Claire (Hart University Book 2)

by Abigail Strom

  Thoughts of Will.

  I replayed those moments yesterday morning over and over. The way it felt to be in bed with him. How safe, how warm, how…

  How sexy.

  And that’s why I’d felt depressed after he left tonight. Because even though I was serious about my pledge to be single, a part of me had been wishing that Will would try to talk me out of it. That he was attracted to me like I was attracted to him. That he wanted me so much he would try to convince me to abandon the pledge and be with him.

  That’s how pathetic I was. And that’s why I’d made the pledge in the first place. I didn’t want to see guys as potential boyfriends first and friends second, and I didn’t want to see myself as a girlfriend-in-waiting.

  I wanted to be a person.

  I knew I was making the right decision, and I was glad that Will was supporting me.

  But it still took me a while to fall asleep.

  * * *

  “I can’t believe you dragged me to a football game,” Rikki said, squinting in the bright sunlight.

  “I didn’t drag you. I asked if you wanted to go and you said yes.”

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time. But I feel out of place.”

  I looked around at the other fans in the stadium, most of them wearing the navy blue and white of the Hart Panthers. I was wearing a short-sleeved pink sweater and Rikki was wearing a black T-shirt, and neither one of us had our faces painted or was holding up blue and white pompoms or foam fingers or any other visible signs of fandom.

  “It’s like some kind of weird cult,” Rikki muttered.

  I sort of agreed with her, but I felt compelled to defend the experience. “Will says it’s no different from music fans wearing band T-shirts when they go to a concert.”

  Rikki nudged me with her elbow and pointed out a row of male students not far away. Eight of them were standing up, shirtless, and they each had a letter painted in navy blue on their bare chests.

  P-A-N-T-H-E-R-S

  “Okay, maybe it’s a little different,” I conceded. “I wonder if they do that in November.”

  Then I noticed a couple in their forties making their way toward us. The man was big and blond and the woman was beautiful—Debra Messing beautiful—with long red hair and a Panthers T-shirt.

  I grabbed Rikki’s arm. “Those are Will’s folks. His mom and his stepdad.”

  Rikki looked at me curiously. “Well, you knew they were coming, didn’t you? Why are you freaking out?”

  Was I freaking out?

  “I’m not freaking out,” I said, letting go of Rikki’s arm.

  But I was. And when I looked into my heart, it wasn’t hard to see why.

  I wanted them to like me. I wanted Will’s mom and stepdad to think I was great. I wanted them to tell their son that he ought to be dating a girl like me. That I was way better than Lissa.

  A quick pulse of shame brought me up short. What was wrong with me?

  “Excuse us,” Will’s mother said, smiling as she and her husband edged past Rikki and me on their way to their seats. I waited until they were sitting before I said,

  “Um, hi. Are you Mr. and Mrs. McKenna?”

  Will’s mom had taken the seat next to me and now she turned with a big smile on her face.

  “Yes, but please call me Holly. Are you friends of Will’s?”

  I couldn’t stop staring at her. Up close like this I could see the resemblance. She and her son had the same gorgeous green eyes.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked after a moment, and I realized I needed to say something. Yes, we’re friends of his.

  “You’re so pretty,” was what I came out with.

  Instead of looking at me like I was crazy, Will’s mom started to laugh. “Wow, that’s a nice thing to hear in a stadium full of college students. Honey, did you hear that?”

  Her husband was completely absorbed in the action on the field—football players in their helmets and uniforms doing stretches and calisthenics. Holly elbowed him in the ribs and he turned impatiently.

  “What?”

  She nodded toward me and Rikki. “These are friends of Will’s.”

  Alex’s expression turned contrite immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m always useless on game day, as my wife will tell you. It’s great to meet you,” he went on, reaching out across Holly to hold out a hand. “My name’s Alex.”

