The Tight End (Red's Tavern 6)

“I remember this from my freshman year,” I said.

“Wait, you took your own dad’s class?” Brody asked. “Isn’t that, like, illegal?”

I snorted. “Not at all. My dad did have to sign a bunch of papers affirming that he would never grade me differently than other students. And another professor had to approve my grades. But I was allowed to take Dad’s class.”

“Wow,” Brody said, his eyes filled with wonder. “So you really do come from smart-people stock, don’t you?”

Something about the way he said it made me feel different-special, instead of different in a bad way. I’d never really paid much attention to the fact that I was cut from the same cloth as my parents, but it was definitely true. Growing up, Mom and Dad had made learning fun for me. Learning about historical facts had taken the form of fun trivia games that we played over the dinner table most nights. Jeopardy was by far the most-watched show in our house. And some of the best Christmas presents I’d ever gotten were antiques, little knick-knacks and artifacts from history that my parents would explain the significance of, helping me have genuine interest in the history of our world.

I bit my lower lip, suddenly a little shy.

I was feeling noticeably different again. But maybe, with Brody, that wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Both of my parents are professors here,” I said. “And my grandparents were high school teachers, too, actually.”

Brody smiled softly, one of his dimples appearing. “Wow. So I really am in the presence of greatness. Professor Logan.”

I didn’t know if it was possible to die just from seeing a hot guy’s dimples as he complimented you. If it was, though, I knew I was going to be the first person in history to perish from it.

It was scary to be noticed by someone like Brody, but I was starting to realize that every cell in my body sure as hell liked having his attention on me.

“Maybe one day,” I said softly, looking down at the seam on my pants. “I’d love to be a professor, but I’ve got a long way to go before anything like that.”

“Is that your goal?”

I nodded. “I’m applying to graduate schools and history PhD programs this fall.”

“Holy shit,” Brody said. “I’ve never met anybody who had a PhD.”

“Sure, you have,” I said. “All of your professors do, at the very least.”

He snorted. “Half of the people in my family barely graduated high school, let alone went for PhD programs. I’m impressed, Logan.”

I sucked in a breath. “Well, don’t be impressed yet. I haven’t even applied yet, let alone gotten accepted. It’s not going to be easy.”

“I’m sure you’ll get into every program you apply to,” he said.

I shook my head. “I wish.”

“You will,” Brody said. “You’re way too smart to not be a professor one day.”

My heart squeezed a little in my chest. “I definitely hope I can be.”

“You’re lucky,” he said. I let myself look at him again as he stared up at the ceiling and ruffled his fingers through his dark, downy hair. “I still have no clue what I want to do when I grow up. I’m a senior now. I should be on some sort of path, but I’m… not.”

I watched as his eyes fixated on some far point of the ceiling. He was lost in thought. Scatterbrained, almost.

It was the first time I’d seen him look anything other than totally confident, flirty, or happy-go-lucky. I got the sense that Brody prided himself on being a “chill” person, but when he talked about his future, he looked filled with uncertainty.

“What’s your major?” I asked.

“Business management,” he said, cutting a glance at me with an expression of pure tedium on his face. “I’m telling you, Logan, I’ve done nearly four years of it, and I still don’t know half of what I’ve learned.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a business degree,” I said.

“But it isn’t something I’m passionate about, that’s for sure,” he said, leaning down and scrubbing his palms over his face. “I wish I could be passionate about my major like you are, but I’m not. The truth is, I always thought I’d go for pro football. But last year I got passed up on the draft, and I was actually glad for it.”

“Really?”

He nodded, his gaze still downcast. The movie was still playing, but neither of us were paying any attention to it anymore.

“I don’t think I want to go pro anymore,” he said. “I don’t think I can. Being in the public eye is already bad enough, and I’m just a college player.”

“Do people give you a hard time?”

He nodded once. “Being openly gay makes me a huge target.”

“But you seem so outspoken in all of the articles and interviews,” I said.

He glanced up at me, surprise on his face. “You looked me up?”