“I got into a few fights at some games.”
I circled my sandwich in the air. “Like pushing, name calling type fights?”
“Try fists flying, dust spinning type of fights.” He must have guessed where my mind was taking me. “Don’t worry. I never have or never would put my hands on a woman like that, and I’ve calmed my shit down a lot since then. Nothing like being forced to eat a slice of humble pie at junior college to get a player in line.”
Nibbling off a corner, I curled my legs up onto the chair. I’d been too busy freaking out over my new living arrangements to notice how chilly it was in here. I couldn’t see my breath or anything, but it felt only a few degrees away from that.
“What are you studying?” I asked.
He dropped the last piece of sandwich into his mouth before wiping his hands on his jeans. “I’m just banging general requirements out of the way right now. I don’t care about becoming an accountant or a project manager or whatever the hell else other guys go to college for. I want to play ball. I go to school because it’s a package deal.”
“So your plan is to transfer to a D1 school to play ball after you’re finished?” I asked, like I knew what I was talking about. Which I didn’t. Sports weren’t my thing. Watching or partaking in them.
“I want to get drafted by the best professional baseball team in the whole wide world. That’s my plan.” He shoved out of his chair, carrying his plate into the kitchen.
“You want to play professional baseball?”
“No. I’m going to play professional baseball. And the one good thing about playing at a junior college is that I can be drafted any time they want me. I don’t have to wait until I graduate like I would have if one of those D1 schools had recruited me.” He rinsed his plate in the sink before setting it on a drying rack. He hadn’t used soap, but I supposed it was better than licking it clean and sticking it back in the cupboard. “Want anything to drink? Another sandwich?”
I lifted what was left of my first sandwich. It was only halfway gone and I was already feeling full. It wasn’t because I was a small eater either—he made his sandwiches like he was entertaining a team of linebackers. “I’m good, thanks.”
He lifted a package of Nutter Butters, one hanging from his mouth, a half dozen clutched in his other hand.
“I just promised I wouldn’t steal your Nutter Butters.”
“But I’m offering you one. There’s a difference.”
“Thanks, but no thanks. Looks like you need them.” I eyed the stack in his hand as he stuffed the package back on the top shelf.
“I play ball two to four hours a day. I go to school four to six hours. Homework on top of that, and a part-time job in between. I have to take advantage when I have a minute to stuff my face.” He padded back to the table and set one cookie from the pile in his hand on my plate. “For dessert.”
I thanked him, even though I wasn’t a fan of Nutter Butters. I was more a chocolate person than a peanut butter one.
“You want a hand bringing up the rest of your stuff? I’ve got some time before I should hit the books. I have a biology test tomorrow morning.” His nose crinkled as he stuffed another cookie in his mouth.
For his apparent love affair with cookies, he sure didn’t have the body of a cookie enthusiast. Thanks to his light-colored tee, which hugged particularly nice parts of the male anatomy, he looked like the type who ate egg whites and kale in his sleep.
“Oh, I don’t have anything else. Just my big suitcase and me.” I set my sandwich down after taking one more bite.
“So you don’t have any more stuff to move in?” When I shrugged, he frowned. “No more stuff as in a futon or mattress or . . .?”
My head shook as I moved toward my suitcase. I needed to throw on a sweatshirt before I gave myself frostbite. “They don’t let you check mattresses or futons on the airplane. But I brought a pillow and a sleeping bag.” Setting down the suitcase, I unzipped it and pulled out those very items.
“Hardwood floors.” His foot tapped the floor.
“I’ve slept in barns, train depots, and the backseat of a ’77 Malibu.” Shaking the sleeping bag open, I shot him a smile. Whatever had happened or was about to, I was chasing my dreams. Life was pretty damn good. “Buck up, buttercup.”
Today would be a great day. The best.
That was what I thought as I stirred awake . . . right before my heart stopped mid-beat. My alarm wasn’t going off. And I was awake. That was my first warning sign.
I did mornings if I had to, but I didn’t have fond feelings for them. Especially when I hadn’t slept well and I’d set my alarm for six New York time, which was five Nebraska time.
Lurching awake, I grabbed the tiny alarm clock I’d set beside my pillow last night. Blinking to clear my eyes, a shriek squeaked from me when I saw the time. Just after seven. “Crap!”
Throwing the sleeping bag off of me, I dove into my suitcase and tore out a fresh pair of underwear and a clean camisole. I’d be wearing the same pair of jeans I’d worn yesterday because, yeah, one designer pair of jeans.
“What’s the matter?”
The voice surprised me, making me jolt. I’d momentarily forgotten about my new roommate.
“My alarm. It didn’t go off. I’m going to be late.”
When Soren stuck his head out of the bathroom, I ducked behind the divider so he couldn’t see me changing. “Yeah. I turned it off. It kept blasting and you weren’t waking up, so I figured you needed a little more rest.”
I froze in the middle of yanking my jeans up over my hips. “You turned it off?”
From the sounds of it, he’d moved on to brushing his teeth. “Yeah. It was seriously going off for ten whole minutes, twelve inches from your face, so I did you a favor. Feel better?”
I stuck my head outside of the divider, my eyes already narrowed. “No, I do not feel better. At all. I’ve got to be at Park Avenue on the twenty-second floor in under an hour. For my very first meeting with my new agency. It’s one of those times I planned on making a good impression instead of, oh, I don’t know, showing up late with my hair a mess and morning breath.”
Soren was gargling in the bathroom. “You’ll make it, no problem. The subway station’s just down the block, and it’s a five-minute ride from there. That gives you time to brush your teeth and hair.”
My jaw ground as I wrestled into my cami then grabbed my jacket from where it was hanging over the divider. “You had no right to turn off my alarm like that.”
“You had no right to wake me up an hour early because you wouldn’t turn off your alarm.” His voice wasn’t really argumentative, just matter-of-fact.