The Locker Room

by Quinn, Meghan

  Chapter Ten

  KNOX

  “Study hall, six sharp, don’t be late,” I call out to the team as they’re taking their practice gear off and heading to the showers. “Freshmen and sophomores are required, upperclassmen, you know who you are, make sure you’re there.”

  “Do we really have to meet in the library?” Gardner, a lousy and extremely lazy sophomore asks. I can’t stand the prick, and he’s probably the only guy on the team that grates on my nerves.

  “Yes.”

  “But Venice allowed us to have study hall in the loft last year.”

  “And we had the worst grade point average as a team last year. Not while I’m captain. It’s in the library, and there will be no fucking around. Got it?”

  Gardner grumbles and walks off toward the showers as I take a seat next to Carson, who’s eyeing me suspiciously. “We didn’t have the worst grade point average last year.”

  “Shhhhhut up,” I hiss while looking around. I lean in close and say, “Do you really want these fools hanging out at the loft all the time? We have enough teammates to deal with, and we don’t need the young ones dicking around in our place too. Library is where we should be studying.”

  “Those chairs hurt my back.”

  “Then bring a goddamn pillow,” I shoot back to Carson. He doesn’t need study hall, as he’s one of the most intelligent motherfuckers I know. He’s majoring in architecture while keeping his starting position at second base. My workload isn’t half as much as his and I struggle, so I have no idea how he does it. Because he doesn’t struggle with school, he’s not required to go to study hall, but being the good friend he is, he attends.

  I also think it’s because he found his groove in study hall, and he’s one of few guys who actually gets a lot of work done.

  “Are we allowed to have snacks in the library?”

  “No, and no drinks apparently,” I answer.

  “And you expect us to go there after practice when we’re starving?”

  “It’s called eating and walking. Grab something from the cafeteria upstairs; you know they’ll make you anything, and eat it while walking to the library. You’re smart, dude, figure it out.”

  I roll my eyes and lift from my seat where I start peeling off my clothes. They don’t need to know I might have a small ulterior motive for going to the library for study hall. It might have to do with a little brunette I can’t seem to stop thinking about. I catch her once during the week in our class, but even at that, our interaction is brief. I’ve set a notification on my computer to let me know when she’s on student chat, and it’s rare. And it’s even a crapshoot when it comes to parties.

  Running into her at the donut shop was a miracle, and I tried to soak up as much of her as possible, but she cut our chance meeting short. Hell, I could have sat there all morning talking to her.

  And do I have her phone number? Nope.

  I’ve been too much of a pussy to even ask. Given our track record, I guarantee she’ll say no if I ask. This is going to be a slow burn with this girl. And if I didn’t see an ounce of interest in her eyes, I would forget about it, but when she looks at me, I can see it deep in her eyes. She’s interested.

  I take a quick shower, dry off, and get dressed. Unlike my typical athletic gear, I put on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved Brentwood baseball shirt. I consider skipping the hat and doing my hair, but knowing the boys, they’re already going to give me shit for wearing jeans, so I put a black BU hat on and start packing my backpack.

  “What’s with the jeans?” Carson asks, as he sits next to me by his locker, towel wrapped tightly around his waist.

  “Got some shit on my sweats.” It’s a lie, but whatever. If I run into Emory, I don’t want to look like a homeless man in sweats like I do every Monday in class. The least I can do is put some jeans on and a tight-fitting long-sleeved T-shirt. Give her a small show.

  “Hendrix and his girl just got engaged,” Holt says, pulling his gaze from his phone and holding it out to Carson and me. A picture of our first baseman from two years ago is on the screen, holding his long-time girlfriend and showing off a ring.

  “No shit,” Carson says, grabbing the phone for a better look. “Didn’t he bring her back to the locker room his junior year?”

  Holt nods. “Yup, he knew she was the one.”

  What a weird fucking tradition. I don’t even know how it started. Well, that’s not true, it started with this guy named Gary Bernard, a catcher back in the day. He brought a girl back to the locker room and she wound up saying yes to his proposal at the end of his senior year. He claimed the locker room had magical powers in convincing her. Ever since then, any player in a serious relationship has done the same and basically fucked anywhere of their choosing.

  It's fucking weird.

  But whatever, as baseball players we’re superstitious, so I get it.

  “Do you think I’ll ever find a girl good enough to bring back here?” Carson asks with hope in his eyes.

  “Keep going after the locker room hunters and no, no, I don’t,” I answer while zipping up my backpack and throwing it over my shoulder.

  Locker room hunters are the thirsty college girls, looking for an invitation to the locker room where they’ve heard the best orgasms are created. That is another far-fetched tale because there’s no way in hell, Felix O’Hare was able to deliver any kind of mind-blowing orgasm to his girl. The man fumbled with his hands more than any person I’ve seen before. He was a walking disaster.

  “They’re just so tempting and willing,” Carson complains.

  “Which means they’re not long-term. If you want a girl worthy of what you have to offer, she’s going to make you work for it. Keep that in mind.”

  “He could not be more right,” Holt agrees, pulling our attention. “You have to work for it.”

