Romance: Teen Romance: Follow Your Dreams (A Nerd and a Bad Boy Romance) (New Adult High School Sports Romance)

by White, Stella

  “Yep. That’s the thought. But it’s necessary for the degree you want.”

  “I know,” Wren smiled at him. “You don’t have to remind me, professor. I know.” She looked over at the table next to her. “Mind if I ask who you assigned me to?”

  Mr. Caldwell leaned over the desk and opened his notebook, flipping through the pages. He ran one finger down the page and stopped about halfway down. “Uhhh, looks like I’ve got…Chris Wise. Yeah, Chris Wise assigned to you.”

  “Chris Wise? The football guy?”

  Mr. Caldwell grinned. “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  Wren nodded, not exactly pleased but not disappointed. “He’s the one with the shoulder injury right?”

  “Yeah, he hasn’t been able to play but maybe if you make him better, he can. I know that’s what he’s counting on.”

  “He wants me to make him better?” Wren raised her eyebrows.

  “He wants someone to get him back on the field. I doubt he would have asked for help if he didn’t want that.”

  Wren looked at the table again. She wasn’t a miracle worker. If he’d injured himself to the point he couldn’t play football, there wasn’t going to be anything she could do to change that. No matter how many massages he got.

  Halfway through the massage, Wren knew exactly what the self-proclaimed jock wanted. He wanted to be cured. He talked to her throughout as if they were the only two people in the room, giving no heed to the fact that everyone else was listening. But he was probably used to everyone listening to him. He was one of the stars for their college ball. Before his injury, he had scouts for the pro teams looking at picking him up after he graduated.

  Wren didn’t know anything about that until Chris told her – and the rest of the class, too. Most of their conversations, if they were having any, had been cut short so they could listen to him.

  Wren was a little surprised by how many students were in need of physical therapy for one reason or another. But then again, there were only a dozen students in the class and a dozen students who needed the therapy. The school had almost 5,000 students, and that was just a guess on her part.

  Chris took up the entire half-hour of therapy just talking. The first fifteen minutes, the class got ready, the second ten minutes, they went over the health needs and history of the student they were going to help and then for five minutes, they discussed the student’s needs with the student. Those five minutes alone had been enough for Wren. Chris was very self-assured. Although his football career was delayed due to his shoulder, he wasn’t going to give up. He wanted to be a star again and was determined to make that happen.

  Despite her irritation that Chris came off as egotistical, she massaged his back and shoulders like a professional, using the techniques she had been taught in class before the actual practice session. She could tell he was feeling it, and it was making him feel worse initially and then better by the tone in his voice. When she was done, and the class was over, he sat up and reached over for his shirt. He gave her a wide-eyed look, and when he spoke, it was in a lower tone than he’d used the whole time he’d been on the table.

  “My shoulder feels better, Wren.” He said. “Thanks.”

  She was somewhat surprised and couldn’t help smiling a little. “You’re welcome, Chris. I hope your football career can take off again really soon.”

  He leaned forward and spoke so low, she also had to lean in to hear him. “Me too. Listen, would you mind doing that for me a few more times? I…I haven’t had any real therapy for my shoulder, even though the doc recommended it.”

  “Why not?” she asked, matching his low tone. She could tell he didn’t want the entire class to know he was not as confident as he appeared. “I can see how much you want to play again. If you don’t do what your doc says, you might never be able to.”

  Chris looked a little sheepish, dropping his eyes to the ground. “Well, I…I just didn’t want to. You know? I just…didn’t have time.”

  She shook her head, giving him a sympathetic look. “If you need it, you should do it. I’ll help you out, Chris.”

  He looked relieved and gave her a grateful look. “Thanks, Wren. I appreciate it.”

  Chapter Two

  Wren was pleased. The ice cold beer slid down her throat, and she closed her eyes, delighting in the taste of it. She didn’t drink often. When she did, she chose her favorite beer and had two, maybe three bottles. That was her limit. She always put a cap on it whenever she drank because she didn’t want to lose her senses, her morals or her career by making stupid mistakes at a young age. Most of her friends didn’t understand it and didn’t follow her example. That made her the go-to girl for designated driving nine times out of ten. By the time her friends were ready to leave, she had long since sobered up if she had gotten an effect from the alcohol to begin with.

  The bar/lounge was packed fairly good that Friday night. Wren was not a dancer, but Winter was on the floor, gyrating like a pro. She looked good doing it, too. Wren was a little jealous. She wished she had moves like that. She smiled at Winter, lifting the bottle up high.

  Winter laughed and waved at her, throwing her arms around in the air and bouncing her head in time with the music. Wren just shook her head.

  “Hey you!”

  Before she knew it, Chris had slid into the booth next to her. She stared at him for a moment.

  “Hello.” She said.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She raised one eyebrow and looked down at her beer.

  “Oh, just studying, boning up on the book reading. How about you?”

  Chris laughed. “You are great, Wren. Great!”

  She could tell he was a little drunk. “Thanks, Chris. You gonna need a ride home tonight?”

  He laughed again, a little louder. “Naah. I’m here with friends.”

