“Thanks, dude,” I muttered. Alas, Trick didn’t understand that if someone didn’t ask you a question in return, they didn’t want to talk to you. He just kept talking like I actually gave a damn.
“Coach Hardy has been my neighbor for like ever. He’s sort of my mentor. He’s totally just waiting, going to show the boys he doesn’t have preferential treatment. But he isn’t stupid. No way you aren’t starting this season.”
“If he’s your mentor, why the fuck are you standing here with me and not talking to all the reporters?” I asked him.
“I’m a freshman. Going to be starting quarterback as soon as Gray gets signed or graduates, whatever comes first. Not too many of them notice me when Gray’s around, but this is going to be my season. Coach promised that I’ll be given a shot to shine in one of the bigger games. All I need is for people to see me out of Gray’s shadow, and then there’ll be plenty of time for the reporters wanting to interview me,” he told me cheerfully.
We stood on the sidelines until all the reporters left the stadium. Trick didn't stop talking once.
“Daniels,” Coach yelled at me. “Start training with Cunningham.”
“Told ya,” I heard Trick chuckle before I threw my helmet on. I took a second to ensure the small gold charm I’d put on a shoelace was tucked beneath my pads—so I didn’t lose it, of course—and jogged out onto the field to take instruction from our offensive coordinator.
I was concentrating on proving myself, winning the coach’s trust. I tried not to nod or show any acknowledgement of Trick’s presence.
I didn’t want to make friends while I was there.
I just wanted to stick to my plan.
I wanted to win.
MILLIE
IT WAS THE FIRST DAY of classes and I’d managed to get Jessie to the expensive daycare on time. I also got a parking space that didn’t force me to walk across the entire quad in my nicest pair of kitten heels. I also managed to find the lecture hall early.
It was a freaking single mom miracle.
And now I had a new problem.
Instead of panicking about the course material or how I was going to find time to study, I was standing in the hall entrance worrying about fitting in. When I signed up to start at Penmore, I knew I was going to be older than nearly all the people in my classes, but staring at a sea of eighteen-year-olds was making me feel ancient. They all looked so fresh, like a new tube of lipstick yet to be dropped on the floor or put in the mouth of a toddler. Undamaged and unaware of the danger that lurked behind every corner.
Jessie was in a rare mood that morning. She actually let me put on my lipstick and mascara without interruption, happily played with her toy animals and allowed me to fix my hair without a catastrophe. Noticing the baggy sweaters and ripped jeans of my classmates, I realized I didn’t need the extra time. I had overdone it with not only my makeup but my clothes as well. My outfit consisted of a figure-hugging gray pencil skirt, a pale pink sweater, and white peep-toe kitten heels.
I should’ve just worn sneakers. It would’ve been more comfortable and less attention-grabbing.
I couldn’t help but scan the lecture hall for the seat where I would draw the least amount of attention to myself. I couldn’t sit in the front row; it didn’t matter how many years it had been since I’d sat in a classroom, I knew that would be a rookie mistake. My best friend Parker would’ve voted for the back of the hall. She always preferred to be silently observing the masses from the back. If she were there, I would consider it, but in the time it took me to have Jessie and save enough to start my first year, Parker had almost completed her sophomore year at Penmore and was on her way to becoming a pediatrician. Parky was now in classes about nutrition, pharmacology, and physics—not Art 101.
Finally, when groups of students walked in and around me, I decided to just follow the crowd. I figured if I couldn’t work out where to go, I would let someone else choose for me. I ended up sitting in the very middle of the hall. It wasn’t until I’d put my purse down and pulled out my notepad that I noticed the people on either side of me were all talking to each other.
I was the invisible woman. Two-way glass.
I should’ve just sat in the back.
I was about to pull out my cell phone and stare at cute photos of Jessie, distract myself from my pathetic social life, when I heard a “Hey, sweetheart.” I looked up to find a good-looking guy sitting in the row in front of me, turned in his seat and smiling at me.