  “I’m Claire,” I said as I shook his hand. The selfish wench part of me looked closely to see if there was a flash of recognition on either one of their faces—a sign that Will had mentioned me to them.

  Nope.

  “And this is Rikki,” I went on.

  “Nice to meet you,” she said. “You’re from Ohio, right? Did you drive out for the game?”

  Alex’s attention was back on the field, and it was Holly who answered. “No, we flew in. We won’t be able to be here for every game but we couldn’t miss this one. It’s Will’s first start at QB. In college, anyway.”

  She said that like we must know it, too. And maybe Will had mentioned it at some point. But if so, I hadn’t thought the fact was important enough to actually remember and take note of.

  My selfishness apparently had more than one layer.

  I decided I wouldn’t pretend to know more than I did. “I didn’t realize Will wasn’t a starter last year. The truth is, I’ve never been to a game before. I don’t know much about football.”

  “Me, either,” Rikki put in. “We’re total neophytes. I hope you’re not embarrassed to be sitting near us.”

  Holly grinned. “Oh, no. Believe me, I’ve been there. I used to hate football, even when my own son started playing. But eventually I got interested. It’s actually pretty fun when you get into it. Would you like me to explain things to you?”

  “That would be great.”

  “All right.” She pointed toward the Panthers players. “That’s Will, of course—number 12.”

  I hadn’t actually spotted him before. The players all looked the same to me in their uniforms and helmets, and I’d forgotten about the numbers on their jerseys.

  I looked where Holly was pointing and my heart skipped a beat.

  I’d never seen Will in uniform before. The pads and everything made him look big and powerful, and the way his pants hugged his butt…

  I shouldn’t be thinking about his butt. Not with his mother sitting right next to me.

  “See those three players lining up across the field? Those are his receivers. They’re about to run some practice routes.”

  I called up my sketchy knowledge of the game. “The receivers catch the passes, right?”

  “Right.”

  Just then Will cocked his arm back and threw. Seeing the perfect arc of the ball, its tight spiraling motion in the air, and the way it landed with flawless precision in the arms of the player catching it, I felt a tingle run through all my nerve endings.

  I’d never thought there could be any poetry to football. But maybe I was wrong.

  “That was good, wasn’t it?” I asked.

  Holly laughed. “Yes, that was good.”

  “Damn good,” Alex put in. “He looks sharp today.”

  “My husband was his high school coach, so he likes to take credit for Will’s arm.”

  “Not his strength,” Alex said with a grin. “Just his accuracy.”

  I started to ask another question, but just then the players jogged off the field and the band started to play.

  “We’ll be kicking off soon,” Holly said. She sat up a little straighter and I saw energy sparking from her very pores. All around us, I could feel the same kind of energy coming from the fans. They started a chant I couldn’t understand until they got to the Panthers, Panthers, Panthers! part.

  It reminded me of something. Then, as the announcer started calling out the names of the players and they came out of the tunnel on the other side of the field, I realized what it was.

  The fans all surged to their feet and Rikki and I surged with
them. It was impossible not to.

  Just like at a rock concert.

  Okay, so maybe Will had a point.

  * * *

  It turns out that football is exciting. Thrilling. Even terrifying sometimes, like when a bunch of really, really big guys in bright red jerseys swarm toward a friend of yours.

  Every time it happened my heart leapt into my mouth. A few times Will just barely got the ball away, either in a handoff to a running back or in a pass, before being knocked to the ground. He was sacked twice, the second time so brutally that I grabbed Holly’s arm before I realized what I was doing.

  “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” I said, snatching my hand away.

  Holly shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. I know exactly how you feel.” She put her arm around my shoulders and squeezed.

  On the field, Andre grabbed Will’s hand and hauled him to his feet.

  “There, see?” Holly said. “He’s getting up. He’s fine.”

  Another thing that made the game tense—and gripping—was how close it was. The first half ended with the Panthers down by three. We came out in the second half and scored a touchdown, and it was looking like we might win by four when the other team scored in the fourth quarter.

