Like our previous encounters, he wore his basketball shorts, his team colors hanging low on his hips and cladding a set of thighs that had to be just as muscular as his calves. His legs went on for days, long like the rest of his frame. At six foot six inches in height, he made tall men look small. I knew those specs just like every one else around campus. I could probably recite his weight too if asked. Griffin Chandler was the it-guy, the name on everyone’s lips. Hell, I think I already saw his face in a Nike ad somewhere.
He definitely had the body of a player. Maybe in more ways than one, but that would be wrong of me to judge whether or not he fell into the typical college basketball star cliché. The one where the athletes went through girls like sweat rags. He did live in my building, so his partying lifestyle wasn’t unknown to me. Perhaps that’s why I only looked from afar. Kept my distance. Well that and I knew who I was and where I would most likely stand in regards to someone like him. He’d never once been seen with a woman of color, let alone a black girl. There was that, and then the obvious physical differences I had to the chicks he usually dated. He definitely had a specific… type would be a good word to describe them. Let’s just say those girls were on the lower end of the JC Penney’s catalog size chart, and I the upper. I didn’t consider myself massive by any means, but I did have some extra fluff, mainly hips and an ass.
I wasn’t ignorant. I knew the odds of someone like me being on the radar of someone like him were more than slim. That didn’t mean I couldn’t look at him or be led into his draw and the way he filled the air with his masculine presence. Succumb to those broad shoulders and large biceps trained for performance and not physique. Be distracted by his choppy, dirty blond hair and crystal blue eyes…
His sun kissed lashes flashed my way for only seconds as he made his way further into the laundry room, but the action was long enough for me to realize I let my gaze dance the line between appropriate glance and creepy stare.
Before my staring could cross the inappropriate line, I turned back to separate my whites from my darks for the wash. The familiar song of the laundry room’s change machine turning a bill into quarters sounded into the air, and I couldn’t help but give a small smile.
I wonder if he’ll…
My question was answered before I could finish the thought. His scent wafting in the air indicated he was getting closer to me, that spicy smell of amber with a hint of something sweeter.
His arm crossed in front of me, his reach long and his body emanating warmth as his bicep was only inches from my shoulder. He dropped a single quarter into the area reserved for three quarters in my washer, the one I was separating my clothes on top of, then just as quickly, he was gone, his heat moving away from me. He went a few washers down and placed his clothesbasket in front of a free washing machine.
I quickly moved my lips to thank him for something he’d done before. “Um, thanks.”
He opened his washer, giving me a quick wink. “No problem. I don’t like the extra change in my pocket.”
He went on to prepare his laundry, and I did the same, all the time knowing it was that quarter. That damn quarter that had me here over an hour later than I usually did my laundry. I could curse his name. If it wasn’t bad enough that Griffin Chandler was gorgeous, he had to be nice, too. I knew I was naive. I mean, how many others had he probably given his extra quarter to? I wasn’t special. I knew that, but sometimes it was nice to just have the really good-looking, big man on campus pay a girl some attention. It just was.
I grunted at the ridiculousness that was me and shoved my whites into one washer. Griffin finished before me. He always did since he didn’t separate his clothes into two loads… not that I was paying attention.