CATIE: Now I am. Great game!
BLANE: I’m pumped! Big party down the hall, but wanted to say hi to you.
CATIE: Don’t let me keep you.
BLANE: Don’t do that. I mean it.
CATIE: OK.
BLANE: Want to have breakfast in bed again when I get back?
CATIE: Yes, that bacon was so good.
BLANE: How about the chef?
CATIE: Not bad either.
BLANE: I’ll tell him to step up his game. Maybe some croissants.
CATIE: Go to your party.
BLANE: Bye.
I snuggled under the covers and fell back to sleep with a smile, thinking about bacon. And the memory of hard muscle and an adorable shit-eating grin.
Catie
Blane was back and texted on Wednesday morning. He wanted to go out that evening, but I had plans with Sarina. I couldn’t cancel on her; her help was worth everything to me right now.
I went to my classes—statistics and Italian—and was heading home to my apartment when my phone beeped. Hoofing it to and from campus every day was apparently slimming; my jeans were loose and I had to keep stopping to tug them up. I ignored the phone and decided to wait to pull it out when I made it to Starbucks.
As I stepped into the store, with the scent of coffee tickling my nose and a sugar cookie calling to me, I felt myself being lifted in the air.
“Knew I’d find you here.”
His stubble tickled my cheek as he lowered me, and I turned to see Blane with a decent five o’clock shadow.
I threw my hands up in the air. “A girl needs her afternoon coffee . . . and cookie.”
He tugged on my hair. “You avoiding me? I texted you to see if you were coming here.”
I shook my head. “Never. I just didn’t want to answer my phone. It’s cold out.”
“Come on. I’ll get you a coffee, and stomach another hot chocolate.” He put his arm around me and escorted me to the counter.
“What’s with the wannabe beard?” I asked when we’d made ourselves comfortable on the couches in the corner.
“We’re winning on the road, undefeated this season, so I can’t shave.”
“A sweatband, a dirty one, and a beard. Any more superstitions I should know about?”
“Not for now, but you know our time together was sort of spectacular. I’m thinking it brought me luck on the road.” He winked.
“I will take that under advisement.”
“Hey, don’t forget my parents are coming up this weekend. They’re both coming to the home game on Saturday afternoon against Pitt. I got them tickets in separate sections, but maybe you could have breakfast with my mom on Sunday?”
I breathed a little faster at what he was asking, trying not to hyperventilate as I twirled my hair around my finger. The only thing missing from my ’80s Valley Girl persona was some gum smacking.
“Are you sure?”
He leaned closer and growled, “Cate, stop it. Yes.”
“Okay.”
“Great, let’s go. Between you and Ashton, I’m spending way too much time in these girlie coffee houses.” He squeezed my leg and tilted my chin up. “I’m driving you home. I have some kisses to give you.”
My phone beeped again, and I ignored it one more time because I was still thrilling to Blane’s words.
“Do you ever go to class?” I asked in the truck.
“I only have six credits, two classes, so not often. One’s a gym elective—weight lifting, which Coach signs off on—and the other is civics something or other.”
“Do you get to graduate with less credits than the rest of us?”
He barked out a laugh. “I wish! No, I’ve taken classes every summer because Coach makes us stay and work during his camp. It’s quick and easy money, and it allows him to keep tabs on us.”
“Oh.”
“And you?”
“After being tossed out of women’s studies, I’m down to being eligible for six credits too. Everything else needed prerequisites, and I was stripped of those last term. Plus, my major is undecided now. I’m like every other coed, living the dream and getting a bachelor of arts.”
“Hey, if those women don’t want you, their loss.”
I shrugged. “I was thinking of transferring, somewhere closer to home. I don’t know where, really. Somewhere better suited for me. I guess I’ll see after this trimester, but I’m definitely going to be a few credits behind.”
“You should do what you want, but don’t run or hide, Cate.” His voice was low and supportive. He didn’t take pity on me; in fact, he seemed to actually get it.
“I’m not running, just finding a better place,” I lied.
After he parked in front of my building, Blane, the perfect gentleman, ran around the car to open the door for me.
What the hell were they saying when they called him a womanizer?
Together, we raced up the stairs and out of the cold. When I fumbled trying to open the door, Blane wrapped his fingers around mine and helped twist the key.