  Interesting. Gripping the straps to my backpack, I ask, “Is there someone who’s making you work hard?”

  “Is that why you’ve been MIA at the parties?”

  He pushes his towel through his hair. “Yeah, there is. And I like her a lot.”

  “Whaaaaat?” Carson asks in an exaggerated tone. “When the hell did this happen?”

  “Over the summer.”

  Carson clutches his chest and practically spews heart eyes across the locker room. “Fuck, summer love. How presh.”

  “Don’t fucking say presh,” I say to Carson, who chuckles to himself. “I’m headed out. Don’t be late tonight, and don’t forget to grab something to eat.”

  “Are you going there right now?”

  “Yeah, scoping out some space. Grabbing a panini on the way up. See you guys there.”

  I take off with two things on my mind: a chicken BBQ panini with bacon and finding Emory so I can “accidentally” bump into her.

  * * *

  There she is, looking so fucking good in a navy wool-looking skirt, white long-sleeved top that clings to every single curve of her body, and little ankle boots. Her hair is straight and pulled back into a ponytail and hell . . . she’s wearing tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses to round out the whole hot librarian look.

  Emory Ealson, you’re driving me damn crazy.

  I have twenty minutes before the boys are supposed to show up, so just enough time to get a conversation in with her before I have to act like a captain again.

  I walk up behind her casually and lean over her shoulder. “Know where I can find a book on the best donuts in the Chicago area?”

  Startled, she leans back and looks up at me.

  “Oh my God, why did you use a creepy voice when asking that?”

  I shrug. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  “It scared the crap out of me.” She sets a book down on the counter and turns around so she’s facing me, arms crossed over her chest.

  “I know you want me to say sorry, but I’m not going to.”

  “How honest of you.”

  “If you can count on anything with me, it’s hones
ty.”

  “I guess a noble trait.” She props her hands behind her now and scans me up and down. “You smell fresh.”

  I chuckle. “Took a shower after practice. It’s the kind thing to do.”

  “Are you a smelly sweater?”

  My brow creases. “No . . . do you want me to be? Would it make me less irresistible?”

  “Mmm . . . you’re pretty resistible as is.”

  “Is that why you keep glancing at my pecs? Go ahead, I give you permission, you can touch them.”

  “I’m not,” she says louder than intended and then lowers her voice. “I am not touching your pecs.”

  I look around and then nod. “Ah, gotcha, I get it. You don’t want to make everyone jealous.” I grab her hand and take her behind a stack of books, out of sight from prying eyes. “Okay, coast is clear, you can fondle the goods.”

  Before she can protest, I place her hand on one and let her feel how hard I work out in the gym. I expect her to remove her hand right away, but when she doesn’t and instead gives it a squeeze, I can’t help but laugh out loud through the quiet library, drawing a few heads in our direction. Caught red-handed.

  Like I just burned her with my nips, she whips her hand away and scolds me. “What are you doing here? Besides forcing me to grope you.”

  “Hey, I wasn’t the one who squeezed, you were.”

  “Involuntary reaction.”

  “Sure.” I smirk and stick my hands in my pockets, closing in on her. “How’s the internship?”

  She backs up against the bookcase—non-fiction in case you were wondering—hands behind her back, eyes slightly wider than normal. “Uh, it’s fine.”

  “Is everyone being nice to you? If not, give me names, and I’ll have the boys take care of them.”

  “I . . . I believe so,” she answers in a slight stutter, possibly from my proximity as I close in on her.

  “If they weren’t, you would tell me, right?”

  “I don’t see how any of that would be your business.”

  “Ooo, you wound me, Em.” I fake being hurt, clutching my chest briefly. “Don’t you see, I consider you my business.”

  “No need,” she says, growing a little taller, her confidence coming back in spades. She pats my chest. “I can handle myself, thank you very much.”

  She starts to walk by me, but I stop her with my hand to her hip and speak close to her ear. “Why are you being difficult?”

  “I didn’t think I was.”

  “You barely talk to me in class, you sure as hell won’t go out to lunch with me. Can’t you see I’m interested?”

  She takes that moment to look at me, her thick eyelashes blinking a few times. “If you were interested, then manhandling me in the library is not going to get you anywhere.”

  “What does it take then?”

  “To what?”

  I lower my voice. “To get you to pay some attention to me.” Christ, I sound like a whiney asshole, but damn it . . . look at me, Emory.

  Her face softens as she moves her hand to my cheek. “Oh, Knox, are you not getting enough attention?” Her voice is sarcastic, borderline patronizing and for some fucking reason, I like it.

  “No.”

  She chuckles. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  She goes to walk away again when I catch her by the wrist. “Let me take you out, on a date.”

  “I’m good but thank you for asking.” Thank you for asking. I’m begging, Em. I take a deep breath as I look into her eyes. I honestly don’t think she’s trying to be a tease, but there has to be some way to reach her. For her to realize I’m serious. The truth. If I could get her to stop the sarcasm to just find the truth . . .

