On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

“I only add people that I know personally,” I said. “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I’ll be sure to hit ignore on your request. Tell me your name so I can do it right now.”

“Ha! So, you think you know Grayson Connors personally?” She placed her hand over her chest and laughed. “Right.”

“I’m sorry, have we met before?” And if not, can you get the hell away from me?

“We haven’t met, but I wanted to come by and do you a personal favor.” She pursed her lips.

“Everyone has been talking about how he hasn’t been attending the usual parties or hitting up any of the girls he used to fuck.” She let the word ‘fuck’ hang in the air for a few seconds. “He’s somehow trading all of that in for spending time with ‘that whack ass Charlotte girl’ i.e. you, so I thought I’d warn you that he’ll never claim you as anything more than an off-field hobby.”

I’d never slapped someone mid-sentence before, but this girl was seconds away from being the victim of my first attempt.

“I know his M.O.” She placed a hand on my shoulder and looked sympathetic. “He’ll say all the right things and pretend that he wants more from you, that he’s interested in being in a real relationship. He’ll take you on dates in cute cafes to make it look like he’s publicly into you. You may even get a few late nights talking on the phone and some weekend dates, but he’ll never kiss you in public. Even if he does, it’ll be in some corner at night, his car, or some isolated place where he can make sure no one else knows about your pseudo-relationship. When you finally ask to be official, he’ll hit you with his trademark, “I don’t do girlfriends, but I like what we have” line. And once he’s tired of you—and he will get tired of you—he’ll dump you and do it to someone else. Because there will always be someone else willing and waiting to sleep with him in a heartbeat. I wish I listened to those rumors myself. Maybe I wouldn’t have wasted an entire summer of my life.”

I stared at her, half wondering where I’d seen her before and half debating whether I still had time to go for the slap.

She turned away as Grayson pulled up to the curb. “You’re welcome for the warning.”

“I don’t recall saying thank you.” I stepped outside and forced a smile as Grayson opened the passenger door for me.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“No.” I got into the car and stared straight ahead, trying to think about anything else but what that psycho brunette said. I tried to remember what Nadira told me weeks ago when the onslaught of friend requests began.

“Please don’t let any of these jealous and petty girls get to you.”

Grayson clasped my hand behind the gear shift as we approached a red-light. “Are you sure nothing is wrong?”

“I’m a little tired.” I looked over at him. “That’s all.”

“I’ll bring you back whenever you’re ready to leave—after your two hours, that is. Unless you want to spend the night.”

“I didn’t bring any overnight clothes.”

“It’s not too late for me to turn around.”

I laughed and he continued driving, speeding across the lanes until we reached his apartment. There was a line of people standing outside his door already, and I could hear the bass of the music from the parking lot.

He helped me out of his car and pressed his hand against the small of my back, leading me around to the back entrance. He led me through the grinding bodies in the hallways and the raucous shouting in the living room.

“About time you made it back!” Kyle handed him a beer once we made it to the kitchen. Then he looked at me and smiled. “I made some coffee and cookies especially for you tonight, Charlotte. They’re on the counter.”

“Shut up, Kyle.” Grayson gave me his beer. “Is everyone from the team here?”

“Yeah. You ready to give 10-0 speeches?”

“Absolutely,” Grayson said. He bent down and whispered to me. “You’re staying for two hours, right?”

“Yes.” I sipped the beer and followed them to the living room.

All the football players were huddled around the makeshift DJ booth and chanting, “10-0, 10-0” as the music continued to pulsate through the apartment. In between every song, one of them would grab the mic and make a hilarious, yet completely un-humble speech. They capped off each of their crude soliloquies by taking off their shirts, much to the delight of their screaming fangirls.

“God, he’s so sexy.” A girl on my right whispered to her friend as Grayson took off his shirt and exposed his abs. “I’m going to talk to him tonight.”

“Really?” Her friend moved closer. “About what?”

“About sex with him.” She laughed. “What else? Years from now, I’ll be able to look back on my college years and brag about how I slept with the number one draft pick.”