Gazing around, I notice quite a few people staring in our direction. I’m reminded of Chad from the smoothie shop and the pictures that ended up online.
Looking somewhat resigned, he shrugs his broad shoulders. Without another word, he suddenly reaches behind him and pulls out a well-worn ball cap before tugging it onto his head. Then he pulls it down low. It’s the same one he wore when we headed over to the library. He must carry it around with him when he doesn’t want to be recognized. Not that it does the trick because honestly, whether or not you can see his face, people would still stare.
Roan is so tall. He must be about six three or four and he’s broad in both the shoulders and the chest. When he’s wearing a t-shirt like he is now, where it totally hugs his cut upper body… well, he’d draw attention for that alone.
The guy is seriously built like a Roman gladiator. He’s all thick chiseled muscle. Add that gorgeous face into it and you have girls tripping over themselves just so he’ll turn those beautiful turquoise hued eyes in their direction.
I know firsthand because, as much as I don’t want to, I feel the same draw myself. Something within me clamors for his attention.
“Comes with the territory. If I wasn’t a good ball player, people wouldn’t give two shits about me.”
Well, that’s debatable. Whether Roan played ball or not, women would still find him ridiculously attractive.
I snort. “Ah, I don’t think that’s true at all.”
He levels me with a hard look. “Yeah, it is. People care about me because of my talent on the field. It’s always been that way.”
It’s quietly that I say, “I’m sure you’re parents care about you for you, not football.”
Almost instantly his eyes soften. “Yeah, they do. But everyone else just wants a piece of me.” Glancing around the restaurant, he pitches his voice lower. “Ever since I picked up a football, it’s what my life has been about. Consequently, it’s all people want to talk about. Or maybe they think it’s all I can talk about.” His lips curl self-mockingly. “Like I’m just another dumb jock with no other interests outside of the sport I play.”
Surprised by the sharp bitterness of his words, I simply stare at him from across the rectangle table that separates us. Is it totally crazy that I feel kind of… sorry for him? I mean, does that even make sense?
He’s Roan freaking King, for goodness sake.
Tentatively, because I’m not quite sure if it’s a mistake or not, I reach out until my hand gently covers his larger one. As if surprised by the gesture, his eyes fall to our now connected hands. Mine do the same as my breath catches in my throat.
What the hell am I doing?
Seriously?
But I just can’t seem to help myself.
I like him.
And the more time I spend with him, the more those strangely tender feelings grow and flourish. If you had asked me a month ago when I spilled my drink all over him, I would have told you in no uncertain terms that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with a football playing Neanderthal like Roan King. I would have said he was a dumb jock coasting through college on his football prowess and by nailing as much ass as he could.
But somewhere along the way, my opinion of him has slowly started to change.
Yeah… I still think he’s a player but now I’m kind of wondering if he’s just using women the same way they seem to use him. I almost want to shake my head as that thought settles within my mind because I can’t believe I’m actually making excuses for his behavior.
Before I can say anything, he leans towards me, his eyes on mine. Holding them captive with their blue-green intensity. “Do you realize you’re the only one who never talks to me about football?”
When I merely stare in confusion, he continues, “Even my professors talk to me about the season and turning pro.” His body continues straining towards mine. “There were two last year who didn’t even grade my papers. They just gave me A’s.”
My eyes widen at his hushed admission. “How do you know that?”
“Because I found a few errors and brought it to their attention. Both just smiled and patted me on the back. Told me not to worry about it, that I had bigger concerns to focus my energies on.”
For a long moment, neither of us says a word. We simply watch each other silently. I’m actually flabbergasted that something like that could happen. Especially here at Barnett. I mean, this is a top notch school. Academically rigorous. Challenging.
His face tenses. “You can’t tell anyone about that, Ivy,” he mutters the words under his breath. “I’m serious.”