  “Are they drinking like you are?” She asked.

  He pulled in a deep breath and then breathed it out. She grimaced. “Dude, breathe in another direction, please.”

  He laughed. “Sorry. Listen, there’s a couple girls here I used to date. See ‘em? Over there. They’re probably talkin’ about me as we speak, what you wanna bet? Hey, I got an idea. You wanna make ‘em jealous?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “What do I look like, a piece of meat? No, I don’t want to ‘make ‘em jealous’. Stop it.”

  She pushed him away when he put his arm around her shoulders. “Aw, come on, girl, loosen up.”

  “Chris, cut it out!”

  “You do look like a piece of meat to me.” He said, lowering his voice and leaning close to her. “A nice juicy steak.”

  “That’s gotta be the lamest thing I’ve heard in my life, Chris. Scoot out. I don’t want to sit here anymore.”

  “Aww, come on, Wren. I’m teasin’ ya. I thought we got along great in class last week.”

  “We did. But we aren’t in class right now, Chris, and I’m not interested in being on your dinner plate.”

  Chris just shook his head. “I’m surprised at you, Wren. Are you always like this?”

  “You shouldn’t be surprised. And how am I being? Interrupted? If you knew me well enough to be talking to me like this, you would have known not be talking to me like this.”

  “We’re at a restaurant, Wren. Thought you’d be loosened up. Didn’t think you were being interrupted.”

  “You were wrong.”

  Chris sighed. “All right, all right, calm down. I’m just messin’ around. I’m not trying to put pressure on you.”

  “Well, you are.”

  “Well, listen, you said you’d help me with my shoulder some more, but then I never saw you again. Don’t you go to the games or anything? I haven’t seen you watching in the bleachers.”

  Wren couldn’t help snorting. “I don’t go to games and no, I don’t sit out in the bleachers either.”

  “But then how will you see me play?”

  She frowned at him. “I thought you weren’t even allowe
d to play right now.”

  “I’m not. Not yet. But with your help, I could be. And if you were watchin’ or showed up, you might be able to see what happens, you know that could help you understand my injury better. Then you could help me.”

  “I’m not a miracle worker.”

  She was surprised by the confused look on his face. “Do you really think it will take a miracle to fix my shoulder?”

  She thought she heard fear in that deep voice and stared into his eyes for a moment, trying to assess him. Was he trying to pull something on her? He looked sincere. She decided to be honest with him.

  “No, of course, it isn’t going to take a miracle, Chris. I only mean that you can’t expect a second-year student to heal your injuries. You can’t expect a full-blown doctor to heal you. I’m training to be a physical therapist. We help the body heal itself. A lot of it has to do with how much rest you give yourself. What you eat. How you treat yourself.” She looked him up and down. “And you aren’t exactly helping yourself heal by getting drunk and coming on to near strangers, just to make a couple girls jealous. If you want to make them jealous, you must still care what they think of you.” She frowned. “I suspect you care what everyone thinks about you.”

  Chris stared at her for a moment, clarity coming through his eyes. “You are impossible.” He mumbled. Without another word, he pushed himself out of the booth. He turned around and put his hands flat on the table. “I don’t know why you gotta be like that. I was…”

  “I dated your kind before, that’s why.” She interrupted him, scooting over to the edge so that she could either get out or stay seated without being interrupted by someone again. Especially an unwanted person.

  “Oh? And what exactly is ‘my kind’?”

  She frowned at him. “You’re a football player. You care more about the pigskin and the game than you do other people’s feelings. You think you’re a star, so you’re loud and obnoxious. I don’t need it. I’m not interested in being around a man like that.”

  “You know, just because you’ve dated a football player before doesn’t mean we’re all like that.”

  She snorted ungracefully. “Are you kidding? You’ve already proven yourself to be just like that.”

  “I never asked you to date me anyway.” He said. “I asked you to play along on a little joke.”

  She nodded. “Oh, I understand that. A little joke at the expense of other people. Some girls I don’t even know. I don’t know what they did to you, but there’s no reason for me to be a part of your revenge, is there?”

  He leaned forward and narrowed his eyes at her. “You’re a real prude.”

  She shook her head. “No, I just have standards. Apparently, they are higher than yours. Just go on and drink some more. That will help your football career plenty.”

  He surprised her by lifting his hands and slamming them back down on the table. She jumped.

  He turned and stomped off.

  Her heart was pounding hard in her chest. He had frightened her. But as he’d left, she’d caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Something that made her pause. He’d looked genuinely hurt. It made her feel bad, and she immediately wanted to leave. Or run after him and apologize.

  She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. She scooted out of the booth and headed for the door. Winter could find her own way home.

  Wren texted Winter as soon as she was back in their dorm room. She didn’t go into detail, just said she had a headache and left early. She didn’t want to go to bed right away, so she fixed a cup of coffee in her Keurig machine. She took the coffee to her room and settled on her bed, propping her pillows up so that she could sit back against them.

  Wren looked down at her phone. Winter had not texted her back. She hoped her friend was okay and then let her mind wander to Chris. She hadn’t meant to hurt his feelings or go off on him the way she had. She’d thought his behavior was disgusting, but she didn’t have to be so harsh.

