But maybe, I don’t know, maybe it’d be nice if—
“God, newbie, you are so whipped.” Ten snorted and was off again, wiping down tables as Pick swept the floor.
I turned away and finished counting the cash register, slightly mortified by my own thoughts. I had no problem getting female companionship in this town. Most of my teammates complained about how lucky I was. Why the hell was I daydreaming about something else?
Another quick glance at Lowe, who was cheerfully humming—yes, humming—under his breath, told me exactly why though. He had something good and dependable, something that made him happy and brightened his entire day. He didn’t have to meet a new girl each night and try to learn her in a couple minutes so he’d know how to charm her into a bed. He already had someone he probably knew inside and out, and who no doubt understood him in return. He didn’t have to pretend to like her stories just to get her shirt off or act like some badass quarterback to keep up an image. He could just be himself with her, and enjoy life.
For the first time in my life, I was jealous of someone in a committed relationship. It felt really uncomfortable, but I just couldn’t seem to help myself. Lowe looked so damn content. And I wanted something like that for myself.
CHAPTER FIVE
“All I ever wanted was to reach out and touch another human being, not just with my hands but with my heart.” - Tahereh Mafi, Shatter Me
ASPEN
I loved the smell of popcorn. It was the forbidden scent of a youth I’d never been allowed to taste. Carbonated sodas had also been taboo in my home growing up.
As soon as I paid for my Pepsi and popcorn combo at the concession stand, I had to take a quick suck from my straw and scoop up a handful of buttery deliciousness straight off the top of the tub. A couple kernels tumbled off the overfilled sides and fell to the concrete floor to mix with fallen popcorn from all the purchases past. I loved it. It was so messy and carefree, something that would’ve given my parents a coronary.
“Thanks,” I muffled out my appreciation to the girl who’d just handed me my snack. My parents would’ve scolded me for talking with my mouth full, but here, no one cared. Delighting in my shameful deviousness, I turned and nearly plowed into two girls waiting in line behind me.
“I have an algebra class with him, and oh my God, he is so fine,” one of them was saying, not even realizing I needed to get by.
“True that.” The second girl fanned herself. “I’d have Noel Gamble’s babies in a heartbeat.”
Oh, brother. Rolling my eyes, I muttered a harsh, “excuse me,” and turned sideways to slip between them. But this was bad. I was lusting after the same guy as a pair of airheaded teenie-bopper skanks. What the hell was wrong with me? And why the hell was I making my obsession worse by attending the spring scrimmage...where he would obviously be playing?
Maybe because I actually loved football, despite how much all the other professors I worked with senselessly thought it should come before a good education. Or maybe I just wanted to watch Noel Gamble in tight pants throw a ball around all afternoon long. I shivered from the thought and entered the football stadium through the first gate I found. My seat was two sections over, but I didn’t mind the walk. It helped clear my head for what I was about to watch.
A couple players were on the field, warming up, but I didn’t know who anyone was by their number or with their helmets on, so I focused on finding my seat. It had been taken by a pair of squatters, but I ran them off with a meaningful glance to my ticket before sending them my arched-eyebrow teacher stare.
Once settled in with my popcorn in my lap, I pulled my ball cap lower on my head, hoping I’d disguised myself well enough. Going incognito was also part of the fun. Since I’d never dared to do anything my parents had disapproved of when I’d lived at home, I’d never had the thrill of sneaking out.
Here, where it was perfectly fine for me to attend a game that would appall Mallory and Richard Kavanagh, I didn’t really have to sneak. But it was still fun to pretend. Besides, I didn’t want to be recognized as Dr. Kavanagh just now. Students always approached with some kind of assignment question, and right now, I just wanted to be Aspen, spectator of hot men in tight pants—er, I mean, of football. People didn’t tend to recognize me when I was wearing jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with the campus mascot of a Viking on it. So I went with it.
Lifting my hip just enough to pull the roster I’d purchased and rolled up from my back pocket, I unfolded it and immediately checked for you-know-who’s name. He was number twelve.
Twelve became my new favorite number.