by Amber Heart
“Oh yeah.” She waved for him to follow her into the living room.
He sat down on the couch and watched while she pulled a bright blue notebook off of a shelf and plunked it down on the small coffee table between them. She knelt on the floor across from him.
“Here we go.”
Leigh flipped through the pages quickly, leaving him with an impression of many different colored inks and lots of doodling. She didn’t strike him as someone who sat around drawing flowers, but apparently she was. Flowers and arrows. He leaned closer.
“What is this? Your diary?”
“Bullet journal,” she said matter of factly, still flipping pages.
Dean reached out and put his finger on one of them. “Hang on. What’s this?”
Her face flushed. “Nothing. I was just practicing with that pen because it was new.”
He looked at the cerulean blue ink swirls. “Yeah, but it says Everleigh.” Dean saw the flush darken, staining her cheeks a deep strawberry red. “That’s your real name?”
She smacked his hand off of the notebook. “Anyway, here’s my schedule--”
He slid down onto the floor on his knees, leaning across the coffee table and grinning at her.
“Why does it bother you?”
“Why do you bother me?” she demanded in return.
“Mainly because you blush,” Dean said, unrepentant. “I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s a good name. Kinda pretty.”
“I’m certainly glad to have your approval,” she said, but her sarcasm faltered slightly. He was still leaning close and her heart was starting to beat a little too quickly. “Will you please pay attention?”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “Okay, explain the wonders of this bullet journal to me.”
“This is how my week looks,” she said and he moved around to sit beside her.
“Your week looks like a fucking rainbow,” he said.
“Orange is for class time, red is for my shifts at the pizza place, green is the coffee house, purple is for studying, gray is for sleep, and blue is free time.”
There wasn’t very much blue. There wasn’t a whole lot of gray either.
“Okay...” Dean said. “So when are we supposed to get together?”
She smiled at him. “It’s easy! Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights after 9:30 are free, and the weekends from 11 to 3.”
“I’m not even awake at 11 on weekends,” Dean protested.
“So then we’ll plan on the Monday, Wednesday, Friday thing then,” Leigh said smoothly. “What color do you want to be?”
Dean’s lips parted. “You played me,” he said, a trace of admiration in his voice.
“Just a little,” she admitted. “What do you think? I’ve got brown and yellow.”
“Yellow.” He took a drink of his soda, shaking his head. “I’ll get you back, Everleigh.”
She made a face. “Come on. Don’t let that be a thing.”
He grinned now that he was back on top. “I’ll keep it just between us, I promise.”
She remembered wondering why girls were practically breaking their necks to spend time with him. She got it now. That crooked smile was sinfully hot. “How about you let me make you a schedule,” she asked, determined to keep them on the right track. “I bet I can find you some free time.”
“Bull,” he said flatly. “It’s always something.”
“If I can find free time for me, I can find it for you.” Maybe if she straightened out his life, he’d be less of a pain to work with. More honey.
“Okay, go for it.”
She grabbed a pen. “Tell me about a typical Monday.”
“I guess I get up around 10:30,” he said. “My first class is at 11.”
“And you usually get to class at what time?” Leigh asked pointedly.
He pushed his hand through his dark blonde hair and gave a half laugh. “11:15.”
“Okay, and then what?”
“Practice.”
“For how long?”
“About 3 hours.”
She wrote something down and they went through the rest of his week. When they were done, Leigh began to color code. Then she frowned.
“Are you sure you’re right about all this practice time?”
Dean lay back, stretching out on the floor and putting his hands behind his head. “Yeah, why?”
“Because this is like a full time job.” She checked her math again. “Actually, a little more. You’re practicing or doing something football related for close to 50 hours a week.”
He shrugged, his shirt coming up to display several inches of flat stomach and a pleasingly neat line of dark hair leading down into his jeans. She jerked her gaze away before he caught her looking.
“Sounds about right,” he said languidly. “Why is that weird?”
“Because college athletes aren’t supposed to work longer than 20 hours,” she replied.
Dean laughed but then he noticed that she was serious. He sat up smoothly. “Okay, technically, I only play for 20 hours.” He pointed to certain areas of the schedule. “See these? The gym time and all that other stuff doesn’t count toward the total.”
“But that’s...”
“Just the way it is,” he said. “So? Where are my massive amounts of free time?”
“I never promised anything massive,” she argued. “But your free time is right here.” She turned the paper toward him so that he could read all of it.
Dean grabbed it and stared at the blue areas. “Holy shit, you found some.”
