So today, I had to choose: my groom or the man objecting.
Part I
2
Athens
April 4, 2008
The energy in the lecture hall was contagious. Pens drummed on notebooks, legs jostled under desks, the tap, tap, tap of computer keys was more distraction than note-taking. Professor McConnell was still droning on, but no one was listening anymore. Not with ten minutes until the end of class. Not when spring had blown in hard and fast that week, bringing with it the restless need to be out of the classroom and out on the quad.
All around me, people packed up early, stuffing papers and computers into backpacks. The noise was loud enough for Professor McConnell to finally sigh and conclude.
“All right, all right,” he said with that same exasperated tone he used for everything. He was one of those ‘cool’ professors who wore khakis and polos instead of suits and bow ties. Youngish type with lots of girls flocking to take his classes. “We’ll pick this up again on Monday, but don’t forget that your term paper is due a week from today. If anyone needs help, email me or come to office hours.”
Half of the class was already out of their seats before he even finished speaking.
I idled in my second-row seat, biding my time until it emptied. My term paper wasn’t where I wanted it to be. I was ahead of the rest of the class, considering I’d started my paper. Intro to Kinesiology was inundated with athletes who had tutors and private study sessions and, you know, other smart people to write their term papers for them. But I was in the class for my Exercise and Sports Science degree because I actually wanted to become a physical therapist. Not the typical student.
When the room was sufficiently empty, I snapped my notebook closed and stuffed it into the leather backpack my mom had gotten me as a graduation gift a year earlier. I got to my feet and stretched just as someone walked up my desk.
I jolted. “Uh, hi.”
My eyes traveled up, up, up the gorgeous body that I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed at the back of the room with the other football players. He always wore the same Nike gear—joggers, red-and-black T-shirt, black jacket—with the football tags hanging off of his University of Georgia backpack.
No jacket today. And the hat that normally adorned his head was absent as well. His dark brown hair was gelled perfectly, short on the sides and longer on the top. And those blue eyes. They were electric blue … and they were staring at me. Straight at me. With a half-smile that was almost … hesitant?
“Hey. Lila, right?”
“Delilah,” I corrected. Though I had no idea how he knew my name.
“Delilah,” he said with a casual nod. “I’m Cole.”
“I know who you are,” I said before I could stop myself.
He smirked, running a hand back through his hair. When he touched the gel, he stopped as if he’d remembered his hair wasn’t its normal floppy, just-sexed mess. “Right. Yeah. Forget that sometimes.”
If it wasn’t obvious from his outfit, Cole Davis was a football player. He had been a highly sought-after recruit for UGA. He’d helped take us to a Sugar Bowl victory this season. Cole wasn’t quite the star, but he’d sure run up a ton of points his sophomore year. Not to mention, we all noticed his face that the university liked to plaster all over the enormous end zone scoreboard.
Not to mention that his dad was the Hal Davis. He played ball in college and then professionally for the Eagles. Now, he was an offensive line coach for the Atlanta Falcons, my favorite team. Every time Cole did something good on the field, his dad’s name and record was blasted as well. Everyone liked a good story.
“Can I help you with something?” I asked.
“You seem to be doing really well in this class.”
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. “Do you need help with your term paper?”
He laughed. “No, I have a handle on it. Man, I’m shitty at this.”
“At what?”
“Asking you out.”
I blinked. “If that’s what you’re doing, then yes, you’re pretty bad at it.”
He chuckled again. Shooting me the dimples that made every girl on campus swoon.
“So, okay, let’s start over again,” Cole said.
He dropped his backpack on the ground next to mine and held out his hand. I took it because what else was I supposed to do?
“There’s a luau tonight, and I was wondering if you’d want to go with me.”
“Isn’t tomorrow the spring game?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of a tradition,” he said with a shrug.
“So, it’s a football party?”
“Uh … well, sort of.”
“Thanks for inviting me, Cole,” I said, hefting my backpack on my shoulder. “But no thanks.”
He blinked at my response, and I left the classroom before he could say anything else. I’d email the professor instead.