I couldn’t help but internally bet myself fifty dollars that he was in a frat house. A frat house that kept score on how many girls they saw doing the walk of shame. His blue polo shirt, backward baseball cap, and shaggy blond hair screamed ‘full-of-ourselves fraternity.’ Thankfully, the beauty of his face rescued him from his obnoxious outfit. Olive skin, crystal blue eyes, and a small dimple in the middle of his chin charmed me. I might have blushed and seriously considered the open invitation in his eyes—forgetting all about my pact to no longer date—had he not opened his mouth.
“You’re looking fine today. Seeing as you’re just sitting there, and the professor isn’t here yet, how about I sketch you?”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“A drawing. Not to boast or anything, but I’m pretty good. Art major. I’ve been told I’m great at capturing a woman’s best features, if you know what I mean,” he told me before leering at my chest. “Maybe if you like my drawing, we can go back to my place later? You could let me do a figure study.”
His words and facial expressions made him more insufferable by the second.
“A figure study?” I repeated, my eyes narrowing.
“Babe, I’m willing to spend hours if needed studying your figure.”
“Did you actually just say all that shit to me? Out loud? Do you honestly expect me to find those pickup lines endearing?” I managed to ask in complete bewilderment. I was honestly shocked. Is this how college guys pick up chicks?
“Damn, sorry I asked. No need to get prissy. It was just a suggestion,” he said before turning back around to face the professor.
If I wasn’t a mother and planning on telling my girl that violence never solves anything, I probably would’ve ‘accidentally’ hit him in the back of the head with my notebook. Why couldn’t I have wanted to study nutrition? I saw the girls beside me giving me their sympathetic smiles and rolling their eyes at the boy. It was nice that they finally noticed me, but feeling their pity only made me wish I were invisible again.
I was still considering the likelihood of Jessie ever finding out if I decided to maybe tip the ink from my pen down the back of his shirt. Rationalizing that if I kept it a secret, no one would have to know that I liked violence—or petty revenge—under the right circumstances. Except chuckling behind me and the soft “Fuck, dude. You would’ve owed me like twelve drinks if you had failed that bad” distracted me.
I decided to turn around. I was done with being made to feel like a fool in this class. I was going to use my disapproving mother-knows-best tone—one I had perfected since Jessie started walking and reaching door handles—to tell the strangers laughing behind my back that it was super rude to eavesdrop. I schooled my features and prepared to make someone—on their first day of class—no less, feel like a naughty child.
When I turned in my seat, all I could do was gape, mouth fully open. I will neither confirm nor deny the presence of drool. There was just one guy sitting all by himself in the row.
A guy who was definitely not in a fraternity.
A gang maybe. Or a motorcycle club.
Hell, he could even be an actor—if he was playing an extra on the Sons of Anarchy. He was clearly over six feet, and his two hundred pounds of muscle made his lecture chair look like a doll’s seat. I was pretty sure a polo shirt would melt on his body should it ever be stupid enough to touch his bronzed skin. Really, he was that delicious. A god in a room of frat boys.
Actually, scratch that. I’d bet twenty dollars that gods surely
weren’t allowed to have a tattoo sleeve. He was clearly more than likely Lucifer. A leather-bound, tattoo-covered, muscle-ridden devil. Or was Lucifer a fallen angel? I knew there were myths about fallen angels: men cast out of Heaven, impossibly good-looking with the ability to seduce mere mortal women with a glance. Which would also explain the crazy reaction my body was having to his. There were tingles and butterflies in places that hadn’t experienced tingles or butterflies in a very, very long time.
After a second though, I barely even noticed the effect he was having on my body. I wasn’t staring at his dark brown hair, cut short but with enough left over to run your fingers through the top. I wasn’t desperate to feel the beard that covered his boxy jawline, trimmed close enough that I could still see and appreciate said jaw line. I wasn’t even curious about the story behind his thin nose that angled a little to the left, clearly showing it had once been broken.
I was trapped in dark moss-covered eyes. Eyes that made me wonder if he was Scottish. If he spoke again, I wondered if I would hear a brogue that matched the dark valleys and roaming hills that swirled in his irises.
