The Girl Next Door

Sometimes I wonder if Devon has taken one too many hits to the head. Concussion testing has clearly failed him.

“You are seriously one lucky bastard,” he continues when I fail to show the appropriate amount of enthusiasm. “Dr. H is the scholarly version of Jessica Simpson. And we all know how I feel about her.”

Unfortunately, we do. I was hanging out at his house last year and walked in on him spanking the monkey to thoughts of her. It was a permanently scarring experience. I can never unhear those groans again. Even thinking about the incident makes me shudder.

As soon as Dr. Hayes dismisses us for the day, I pack up my computer and immediately beeline toward Mia. My plan is to leave after practice on Friday evening, and I want to make sure she hasn’t changed her mind about hitching a ride with me.

I know there’s not a snowball’s chance in hell that’s happened, but I gotta ask, right?

Plus, it’s another chance to talk to her. And I’ll take whatever opportunity I can get to spend time together.

“Beck,” Dr. Hayes calls out, “would you mind sticking around for a quick chat?”

Damn.

The look of relief that floods Mia’s face as she scampers from the room hits me where it counts. Right in the old ego.

“Sure, no problem.” I swing around and head back to the front of the room.

Dr. Hayes flips through a few papers before glancing at me as the lecture hall empties. I never really noticed it, but Devon is right. She does bear a strong resemblance to Jessica Simpson with her blonde hair, deep brown eyes, and curvy body. I shake that thought from my mind and focus on what’s being said. The sooner I can get this over with, the sooner I can get out of here.

Maybe I can catch up to Mia.

Not that she waited around.

“I wanted to check-in and talk about the progress you’re making on your paper,” she says.

Well, shit.

I shift my weight and come clean. There’s no point in lying. “I haven’t started writing it yet, but I’ve narrowed down the topics.”

She raises a brow. “All right, I suppose that’s a start.”

I flash her a grin and my muscles loosen. “I’ve been meaning to get moving on it.” Actually, I was hoping Mia could give me some direction. That’s part of her TA job, right?

“Let’s start with your top two choices and see if we can get you on the right path.”

“Sure.” I grab my notebook from my backpack before flipping through the pages. “The first topic has to do with long-term effects of concussions on football players.” I glance up to see how that subject has resonated. When she nods, I continue. “And the second is compensating athletes at the college level.”

With a thoughtful look, she tilts her head. Her bangs slide over her eyes and she lifts her fingers, tucking a thick lock of hair behind her ear. “Hmmm, those are both interesting choices.”

Relief flows through me that she’s onboard with the themes I’m considering. “I’m not sure which one would make a better paper.”

“There’s a lot of research available regarding concussions and helmet testing. So, my advice would be to go with that one.”

“Yeah,” I admit with a nod, “I was thinking the same thing.”

Great.

When I shove my notebook into my backpack, Dr. Hayes lays her hand on my forearm. Surprised by the contact, my movements falter. I glance at her fingers before staring at her in question.

“Don’t run away yet.” Her lips curve into a smile. “I spoke with Coach Taylor last week. He mentioned how important it is for you to keep your grades up, so you don’t get benched.” She steps closer. “I told him I would work closely with you to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

Her gaze stays pinned to mine. “I have to admit that I’m always impressed with the athletes we have on campus. It’s not easy to balance academics along with athletic responsibilities. That’s a lot of stress and pressure to deal with.”

A strange prickle of unease blooms in the pit of my belly, but I quickly brush it away. Under normal circumstances, when a woman touches me and stares like I’m a juicy steak, I’d assume she was flirting with me, but that can’t be. Dr. H is my professor.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

I’m oddly aware of her fingers draped across my forearm. It’s like they’re burning a hole through my flesh. When I say nothing further, she flashes another smile and leans toward me. The way she angles her body gives me a straight shot down her blouse. I have to be a good ten inches taller than her. Even though I’m not trying to peek down the front of her shirt, it’s hard not to notice the generous swells of her breasts.