  She sighed. That was no way to make friends.

  She picked up her remote and turned on the TV. An old re-run of the original Star Trek series filled her screen. She began flipping through channels, not really paying attention to what was on or staying on one channel long enough to really see what was playing. She just wanted to distract herself from thoughts of Chris. He had no business filling her mind the way he did. She just couldn’t shake the look in his eyes and on his face right before he stomped away.

  She’d really hurt him.

  The thought cut her to the core. She didn’t want to hurt anybody. And he was cute, after all. In fact, he was one of the cutest boys she’d seen in college. She remembered kneading his muscular back when he’d been on the massage table. She could still hear the groans of pain he let out whenever she hit a sensitive spot. She’d been careful with him, knowing there were some areas she had to completely avoid because of possible internal swelling.

  She’d heard good things about him, despite the fact that he was a player – a ladies’ man. He was intelligent, strong and he did play football like one of the pros. Perhaps he had a reason to think a lot of himself. The girls certainly made him feel like he was important. She had only heard, she had not seen. But hearing was enough for her. Everyone knew his name.

  “That doesn’t excuse the arrogance.” She told herself aloud. “I mean, he could have shown a little respect.”

  He was just playing around, she thought. He was just trying to be friendly and funny.

  Her thoughts were making her feel even worse about her behavior. He was right that she shouldn’t judge someone because of what someone in her past had done. He didn’t even know that jerk she’d dated in high school. Plus, it was high school. Not like relationships that were formed in high school were really meant to last. That took something pretty special, especially these days when relationships came and went faster than technology changed. And that was fast.

  She sighed heavy and looked down at her phone. She probably had time to get back to the restaurant and see if he was still there. Perhaps she could apologize. She took a sip from her coffee, trying to decide what she wanted to do.

  The coffee was hot and destroyed any alcoholic buzz she might have had left from the two beers she had consumed. She didn’t really want to go back now. She was comfortable in her bed, ready to call it a night.

  She still felt bad and settled on Scary Movie 3. She knew almost every word of the movie but this time, it didn’t make her laugh. She couldn’t get her mind off of her own stupid, deplorable behavior.

  She felt like a fool.

  She would be lucky if he ever spoke to her again, much less accepted her apology if she ever had a chance to give him one.

  Chapter Three

  Doing therapy for patients at the nursing home on Elm Avenue was also part of Wren’s curriculum and one that she didn’t mind. So far, she had not run into any of the “grumpy old people” that she’d heard about. All of the patients in the home that were assigned to her were kind and easy-going. She was sure there were “grumpy old people” in the place but thankfully, she didn’t have to deal with them.

  One of her patients was Agnes Cunningham, who was recovering from a broken hip. She was only in her late 60’s, which Agnes didn’t consider to be very old.

  “There’s older girls here than me.” She was fond of saying whenever she met anyone for the first time. “And I can still walk without a cane. When my hip isn’t broken, that is.”

  She was adamant about recovering her mobility after the fall and was grateful that Wren was coming to help her get “back in shape”, as she put it. Wren liked her very much.

  She walked into the building regrettably that day, though, because it was a beautiful day out and she wanted to be outside. The sun was shining bright, and the air was clear. There was not a cloud in the sky, except for a few sparse white bits here and there.

  She’d reluctantly chosen a Saturday for that session, mostly because it was one of the only time slots op
en to her. She hadn’t gotten to the registration sheet fast enough and most of the prime times for the therapy session were gone. The ones during class time had gone first.

  She shook her head, thinking about her procrastination.

  By the time she was inside and heading toward Mrs. Cunningham’s room, she was over it and happily humming one of her favorite tunes under her breath. The session was only an hour long. It’s not like it would last all day. Afterward, she would see what her friends were doing, see if anyone wanted to go on a hike or a picnic.

  She knocked first and then pushed the door open slightly.

  “Mrs. Cunningham? Are you decent?” She joked, putting her head first into the room. Then she pushed the door open all the way and gazed at the old woman.

  The rooms in the nursing home were quite large. They were set up to accommodate someone who had to stay for a month or more, including a dresser, bed, table and chairs, a rocking chair or recliner (depending on what the patient asked for) two bedside tables and a stand with a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall.

  Mrs. Cunningham had dragged one of the chairs over to the window and was seated in it, a book held firmly in her hands. Her window was wide open, and a gentle breeze was coming in, lifting up her blonde/white hair.

  Wren smiled. “Mrs. Cunningham?” She said louder. “It’s Wren.”

  Without replying, Agnes lifted one finger, her eyes never leaving the book.

  Wren pressed her lips together in amusement and walked in, setting her bag down on the table near the door. After a few more moments, Agnes placed her bookmark in between the pages and closed her book, looking up at Wren.

  “Hello, dear. Just had to finish that part I was reading. It was very exciting!”

  “What book are you reading today, Agnes?” Wren asked.

  “It’s called Over the Edge. It’s by Jonathan Kellerman.” She lifted the book and turned it to its backside. She tapped the small picture of the author on the back cover. “Do you know it?”