  We were down by three again with a minute left in the game.

  “They’ll play for a tie and overtime,” Alex said. “All Will has to do is get them into field goal range. They’ve got a good kicker.”

  And for a few plays it looked like that would happen. A short gain, a short gain, a first down—and then, disaster. Will was sacked for a big loss with sixteen seconds left to play.

  The crowd groaned with one voice. Out of time-outs, Will hurried his players back to the line and called one more play—all he’d have time for before the end of the game.

  He backpedaled with the ball, which meant a pass was coming. At the same time, a sea of red jerseys came toward him looking like the apocalypse about to happen.

  Will stayed calm. He slipped out of one tackle, evaded another, and then planted his back foot and threw the ball.

  And I mean he threw that sucker. It sailed over the field like it had wings, and down near the goal line I saw one lone receiver who’d managed, somehow, to get all the way down there—probably because he was running like a bat out of hell. But was he going fast enough to get under the ball?

  At the five yard line he turned his head, made a perfect catch, and crossed into the end zone.

  All around us the fans erupted into shouts and cheers, dancing in the stands like a bunch of lunatics—and Rikki and I were doing the exact same thing. We were jumping up and down and screaming, and then we were hugging Holly and Alex like we’d known them for years.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so purely happy. Call it mob psychology if you want, but I left the stadium flying high, cheering for those crazy shirtless guys with their navy blue body paint and doing high fives with total strangers.

  Rikki had plans with Sam, so I dropped her off at Bracton before heading to Will’s house. I thought about going upstairs to shower and change first, but I didn’t. For one thing, I didn’t think that was something a friend would do, and I was determined to be Will’s friend. For another, I was too excited to see him to wait. I drove to his place, parked, and went inside.

  Except for a guy and a girl I didn’t know, I was the first one there.

  Okay, so maybe I could have spared the time for a shower.

  The guy and the girl were making out on the couch. I wandered into the kitchen to be out of their way, but I could still hear them panting and moaning.

  After a minute of that I went upstairs to Will’s room. I didn’t think he’d mind if I waited there for him.

  My focus was different now from the last time I was here. I wasn’t drunk, for one thing, and I hadn’t just broken up with my boyfriend.

  I was walking around slowly, looking at his books and posters, when the door opened behind me. I spun around and there was Will, standing in the doorway looking surprised.

  “Hey!” I took a step forward and started talking. “I’m so sorry, I hope it’s okay for me to be here. There was a couple downstairs really going at it and I felt sort of uncomfortable, so…”

  “It’s no problem. You can come up here anytime.”

  I relaxed, and then I noticed Will’s face for the first time.

  He had a split lip, a cut running through his left eyebrow, a bruise under his right eye, and a bruise along his jaw.

  “Oh my God. Are you okay?”

  He looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  “Your face, you idiot. Sit down. Let me look at you.”

  Will blinked at me. “I don’t—”

  I grabbed him by the hand and led him over to his bed, making him sit so I could get a good view of the damage. I put a hand under his chin—gently, because of his bruised jaw—and tilted his head up.

  He didn’t pull away. He still looked mystified, but he sat perfectly still and let me examine him.

  He’d obviously taken a shower after the game—his hair was still damp. The cut on his forehead was clean but it needed a bandage. The bruises looked painful and could use some ice. His split lip—

  I raised my hand from his chin to his jaw, moving my fingers softly over the bruise there. Then I brushed my fingertips over his lower lip.

  “This looks bad. Do you have Neosporin or something? And Band-Aids? This cut here needs a Band-Aid,” I added, moving my hand to his forehead.

  His auburn hair, fresh from his shower, clung damply to his skin. I brushed it back, and it felt so good against my fingers that I did it again.

  His eyes widened, and I jerked my hand away.

  “You look like you’ve been in a fight,” I said.