“Um . . . it’s, um, rude,” I managed to stammer before my brain became distracted by the smirk on his lips. Wow. Those lips.
“Staring at someone without forming a sentence? Yeah, babe, that is rude,” his deep gravelly voice rumbled.
Fuck, that’s better than a Scottish brogue. I had never thought any voice could be better than a Scottish accent.
Except suddenly his words registered, and instead of being turned on by the husky deep tones of his voice, I was angry.
“I meant eavesdropping,” I scolded.
“Sorry, Flash.” He smirked.
Great. One minute, dickheads are hitting on me with bad lines, and the next they’re giving me cheesy nicknames. College is wonderful. Why didn’t I do this sooner?
Hours later, I was sipping coffee in the cafeteria on campus with Parker. I had a few minutes before I needed to race off, grab Jessie from daycare, and deliver her to Tahnee before work. However, I wasn’t thinking about time, too invested in sharing a play-by-play of my first class, hand gestures and wide eyes included. Parker hadn’t spoken for fifteen minutes and I hadn’t even noticed.
While I detailed each word spoken by the frat boy and my reaction, Parker sat opposite me with her brown hair up in a messy bun, her boyfriend’s football jersey hanging off her shoulders, and a calmness that I’d never managed to project oozing from her posture. Granted, we’d always been different. Very different. Where I tried not to leave the house without a face full of makeup, Parker had only just realized tank tops weren’t the devil in the last couple of years. But for as long as we’d been friends, our differences had never mattered. Parker loved how loud and dramatic I was even when she barely spoke. She loved it so much that when I stopped speaking about my potential love interests, stopped acting my age and decided I wasn’t going to be a dreamer anymore, it hurt her more than it hurt me. When I decided I no longer needed another person, I never once thought about how that would hurt the only person who had always been there.
When I finally finished with the description of my badass self, walking out without looking back to see if the bearded god was appreciating my tight skirt, I noticed Parker’s smile. A smile that was part humor at my exaggerations and part nostalgia over the days when I would lie across her bed complaining dramatically about my failing love life with the latest high school baseball star.
“So, he was good-looking?” Parker asked after swallowing a mouthful of her caramel latte and trying to hide her enthusiasm over the reappearance of boy-obsessed Millie.
“Fictional-motorcycle-club good-looking,” I explained, still picturing those piercing green eyes. “He could be on TV or on the cover of one of those books you love. He’s got that ‘I’m sexy with a hint of danger’ thing really going for him. I can’t help but think he’d be the president of some group of outlaws. That is if he wasn’t talking to himself. Can they be crazy and still be the leader of a gang?”
“That’s right, you mentioned he was talking to himself.” She started giggling. “That’s really why you turned around, isn’t it? You’re trying to befriend all the crazies at Penmore, am I right? Find your people?”
“Ha-ha. What can I say? Hanging out with you has made everyone else seem boring if they appear normal. Stalk anyone else lately?” I joked, narrowly dodging the napkin Parker threw at me. “Anyway, you’re missing the point. It’s not like I’m looking to be his friend or date him. I’ve sworn off dating. I’m just appreciating the eye candy,” I told her, trying to regain some of the composure I had perfected over the years.
“You know, if you want eye candy, Keeley didn’t run off to New York with the only good-looking Heron football player. Gray’s got a lot of teammates. . . .”
“Babe, thanks, but no thanks. You know I’m just teasing about the stalking. I love how happy you and Gray are together. I also adore that your wild roommate was able to run away from school like a Kirsten Dunst Crazy/Beautiful love story. But let’s get real. That shit’s for girls who dress in leopard-print tank tops—not for single mothers. I’m too old and have too much baggage to run away. These days I'm too busy to even date. You girls have been lucky in love, and I’m lucky in other ways. I have my girl, and I get to watch Gray and Tahnee dote on Jessie like she’s the best thing since sliced bread. Honestly, I’m so grateful for everything he’s done for me, but you know how I feel about going to the games. Looking at Gray from a distance for long periods of time, my brain and heart start to hurt. He looks so much like Nate and it’s just . . . I'm not exactly ready.”
