes. I’m not changing my choice of words, no matter how much you don’t like it,” I tell him with a faint smile.