Twitter. Facebook. Instagram. Snapchat.
She made it as official as she possibly could, hashtagging the hell out of my name in every combination she could think of as well as posting a selfie she took of the two of us when I wasn’t looking.
Fucking. Psycho.
I swore off dating after that and decided to focus solely on football with a side of academics.
A week later Irie Davenport walked into my life, and she’s been dancing circles around my mind ever since.
Professor Longmire drones on about some ancient civilization down below. Irie scribbles notes as fast as she can, pausing every so often to chew on the cap of her pen. She looks so serious, so deep in thought, like she’s in her own world.
I try to focus on the lecture, but sitting next to Irie is a constant distraction.
Every time she crosses and uncrosses her legs, every time she softly clears her throat or tucks her hair behind her ear, every time she so much as shifts, the world around me blurs into the background and my attention draws to her like a magnet no matter how hard I try to redirect it.
It also doesn’t help that we’re in the midst of an unseasonably warm January day and she’s currently in nothing more than a strappy cotton tank and cut-off jean shorts that showcase her long, toned legs.
What I wouldn’t give to have those legs wrapped around me …
And they will be.
Eventually.
I steal another glance from the corner of my eye. Sweet Jesus, I don’t even think she’s wearing a bra. My palms flash hot as I imagine the feel of her creamy tits against them, and my cock strains against the inside of my jeans.
Longmire finishes his lecture after an hour, flicking on the main lights without any kind of warning. My eyes sting until they adjust and Irie gathers her belongings like she’s got a plane to catch in some terminal in BFE.
“Oh, one more thing before you go,” Longmire says. “Every Friday in recitation, there will be a ten-question quiz on the week’s lessons. I highly suggest you study for these as half the questions are essay.”
I glance at Irie, who doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by any of this.
Quizzes have never been my strong suit. Shit, who am I kidding? Academics have never been my strong suit. But I’ll be damned if I look like a C-average moron in front of my partner.
In front of her.
Following Irie toward the exit, I catch her before she disappears into the crowd like last time. “Hey, we should probably study for that quiz.”
“I knew you were going to say that,” she says as we walk together, her emotionless stare focused ahead.
“Tomorrow night,” I say.
She’s quiet at first, striding through the crowd to the building’s exit, but I keep up with her, damn near shoulder to shoulder.
“All right,” she says, exhaling. “When?”
“Six,” I say.
Her lips press together. “Fine. We’ll meet at the library.”
I’m sure she assumed I was going to invite her to my place, but my loudmouthed roommates would ruin this careful song and dance we’re in the midst of in two seconds flat by making some smart-ass comment.
I can’t risk that.
We step into the daylight, sneakers soft against the sidewalk. People gawk at us walking together, and a couple of girls size her up with envious scoffs, though Irie doesn’t seem to notice. Or if she does, she doesn’t care.
“Cool. It’s a date,” I say.
Irie shoots me a look. “No, it’s not.”
Her full cherry lips wrestle the smallest hint of a smirk.
I give her a wink and then I head west to my next class.
I don’t care what she says, it’s a date.
And it’s going to be the hottest fucking date she’s ever had.
Chapter 5
Irie
He’s early.
I walk through the automatic doors at Belhaven Library and find Talon standing in the center of the atrium—hands deep on his pockets, head cocked, and eyes lit the second they steal mine.
“Study rooms are taken,” he says. “But I found us a quiet corner on the third floor.”
I tighten the grip on my bag. “Thanks.”
He turns on the heels of his pristine sneakers and leads me to the stairs. “How was your Thursday?”
“Amazing,” I say. If he knew me, he’d know how much I loathe small talk. But he doesn’t know me so I won’t hold it against him.
Surprisingly, he picks up at the sarcasm in my tone, chuckling under his breath as he glances back at me.
We climb another level of stairs and arrive at the third floor, where he leads me to a cozy corner in the paleontology section.
“I’m getting some major Land Before Time vibes here,” I say as I take a seat in an orange chair with scratchy, pilled fabric.
“Really? Because I was thinking more along the lines of Jurassic Park,” he says, sitting beside me. “The original. Not the new ones. The new ones are shit.”
I shrug. “I wouldn’t know.”
His jaw falls. “Wait. You haven’t seen the new ones?”
“Nope.”
“Then you should,” he says.
“You literally just said they were ‘shit’ a few seconds ago,” I say. I know where he’s going with this. He’s going to invite me over to watch them with him. “I’ll pass.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” He holds up a hand big enough to wrap around a football. “They’re shit compared to the originals. But they’re still decent. Jurassic Park movies are like pizza—even when they’re bad, they’re still good.”
“Nice save, but I’m still going to pass.” I check the time on my phone. “We should get started …”
“Right.” He grabs a notebook from his bag and flips it open to a page scribbled in hot pink ink—his notes from the first day of class. A moment later, he scoots his chair closer to mine, so close, in fact, that I can smell the hot, sweet cinnamon wafting from his mouth. “Where should we start? What it means to be human or the importance of evolution to anthropologists?”