  Still holding on to her wrist, I pull her farther back into the books where I press her against the wall and peer over my shoulder to make sure no one is looking. I bend so we are eye to eye, forcing her to not look away.

  “Tell me you don’t have any sort of attraction to me. Tell me that right now and I’ll leave you alone.”

  “Knox.” Her voice shakes as she glances over my shoulder. “If Mrs. Flower catches me back here with you she’s going to flip her shit.”

  “Then answer the question . . . quickly. Tell me you’re not attracted to me.”

  “That’s stupid.”

  “Why, because you can’t?”

  “You know I can’t,” she sighs in frustration. “Of course, I find you attractive, I would be blind and a liar to say I didn’t.”

  “Then go out with me.”

  “Doesn’t work like that. Just because I think a donut looks delicious, doesn’t mean I’m going to eat the whole thing.”

  “What?” My brow furrows.

  She rolls her eyes. “Just because I find you attractive does not mean I should go out with you.”

  “Why the hell not? That seems like a perfectly good reason to go out with me.”

  “Because, we’re on different playing fields, Knox. You like to party, and you have an extreme schedule, and you like to write notes during class—”

  “That you like.”

  “That’s beside the point. I’m here to learn, to get my degree, and then move on to my master’s. Studying is important to me, and because school doesn’t come easy, I really have to work twice as hard as the average student, and I’m not ashamed to say that. I think you’re hot, yes, and you’re funny and I could easily see myself getting wrapped up in your world, but I can’t, because that would pull me away from my goals. I was deterred once by a guy, and I don’t want it to happen again.”

  “It won’t.”

  Her lips thin. “It will. I know me and I know you well enough to understand how addicting your personality is.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  “For a girl who can’t afford distractions, yeah.”

  “Who’s to say I’ll distract you? I have a busy schedule like you pointed out.”

  “Exactly.” She flings her arms out but keeps her voice low. “You’re going to be so busy I’ll spend my much-needed studying time wondering when I’m going to see you again, when you’re going to text me, if you’re going to call me that night.”

  “I’d make you a priority.”

  She scoffs and lowers her head. “No one has ever made me a priority, and not to sound like a bitch, but I don’t really believe you could actually do that. Not for me.”

  I can see it in her body language, the defeat. No matter what I say right now, she’s going to counter it with a reason why things wouldn’t work out with her. That fucker must have really damaged her to make her believe no one would make her a priority. I might have a busy schedule and obligations, but there’s one thing I know with absolute certainty: when I’m invested in something, I don’t ever drop the ball.

  And I’m invested in Emory Ealson. From the moment her map slapped me in the face, I knew this girl was something special, and I plan on showing her that.

  I take a step back and resign to our conversation’s end, making a promise to show her how serious I am. “Believe what you want, Em, but I’m different.”

  She lifts her eyes up, curiosity lacing her gaze. “I know you are, Knox.”

  “Good, so remember that, because I’m going to show you how much I mean every word I say.”

  With a parting smile, I take off toward the tables where I find a few teammates already congregating. It’s going to be tough as shit studying, knowing Emory is only a few feet away, but I need to make sure she doesn’t know that. She needs to see I’m serious about my studies too, and not here for a free ride. Maybe, if she sees I can put effort and time into friends, my role as captain, my studies, and my sport, she’ll see I am not singularly focused. She’ll see that I want her in my life too, and there is an important place for her. Because that’s what my heart is telling me. Winning Emory Ealson is a necessity, not a challenge. She’s worth it.

  Chapter Eleven

  EMORY

  My computer dings, lifting my eyes from the tor
turous textbook my eyes have been glazing over during the past hour. Why is Language and Literacy Methods so boring? I should care about this, and yet, I can’t seem to focus to save my life.

  I keep thinking about the conversation I had with Knox the other day in the library. And this is proof, right here in the flesh, why I need to stay away from this guy, because I can’t focus. He’s on my brain and that’s not helpful.

  When I focus on the chat box that opened on my computer, I can’t help but sigh. Speak of the devil.

  Knox: What are you up to right now?

  Should I answer him?

  I really shouldn’t. I’ve written the same sentence over and over in my notebook for the past five minutes, unable to retain it. I need to study.

  Then again, maybe if I feed the unfocused monster in my head a little of Knox, it will settle down and return to getting the job done.

  I chew on my pen, thinking of my choices.

  This boy is dangerous. I feel it whenever I’m around him or whenever I see his name pop up on my screen. He could easily insinuate himself into my life—be all-consuming, despite what he said—and that’s not what I want.

  But maybe he doesn’t want that.

  Maybe he wants things to be light and fun.

  I mean . . . I could do light and fun, right?

  Chew, gnaw, chew.

  I’m not sure if I’m a casual dater, BUT . . . it wouldn’t necessarily kill me to see what he wants right now. I think.

  I set my pen on my desk and reach for my keyboard. A little harmless break, that’s all this is.

  Emory: Studying. At least attempting to. You?

  He types back immediately and if Dottie and Lindsay were in my room right now, I would have to hide my cheesy smile from them.

  Knox: About to leave the library. Just finished a paper. Are you in your dorm?