“I know it’s hard. It’s okay, I’ll leave it. However, you ever want to come check out the talent during practices, I wouldn’t mind some company. I miss gossiping with you. I also don’t think you need to act like an old lady all the time, but that could be the selfish part of me talking, considering the groupies I’m stuck standing with at practices have been driving me crazy lately. Last game I started a full conversation with them about the team’s tight ends and all they could do was giggle and talk about which player’s tail end they’d like to play with. But if you need more time before you come to the games, take as much as you need. Just know you’re more than welcome whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks, babe, but don’t hold your breath. Now that I have my new classmate, I doubt I’d ever be desperate enough to put up with groupies just to check out some man candy.” I smiles. “I also doubt I’ll have time to sit around this year. As is, I’m impressed that I was able to manage squeeze in coffee.”
“If you’re pressed for time, you can rush off, but I want an update on the princess first.” Parker grinned.
"She's perfect,” I replied solemnly. “But she’s evil.”
“Aren't moms only meant to talk about how much they love their babies?” Parker asked, her lips twitching. She was used to—I would even go so far as to say enjoyed—my occasionally melodramatic interpretations of life with my daughter.
“Oh, I love her, but I can still think she's evil. Take for example that she only threw up on my favorite clothes when she was sick last week. And she's a chicken thief. Every time I have chicken in my salads, she cries until I let her have some. And by some, I mean every piece. The mastermind of passive-aggressive behavior is what she is.” I rolled my eyes skyward. “Clearly she doesn’t take after me at all, what with my dazzling, completely accommodating personality.”
“Oh yes, nothing like you at all,” she scoffed, swallowing her laughter. “But I’ll remember to bring chicken next time I visit.”
“Listen to you. ‘I’ll bring chicken.’ She's suckering you in already and you aren’t even eating a salad!”
“Well, I really like watching her eyes sparkle.”
“That’s how she manipulates everyone, the sparkle. She's going to rule the world soon. Sure, it starts with stealing chicken, but soon she'll take over nations. And everyone will be okay with i
t because of those damn eyes,” I muttered.
“You’re just jealous because you were always trying to manipulate me with your blue eyes in high school to get me to agree to a crazy road trip and it always failed.”
“I still think we should go on a road trip.”
“And I’ll repeat the same thing I said when we were twelve. We are not Thelma and Louise. We are not buying cowboy hats, and we can’t afford to rent a convertible. Now that I’m older, I can also remind you that the story didn’t end too well for them, and even though we both now have our driver’s licenses, I can’t imagine it would go so much better with our sense of direction. Plus you have a kid now, and I have Gray. We’d need to do some serious planning to be able to get away for the weekend.”
“Fine. I guess you’re right. Jessie’s nearly two, and while I think she could handle herself, Gray is definitely really needy. So we stay and my pursuit of finding a young Brad Pitt is yet again diminished. Gosh, your life choices really have limited our spontaneity.”
“Yeah, um, I’m really sorry for that.” Parker chuckled. “What time do you need to leave for your very nonspontaneous life?”
I glanced at my watch and nearly choked on my coffee. “Five minutes ago. I’m going to be late.” The guilt started eating at me instantly. My daughter would now be sitting alone at daycare because I was gossiping about some guy.
As my pained expressions flashed across my face, Parker motioned for me to leave straightaway. Her sad smile revealed that she knew the day’s short get-together would now be another thing of the past, along with my carefree attitude.
The next time she ran into me, I would make some excuse not to sit down and joke around. As much as we both wished I was the same person she grew up with—making the same jokes, teasing each other—we knew I had changed.
I was trying to be a mom and a dad, and I wouldn't let failure be an option.
I was strong enough to be both—even if that meant cutting everything and everyone who used to make me smile out of my life.
Flash (Penmore #2) Page 4