“First one.” I pull my notebook out, along with my tablet, and then I grab my textbook. “You read the first thirty pages, right?”
Talon’s dark brows rise and he blows a breath between his full lips.
“You didn’t do the required reading?” I ask.
“He never said anything about reading …”
My brows knit and I tuck my chin. “Yes he did. The first day …”
I’m not sure how he could have missed it. Longmire only brought up the reading assignment four separate times. Maybe if he wasn’t so busy shamelessly staring at me from the corner of his eye …
“You’re going to want to read the first two chapters tonight,” I say. “It’s only thirty pages, but it goes a lot more in depth than the lectures did.”
He scribbles a note to himself on his paper. “Chapters one and two. Got it.”
I inhale another lungful of cinnamon, watching his steady hand glide the pen across his paper. He has great handwriting, especially for a guy. It’s neat and straight and legible, all lower-case with extra kerning between the letters.
But I don’t tell him that because it’s irrelevant and I don’t want him thinking I’m that easily impressed despite the fact that I’ve always been a details kind of girl.
“Why are you taking Anthro 101 anyway?” he asks.
“I needed another elective. You?”
“Retake,” he says, lips pressed flat like he isn’t proud of his answer. “Screwed around too much freshman year and had to take an incomplete.”
A couple of girls with matching Lululemon leggings and messy topknots stroll past us, taking their time in hopes that Talon Gold might notice them, but he doesn’t look away from me. Not once.
I’m sure if I weren’t here, he’d be all over that. He’d be all smirks and eye-fucks and piling on the charm like there’s no tomorrow.
I’ve se
en it before. I’ve seen him in action too many times to count in all his BMOC glory.
This is nothing more than Talon Gold on his best behavior.
His fingertips graze the top of my knee, sending a kickdrum start to my heart.
“Did you hear what I said?” he asks. His touch abandons my skin, leaving an electric tingle in its place.
“No. Sorry. What?” I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I said we should read our notes and then quiz each other,” he says.
How I missed that, I’m not sure, but I give him a nod. “All right.”
Sinking back into my seat, I scan the words on the page, only by the time I get to the next set of bullet points, I can’t remember any of what I’ve just read.
This never happens.
I don’t lose my concentration this easily.
If anything, I’m normally too focused. I can make the outside world around me disappear with the mental snap of a finger. It’s an old trick I picked up as a kid, when life got to be too much and I wanted to fade away. I couldn’t fade away but I could ignore everything around me, and it was almost the same thing.
“You ready?” he asks after a few minutes. I’m not, but I nod anyway. “I’ll quiz you first.”
He leans across and gently tugs my notebook out of my hands, his mouth inching up at the sides until a flash of a dimple appears.
“What is anthropology?” he asks, sitting up straight and using a serious professor-like tone. He even pretends to shove imaginary glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’s trying to be cute, trying to make me laugh.
And damn it.
It’s working.
I fight a chuckle before clearing my throat. “The study of human societies and cultures over time.”
“And what does it mean to be human?” he asks.
“That’s a loaded question. Objective too. I don’t think he’s going to quiz us on that, do you?” I ask.
Talon shrugs. “Not sure, but I’m willing to bet you one shark tooth necklace that he will.”
“Then I’ll see your shark tooth necklace and raise you one Hawaiian shirt that he won’t.” My cheeks flush. I’m flirting back with him and I shouldn’t be because I know better … but he’s sitting there all smiles and dimples and acting cheesy and giving me his full attention, and my weak little ego is lapping it up like a kitten to warm milk.
“Talon, hey.” A baby-faced guy with dreads and a linebacker’s build walks into our bubble out of nowhere, his arm outstretched for some kind of football player slash bro handshake. “What’s up, man?”
“Trey,” Talon says as he rises and gives him some kind of half-hug. “Not much, how you doing? You have a good break?”
“Yeah, yeah, man. Haven’t seen you in the gym. You staying on top of everything?” his friend asks. “Don’t let that arm go to shit all because the season’s over. Heard you’re being scouted pretty hard.”
“Been working out at night,” he says. “And yeah, I’ve had some offers.”
“When you going to sign, man?” Trey asks. “You holding out for something? Dude, there are guys who would give their left nut for half of what you’re probably being offered. You doing all right, man?”
I check my watch. I’ve only got another half hour before I have to leave to catch the bus.
“You know how it is. Fine print and hoops to jump through and all that,” Talon says before giving his friend something I can only interpret as a goodbye handshake. “I’ll keep you posted though when it happens. Good seeing you.”
A moment later, the linebacker guy is on his way and Talon settles back into his seat.
“Sorry about that,” he says.
I shrug like it’s no big deal. And it isn’t. I get it. Back in Missouri, the football players at my high school were gods—and not just demigods … actual gods who wielded social power and ruled the school. And the quarterback? He was the god of the gods. Everyone looked up to him. The girls wanted to screw him and the guys wanted to be him. He couldn’t go anywhere without being stopped and bothered—and there were even a few times when people would approach him and ask for his autograph or a selfie. It was usually kids or junior high pre-teens but to them, he was just as famous as Tom Brady. A local hero.
