It’s like I’m not even there. Not to The Hulk, who actually bumps me back with his arm as he gestures to some eighteen year old with over-bleached hair and a coy smile. Not when she slinks up to press herself against Baylor’s arm. “Hey, Battle,” she breathes—breathes it, because I’m not sure I heard any actual consonants—“will you sign my shirt?”
Of course she’s wearing his jersey, the number eleven splayed across her breasts. It’s no shocker when she points directly to that area, in case he wasn’t sure where he should sign.
I want to roll my eyes but don’t. She’s not the problem here. Baylor isn’t even the problem. I am.
“Well then,” I say. “I’ll leave you to it.”
I turn and flee, hearing him call my name. But I don’t look back.
I nearly reach the hall when he steps in front of me, halting my progress. “Hold up.” Baylor’s lips pull in a pout, which should look emasculating but simply makes him hotter. “I thought we were having a conversation.”
“I think it was more like bickering,” I say, and when he starts to smile, I hurry on. “And it was clearly over.”
His lush mouth flattens. “Why? Because of that interruption?” He gives a little jerk of his head in the direction of his number one fan.
I shake my head. “Don’t let me keep you, honestly.”
Instead of backing off, he takes a step closer, and his voice lowers. “But I’d rather be talking to you.”
My heart is beating so hard now I feel it in my fingertips. I don’t know where to look or what to do. My gaze settles on the leather cord he wears around his strong neck. I’ve never seen him without it. A small rectangle of polished wood hangs from the cord, dangling just below the hollow of his throat. My fingers itch to touch the pendant, to trace along the cord up to the stubble that starts just below his jaw. I lift my hand to do just that when a masculine shout snaps me out of it.
“Baylor!” Yet another one of his teammates seeking his attention. The freshman is still there, waving to get his attention.
I glance that way. “You’re obviously busy.”
A frustrated breath escapes him, and he runs a hand through his hair. “What was I supposed to do? Tell her to get lost because I’m trying to impress another girl? Pretty counterproductive to act like an asshole, if you ask me.”
I’m kind of stuck on the whole “impress another girl” part. In fact, the moment he said it, my heart stopped altogether and heat rushed my face. Why me? What is he thinking?
My throat closes in on me, and I swallow hard. “Sorry, but you’re paying attention to the wrong girl.” I edge toward the hall and freedom. “I’m not interested.”
A flush of color washes over his cheeks, and his eyes turn bronze. “Bullshit.”
When I flinch, his voice softens and slides through my defenses like a spoon into pudding. “You may think I’m a moron but I’m not blind. I’m in danger of developing a permanent neck kink from checking you out. And if the number of times you meet my eyes is anything to go by, then you are as well.”
My cheeks must be flaming red by now. I’m too shocked to reply, but it doesn’t stop him from edging closer. Close enough that his low murmur rings crystal clear in the small space between us. “Why don’t you tell me what the real problem is and we can address it?”
Address it. Like I’m something he wants to figure out and fix. Something he wants to keep. The whole idea is so foreign to me, and so terrifying, that I end up snapping. “Why don’t you just let it go? Some games you aren’t going to win.”
He scowls but when he opens his mouth to reply, I talk over him. “Disappointment is good for the soul, Baylor. I’m sorry but I have to go.”
This time he doesn’t get a chance to stop me, or maybe he just lets me go. I leave as fast as I can without actually running, and another friend approaches him. Which is all good. And maybe if I tell myself this enough, I’ll believe it.