“Yep,” she said smugly. “I told you. Now you can date all the cheerleaders you want and still finish this project.” Why had she said that? She didn’t care who he dated.
“I don’t usually date cheerleaders,” he said, still studying the paper. “I see them enough as it is. And hang on. What’s this?” He pointed to one of the gray blocks. “Why am I getting up so early?”
“Because then you can go to the gym before class.”
He groaned. “No way.”
Leigh shrugged. “It’s a better use of your time. No one else is there, so you won’t have to wait for machines.”
He paused for a moment and then raised his eyebrows. “That actually makes sense.”
“I do that from time to time,” she assured him. “So? Will you try it?”
This pause was longer, but eventually he nodded. “Yeah, I’ll give it a shot. It can’t hurt.”
The prospect of having time when all he had to do was what he wanted to do was nice. He could finally reacquaint himself with his game system. Or maybe just get some extra sleep.
Leigh smiled happily. “Thanks. I think you’ll really like it.”
Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, well. We’ll see.” That smile really was killer. It lit up her whole face, especially those dark eyes. He folded the paper and pushed it into his back pocket. “Hey, who watches all the horror flicks?”
“Me.” Leigh began gathering her pens. “My dad got me started on them.”
“You’ve got a halfway decent collection.”
Leigh raised one eyebrow as she closed her notebook. “Excuse me? It’s better than halfway decent. It’s flawless.”
“Nah, too many old ones.”
Leigh joined him on her knees in front of the shelves he’d turned to stare at. “Without the old ones, there wouldn’t be new ones.”
“I think horror would be just fine without all this black and white bullshit.”
Leigh shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Are you actually saying that you’re unfamiliar with Hitchcock? With Roman Polanski? With Tod Browning?”
“I mean...I know who they are. At least those first two. But those movies are never gonna compare to the new stuff. Not with the special effects we’ve got now.”
Leigh snorted. “You should give them a try sometime. I bet they’d have you sleeping with a nightlight.”
Dean laughed. “Yeah, maybe that’s what I’ll do with all that free time you fo
und me.”
“You have to know the roots to truly appreciate horror,” Leigh asserted.
“I’ll get on that. Can I borrow this one?” He held up one of the newer movies. “I missed it in theaters.”
Leigh looked from him to the disc. “I don’t know...”
“Come on. You know where to find me. And we’ll be together three nights a week for the next month.”
“Five weeks,” she corrected. “Okay. But you have to watch one classic for every new one you borrow.”
“You’re a tough woman, you know that?”
“Do we have a deal or don’t we?”
He stood up and pulled her to her feet. Then he shook the hand he still held. “Sounds good to me. See you Friday night. Everleigh.”
Leigh smacked him on the arm. “Get out of my house.”
With a grin, he did.
Chapter 5
Three weeks later, Leigh was at her kitchen table reading through an article Dean had found on the need for early intervention in mental health. It was a good one, well written but still easy enough for a layman to understand. Most of the research he’d found was good, actually.
She rubbed her eyes as she began highlighting important points in the article and making notes of what they could use for their project. She’d barely slept the night before. She’d needed to take on a few extra shifts at both jobs, which led to less time to study. And that led to less time to sleep.
Leigh was eyeing the coffee pot and weighing the need for caffeine against having to actually get out of her seat when the idea hit her. She’d felt from the beginning that their project was missing something. Now she thought that she knew.
She grabbed the phone to text Dean and then remembered that he was in class. She glanced at the time. By the time she got to the science building, he’d be almost done. She really didn’t want to text it to him. She wanted to be able to explain the idea fully and defend it if necessary.
Excitement over the idea was enough to get her up and moving. She slung on a jacket and headed out the door.
As she rounded the corner and started up the hall to his classroom, she saw him outside the door. Leigh was on the verge of calling to him excitedly when she noticed that he was on the phone. She stepped closer, intending to tap him on the shoulder and let him know that she’d be waiting outside, but then she heard him speak.
“No,” he said, and this was the first time that he hadn’t sounded completely confident since she’d met him. “I mean, it wasn’t a great game, but we still won.”
He’d played two nights ago and everyone had been tense. From what she’d seen while she worked at the pizza shop, it had been a rough one and it had come down to the wire. Both teams had played messily, but the Tigers had been victorious in the end.
“I know,” he said, his shoulders hunching. “I have been.”
There was a long pause and Leigh wondered if maybe she should walk away. She chewed her thumbnail. She’d wait a few more minutes.