It was cute at first.
Until it wasn’t.
Being the girlfriend of someone like that is the last thing on earth I ever plan to experience again—and I have my reasons.
“Okay, let’s get back on track,” I say. “Ask me something else.”
Talon scans his notes. “Name three different types of anthropology.”
Dragging in a stale breath of library-book scented air, I say, “Biological, social, and archaeology.”
“Perfect,” Talon says, his green eyes flicking to mine. I never realized how brilliant they were before—like a mix between emerald and turquoise.
An older woman in khakis and a PVU polo shuffles toward us, the frown on her face coming into focus. “I’m sorry, but this is a silent study area, not meant for chit chat. I’m getting noise complaints about the two of you over here. I’m going to have to ask that you find a study room or relocate yourself to the outdoor commons.”
I begin to gather my things as Talon apologizes and the librarian disappears around the corner. I have no idea who could have complained as we’ve only seen a handful of people since we’ve been here, but whatever.
“You want to go to the commons?” he asks, referring to the wide-open greenspace outside the library. Most of the time there’s where students play frisbee or hackysack or once in a while engage in LARP gatherings. It’s almost always bustling and noisy and the worst kind of place to study for a test. Not to mention it’s mid-January and brisk as hell. The idea of leaving the toasty library to sit outside and shiver for the next thirty minutes holds zero appeal.
“It’s kind of chilly out,” I say, squinting past him and out the floor-to-ceiling window.
Talon wastes no time digging into his backpack. A second later, he retrieves a zip-up hoodie the color of a grey SoCal sky in the wintertime.
“Here,” he tosses it to me. “Wear that.”
“What are you going to wear?”
“I’ll be fine,” he says, standing to gather his things.
I slip his hoodie over my shoulders, ignoring the fact that it stops just above my knees and is comically enormous on me. The faded scent of fabric softener and cologne envelops the air around me.
Talon watches me mess with the zipper and then he wears some half-cocked smirk as his stare lingers.
My stomach flips, but I don’t allow myself to accept the compliment or read into the fact that he’s looking at me the way a guy would look at some girl prancing around half-naked in nothing more than one of his old t-shirts.
“Ready?” he asks.
A couple of minutes later, we manage to find an unoccupied plot of grass in the back corner of the commons. It’s getting darker with every passing moment, the sky transitioning from a peachy pink horizon to an ombre midnight blue directly above us—stars and all.
If this were a date—which it isn’t—this would be the perfect backdrop.
I take a seat on the cold ground, the mild wintry wind kissing my face, and Talon cozies up beside me, so close his knee is almost touching mine. It’s strange, but we’ve yet to reach for our notebooks. We just sit here, silent, eyes locked under a moonless sky.
A shiver runs through me, though I’m not cold.
I’m quite warm in his hoodie.
“No freaking way,” a girl’s voice fills the space behind us. I turn and spot Kaitlyn from Anthro gawking at us. She can’t grab her phone fast enough and within seconds she’s tapping out a text to a mystery recipient.
Talon follows my gaze and then rolls his eyes. “Ignore her.”
Without saying a word, I turn away and dust my palms together. Done and done.
I’ve been the target of many-a-mean-girl before. I’m practically an old pro at
this.
A moment later, Kaitlyn is still standing a couple of yards behind us. “Becca, you’re not going to believe this. Remember that girl from Anthro? She’s studying with Talon outside the library right now. I know? I can’t believe it either. Maybe there’s hope for me after all.”
Before I have a chance to process what she’s just said, Talon’s climbing up from the ground and marching over to the smart-mouthed little freshman.
“You mind?” he asks, hands on his hips. His brows are knit and his mouth is pressed flat. “Trying to study over here. And for the record, this?” He points his finger between the two of them. “Never going to happen. Lose the hope. There is none for you.”
The girl’s mouth is agape and her eyes are shiny as glass in the seconds before thick tears drip down her cheeks. Muttering into her phone, she ends the call, slides it into her bag, and stalks off.
“Little harsh, don’t you think?” I ask when he returns.
“I don’t tolerate that kind of shit. People who think they’re better than other people for whatever asinine reasons their pea-sized brains cook up.”
I’m speechless for a moment. Intrigued. Also impressed.
“You know we have to see her in class three days a week, right?” I ask. “She sat next to me the first day.”
“If she’s smart, she’ll find a new place to sit. If she’s not, well, it’s going to be awkward for her but not me. And it shouldn’t be for you either.”
I lift my palms in the air. “It won’t be. I just … wow. I can’t believe you did that.”
“Want me to quiz you first?” he asks, switching gears.
He’s over it. I am too. I don’t like to give those kinds of people my time or energy if I can help it. Once upon a time, I’d have let it ruin my day, my week, whatever. But time and distance have fixed my former weaknesses.
Hate the Game Page 3