  He got to his feet again and shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just game day stuff. My body’s in worse shape than my face.”

  “What do you mean? What did you do to your body?”

  “It’s nothing,” he repeated. “Seriously, par for the course. Football’s a brutal game. I got off easy. One of the guys has a broken wrist and another one tore his ACL.”

  I stared at him. “And that’s normal? Show me where else you hurt yourself.”

  “The trainers already checked me out,” he said, but he turned his right side toward me and started to lift the hem of his shirt.

  “Shit,” he said almost immediately, wincing and letting the shirt drop. “Let’s just leave it, okay?”

  But I’d already seen the purple splotches, and I grabbed his T-shirt myself and lifted it.

  It was the biggest bruise I’d ever seen, mottling his skin from his hip to his armpit. It looked worst right around his rib cage.

  “Oh my God, Will. You’re sure someone looked at this? You didn’t crack a rib or anything?”

  “No. It’s just sore.”

  I let the shirt go and took a step back. “You should put some ice on that.”

  “I would, usually. But I was excited after the game and didn’t feel like waiting around for an ice pack. I’m fine, Claire. I promise.”

  I’d forgotten all about the game.

  “Oh man, I suck. I haven’t even congratulated you or told you how awesome you were.”

  The side of his mouth that wasn’t split lifted in a crooked smile. “Yeah?”

  “Are you kidding? You were incredible. It was amazing to watch you.”

  “So you had a good time?”

  “I did. I didn’t expect to, but I really, really did.” I paused. “You were right, you know. It was like a concert. The excitement… the feeling of being connected to all those people in the stands… and something wonderful happening in front of you.” I paused again. “I’m ashamed I’ve never seen you play before. You heard my band so many times last year, and I didn’t go to any of your games.”

  Will shook his head. “Like I told you before, I rode the bench last year. If I’d really wanted you there I would’ve asked—and you would’ve come.�
� He grinned. “You came to this game, didn’t you?”

  Standing there in his white T-shirt and jeans, covered in cuts and bruises, Will was the picture of male strength. He looked like he’d been on a battlefield, coming home bloody but unbowed, his hard-muscled arms and powerful shoulders stretching the thin cotton of his shirt.

  Of course, there were plenty of guys in the world with good bodies. There were plenty of guys who were good athletes. But not many of them had eyes like Will’s, deep green and so full of warmth and humor and kindness… and now, pleasure in the fact that I’d come to his game and enjoyed myself.

  It occurred to me that if I stayed in his room for too much longer, there was a really good chance I’d forget my pledge in a hot second and kiss him. But that would be reckless and impulsive and NOT something a good friend does. How could I be sure I was acting from real feelings for Will, and not out of my fear of being alone or my desire to be part of a couple again?

  “Do you have any ice packs?” I asked abruptly.

  “Yeah, downstairs in the freezer.”

  “I’ll go grab them. You should ice those bruises.”

  Will shook his head and started for the door. “I’ll get them. Do you want something to drink while I’m down there?”

  “No, I’m good. But we need Neosporin and Band-Aids, too.”

  “Whatever I’ve got is in the bathroom.”

  Once he was gone it was like a weight lifted from my heart. Without those green eyes gazing into mine, I could remember all the promises I’d made to myself.

  All I had to do now was figure out how to do that when he was in the room.

  Chapter Seven

  Coming down the stairs, I could see twenty or thirty people in the living room. It wasn’t the crowd we’d had last time, but it was starting to look like a party.

  I went into the kitchen without stopping to say hi to anyone.

  It was almost a relief to be away from Claire. The way she looked at me… the way she touched me…

  “Will!”

  I’d just grabbed the ice packs from the freezer. At the sound of my name, I turned around.

  A girl I didn’t recognize was standing in the doorway. Her Panthers T-shirt was a size too small for her, which sort of put a spotlight on her breasts. She had long blond hair a little darker than Claire’s and blue eyes a little lighter.