Campus Player

Right.

I shove those distracting thoughts from my brain before they can cause anymore mischief. “You didn’t answer my question.” I pause for a beat. “Why are you here?”

He shrugs as his voice softens. “You’ve had a crap week, and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh.” That’s the second time he’s made a point of checking on me. Even though I want to stay strong, everything inside me melts. “How did you know I was here?”

“I ran into Sydney at a party, and she filled me in.” Silence descends as we cautiously watch one another. He clears his throat and shifts his weight. “So, you gonna let me in?”

That doesn’t necessarily seem like the best idea. This has been an odd week, and everything in me is still raw and churning. Under normal circumstances, I have no problem keeping Rowan at a safe distance, both mentally and physically. But our relationship has recently shifted in unexpected ways. I think about our talk at the stadium and when we worked together at the library. The emotions he'd roused had left me feeling strange and uncomfortable. What I need is for my relationship with Rowan to shift back to what it’s always been—little more than strangers who are forced to interact upon occasion.

Before I can voice a decision, a hunk of junk with muffler issues rolls to a stop in front of the house. It backfires before the engine dies, and a plume of smoke belches from the tailpipe.

Holy crap. How the hell did that clunker pass emissions?

Rowan turns, and we watch a kid who can’t be more than sixteen years old jump out of the car and sprint to the passenger seat before pulling out a red carrying case and jogging across the front lawn.

“Hi! I’m here to deliver a pizza to—” he glances at the order form before looking at us. His eyes widen. “Hey! You’re Rowan Michaels, QB for the Wildcats!”

Rowan’s lips lift. “Guilty.”

“Wow!” The kid pulls off his red ball cap with the One Hell of a Pizza logo on it before plowing a hand through his ginger-colored mane. “I was at the game last weekend, and you were so awesome! I couldn’t believe you threw that eighty-yard pass right to Brayden Kendricks!”

“Thanks. We all had a great game.”

“You had a great game, Michaels.” The pimply faced kid stares at Rowan in a worshipful manner, as if totally starstruck. It’s kind of amusing. But then again, I’m famished, so not really.

When the delivery guy continues to stare in awe, Rowan clears his throat before digging around in his front pocket. “How much do I owe you for the pizza?”

“No, I got it.” I offer up the twenty I grabbed off the credenza. “Here you go.”

The kid shakes his head. “No way, Michaels! The pizza is on me.” He steps closer and lowers his voice as if he’s divulging state secrets. “Free pizza is one of the few perks this crap job has.”

Even though the guy hasn’t bothered to look at me since he realized he was in the company of Wildcat greatness, I push the money toward him. “I insist on paying.”

“No can do, it’s on me.” The kid shakes his head. “No one is going to believe I bought Rowan Michaels a pizza!” His eyes pop wide again. “Hey! Can I take a selfie with you?”

“Um, I don’t think—”

“Sure you can!” I step forward and grab the insulated bag from the kid before unzipping it and sliding out the box from within.

“Awesome!” the delivery guy gushes.

Rowan shoots me a pleading look, which I promptly ignore before stepping inside the house with my large pepperoni pizza and slamming the door closed. That’s what he gets for showing up on my doorstep unannounced and sending my hormones into further chaos.

Five minutes later, I’ve got a plate and have opened the box on the dining room table. I’m about to lift a massive piece of deliciousness to my mouth when the front door swings open, and Rowan steps inside.

He glances around until his narrowed gaze lands on me before jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Thanks for leaving me out there. I barely escaped with my life intact.” When I say nothing in response, he continues. “Do you know that he wanted to take me to the restaurant so I could meet the gang?”

I can almost imagine the kid pleading with Rowan to come back with him. My shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“It’s not funny!” he grunts with a scowl.

“It kind of is.” Actually, there’s no kind of about it. It’s funny. There hasn’t been much to laugh about this week, and that definitely does the trick.

He spears a finger at the open box. “I hope you appreciate that pizza. I feel dirty right now. Kind of like I prostituted myself.”