“Mom, I have to go.”
“Oh, and did I tell you about the time when I was in college and—” She rattles on as though she doesn’t hear me.
“Mom,” I try again, shifting my bag to my other arm to avoid dropping my phone. “I’m late for class. I’ll call you later. Okay?”
“Oh. Just one more thing—”
I grind my teeth together. “Mom!”
“Oh, alright. But before you hang up, can you at least tell me if you’re making friends? I worry about you, sweetie.” Obviously not enough since you decided to move halfway across the country.
I sigh. She means well and at least she’s checking up on me. “Lots of friends. All the friends. Have to go now. Love you. Bye.”
“Love yo—”
I hang up and all but run to my last class of the day, my sneakers squeaking as I race down the hallway. My phone buzzes in my hand but I send Mom to voicemail. I’ve talked to her three times already, and she just left for Florida yesterday. I think she’s bored. It’s a long drive and she still has probably a day and a half before she’ll get there, assuming she doesn’t stop to shop along the way.
I chance a look at the clock on my screen. Shit. I’m going to be late. I’m almost to the door when another figure turns the corner on my right and crashes into me.
I drop my bag and my books tumble out onto the floor. My body sways with my momentum, but the stranger reaches out, grabbing me with an iron grip before I land face first on the linoleum. “Ow. Crap.”
“Watch where you’re going,” the guy snaps.
Asshole. I jerk my arm free and ignore him, not bothering to look up. This is just my luck. I drop to the floor to grab my things, conscious of the time as I rush to put everything back in my bag. I’m so screwed. It’s only the second day of school and I’m going to be late to my english class for the second day in a row.
His feet edge closer. Black Beast Mode sneakers come into my line of vision, making me think of the red ones Dominique wears. Urgh, and now I’m thinking about Dominique.
The guy crouches down and retrieves my last book before handing it to me. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. You just came out of nowhere. I’m late to my English class and my professor is known to be a real hardass. I didn’t mean to take you out like that.”
I accept the book, rising to my feet and finally look up at the stranger beside me. Honey-colored eyes framed with dark brows meet mine. I suck in a breath, my heart skipping a beat. I’m taken aback by my response to him, but the longer I stare makes me realize I’m not that surprised.
He’s gorgeous in a devastating way. Medium brown skin, full lips. I wouldn’t say he’s light skinned, but he’s not as dark as Dominique. He’s wearing slim-fitting jeans that are torn in the knees and a long white crew shirt that molds to his body. Add to that the black sneakers and a black ball cap turned backwards and he’s stunning. I’m not sure how else to describe him.
Most of the skin I can see on him is covered in ink. Two forearm sleeves disappear beneath the long sleeves of his shirt that he’s pushed up to his elbows, and he has a cross tattoo on the left side of his neck. A scroll design filled with script on his right.
But despite looking like Kelly Oubre Jr’s doppleganger, there’s something about the way he’s studying me that sets me on edge.
‘It’s fine. Sorry for slamming into you,” I say.
The corners of his mouth curl into a calculated smirk. He licks his lips and rubs his palms together, almost like a prayer. “Nothing to be sorry about.” His eyes roam over me, sliding down from my face, lingering on my chest, and then returning to my face again.
“Alrighty then.” I move to step around him but he mirrors my steps, effectively blocking me.
What is he doing?
“You have Fisks for English 101, right? I saw you in the back the other day.” His eyes rake me over in appreciation once again. He’s not even trying to hide his interest.
Normally, I’d be flattered, but right now I just want to get to class.
“Um. Yeah.’ I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear and try to ignore the way my stomach clenches. “So you know, gotta run.”
I try to go around him again but his hand shoots out, gripping my forearm. “Hold up,” his voice pitches low and his eyes lock onto mine.
Mine widen, a flash of trepidation slamming into me before I shove it aside. I don’t know who this guy thinks he is, but he can’t just grab me. I tug on my arm, but unlike the first time, he doesn’t release me. His fingers flex, his grip tightening as his penetrating stare bores into me. Something dark and dangerous seeps into his expression and tension bleeds into the air.
I swallow hard. My gaze darts around us, taking in the empty hallway. Classes started almost over five minutes ago, so it’s just the two of us in the halls.
He must pick up on my anxiety because all of a sudden the dark look on his face is gone, replaced with an easy carefree grin. “Safety in numbers, right? Come on.’ Not giving me a chance to respond he gives me a conspiratorial wink and pulls me the rest of the way to our class, his hand wrapped around me though they’ve slipped down, his fingers encircling my wrist.
The door to our class is already closed but he quietly inches it open and peers inside.
‘How’s it look?’ I ask, trying to dispel some of the tension still thick between us. I attempt to peer over his shoulder, but he’s nearly a foot taller than me so I can’t see much.