“I’m not,” Dean said. “I haven’t seen her in a few months.”
There was another pause and then he said, “No. Just school. I mean, I’ve still got classes to go to and a project to turn in...” He broke off and listened. “I--” Another pause, this one longer. “Okay. Yeah. Yeah, I know. I’ll do better. Okay. Bye.”
He shoved his phone into his jeans pocket and then rubbed the back of his neck. When he turned around, she saw that he looked exhausted.
“Um, hi,” Leigh said. “I wasn’t trying to listen in...”
Dean shrugged. “It’s fine.” He looked into the biology class. They were almost done. He was seriously done. “Want to get some coffee? Or were you going to work?”
“No, I’m off today.” Leigh fell into step with him, slightly surprised at the invitation. They’d been getting along pretty well during their meetings, but they hadn’t spent any extra time together. When he didn’t speak again, she ventured a question. “I really wasn’t trying to overhear you, but is everything okay?”
He pushed open the coffee shop door and stepped to the side so she could walk in. “Just great.”
“Sorry,” Leigh said, recognizing from the clipped tone that he really didn’t want to talk about it. “I know it’s none of my--”
“Gonna get those guys blocked next time, Harper?”
Leigh turned to see a few guys sitting at a table to their left. Most of them were smirking at Dean. Dean’s shoulders went tense, but he gave them a nod.
“I mean, we don’t want a repeat of history. So shouldn’t you be at practice instead of out with your girlfriend?” the same guy asked as the barista stepped up to take their order.
“Shouldn’t you?” Leigh asked before Dean could speak.
“What?” the guy demanded, looking confused. “I don’t play.”
“Oh.” Leigh drew the word out. “See, I thought you must know what you were talking about. My mistake.” She turned to the barista as the guy’s mouth dropped open. “Caramel macchiato and a large black coffee to go.”
Dean was biting his lower lip and clearly fighting a smile, but he didn’t say anything as they waited for their drinks. Once they were back outside, all he said was, “You kill me, you know that?”
She shrugged, taking a sip of her hot coffee to combat the chill of the wind. “Idiots should be told they’re idiots. Otherwise they get too confident. You did fine in the game, by the way.”
He glanced at her. “You watched?”
“I was working, but they were showing it. I caught parts between tables.”
“I missed a few things.”
“So did everyone else,” Leigh countered.
“But it’s me that they’re counting on.”
“You’re only one person on a team of...however many of you there are. I think you’re putting too much pressure on yourself.”
“No, that’s everybody else,” he said dryly.
“It sucks, and they’re assholes.” She took another sip of coffee. “But you’ve got to get used to that if you’re going to play pro.”
“Since when are you my motivational coach?”
“I just can’t stand to see a man cry.”
Dean coughed on his sip of coffee. “Thanks, Everleigh.”
“I do what I can.” He hadn’t quite laughed, but there had been some light in his eyes again. It made her feel better.
“You know why I want to go pro?” he asked after a few moments.
“Money and women?” she teased.
“Obviously. I mean other than that,” he said, his tone growing serious.
Leigh turned to face him. He was looking out over the quad. His lower lip was between his teeth again and he looked like he was in deep thought. He got that look when he read things too. It, like most looks, was a good look for him. Get it together, Leigh. She shook herself out of her admiration and listened.
“I want to be able to give my mom enough money to do whatever the hell she wants. Up to and including leaving my dad.”
Okay. That was unexpected.
“My dad played baseball,” Dean went on. “He did pretty well, but then he tore his rotator cuff right before I was born and couldn’t pitch anymore. He ended up going to work for an insurance company. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. Playing baseball, I mean. Not selling insurance.”
Dean gave a humorless laugh and a shrug. “Thing is, I suck at baseball. Every position. I started messing around, playing football with some of the guys I knew from the Y. One day one of the coaches happened to see me. He asked if I could stay over a little and work with him. I did, and I ended up impressing him so much he went and talked to the old man. Dad finally caved and let me play. And ever since then, he hasn’t gotten off my fucking back about it. One slip. One bad game. That’s when he calls.”
“He doesn’t call when the games are good?”
Dean shook his head. “No.” He finished his coffee and tossed the cup into a nearby trashcan. “So, now that I’ve bored
you with my pathetic life, why don’t you tell me something about your family? Is your dad a dick like mine?”
Leigh could see that he was desperate to change the subject, so she didn’t pursue it. “Sorry, but no. He’s pretty awesome.” After what she’d heard, she felt that owed Dean a little more than that though. “But he’s not my real dad.”