He turns to look at me, giving me another smile, and I realize he’s young. Probably a freshman like me since we’re in the same english class. He still has some softness to his face, though that looks like the only place you would find any. His shoulders are broad, his waist narrow and his arms are corded with muscle. Between the body, the arrogance, and the shoes, I’m betting he’s an athlete, and since Beast Mode Gear is owned by a former NFL player, I’ll assume he’s on the football team.
‘Come on,’ he whispers, tugging me through the door with him. He adjusts his hold again, this time capturing my hand with his. I stare at our laced fingers with a frown, but allow him to lead me inside so as not to disturb the class.
Fisks is at the whiteboard, his back to us as he writes today’s assignment on the board. We get a few interested looks from other students as we make our way to the empty seats in the back, my hand still locked in his as he raises his finger to his lips, the universal sign to be quiet. A few students nod and grin before turning their attention back to the front of the class.
Once safely in our seats, he releases me and I expel a relieved breath right as our professor turns around to face the class. His gaze lands on me and he frowns but doesn’t comment, continuing with his lecture.
‘That was a close one,’ the guy who crashed into me says.
I bite my bottom lip and nod. Pulling out my notebook so I can take notes on today’s lecture, I do my best to block out our strange encounter, hoping that’s the end of it.
‘I’m Deacon,’ he whispers, eyes straight ahead as though paying attention to Mr. Fisks.
I don’t bother to respond. But after a minute passes, he asks, “What’s your name?”
I consider refusing to answer, but what would be the point? It wouldn’t be hard to figure out if he really wanted to.
‘Kasey,’ I whisper under my breath.
‘Nice to—’
‘Mr. Hunt.’
Deacon tilts his head to our professor, adopting a bored expression. ‘Yeah?”
“Is there something you’d like to share with the class?’ Mr. Fisks asks, and there’s a warning in his voice.
‘Nah, I’m good,” Deacon answers, unconcerned.
‘Then I suggest you pay attention to today’s lesson. We’ll have an exam this Friday.” He turns away, droning on about what will be covered on the exam and this week’s assigned reading, but I’m not really paying attention. I glance at Deacon through my peripheral, only to catch his eyes on mine.
He reaches into his backpack and retrieves a notebook of his own. His large dark hands make it impossible for me to see what he’s writing, but I know it’s not anything class related.
He tugs on the page, tearing it out before neatly folding it in half and sliding it onto my desk with an arrogant smirk.
I purse my lips and give him a questioning look. One he returns with a wink. Rolling my eyes, I reach for the note and carefully unfold it so as not to draw Mr. Fisk’s attention again.
A laugh bubbles up in my throat and I cover it with a cough when I see what the note says.
He wrote, Will you go out with me? on the page in tight neat letters, much neater than I would have expected from a guy, with three check boxes beneath the question labeled, Yes. No. And Maybe.
My shoulders shake as I struggle to contain a snicker. This guy, is he for real? What are we, five?
I reach for my pen and check the No box before adding a thank you beside it and discreetly passing it back to him.
He opens the note and scowls, his expression a split between genuine surprise and confusion, before he writes something else, his strokes almost aggressive before he folds in the paper in half and passes it back.
Why not?
I chew on my bottom lip. Because you manhandled me. Because there is something about you that screams danger: proceed with caution. And even if none of those things were true, he probably plays football for Suncrest U, which adds two more strikes against him. The first because he’s most likely a total player, and the second because that makes him teammates with Roman, Emilio, and Dominique and yeah, that is just a disaster waiting to happen. Aaron’s my big brother, but those three can take overprotective to the extreme.
Somehow writing any of that down seems like a bad idea, so instead I write, I don’t know you. What if you’re a crazy stalker?
I pass the note back to him and he makes quick work of his response.
No stalker tendencies present. I’m a nice guy. Promise. I give him a dubious look and he raises his little finger in the universal gesture for a pinkie swear.
“I’m not sure I believe you,” I whisper while making sure our teacher isn’t looking my way.
His brows pull together. “That I’m a nice guy or that I’m not a stalker?”
I shrug. I mean, really, it could go either way.
He huffs out a breath and snatches the paper off my desk, writing furiously before handing it back, but instead of slipping it on my desk he holds it out between us, his entire attention on me as he waits for me to take it.
A few of our classmates are giving us interested looks, but I ignore them and focus on the boy beside me. He raises his brows and waves the paper in his hand.
Urgh, fine. I hold my hand out and he slowly places it in the palm of my hand, his fingers trailing across my skin before he withdraws. I shiver.
Give me a chance. I can see I made a shitty first impression. Let me fix that.
I fight back an eye roll before scribbling across the paper and handing it back.
What sort of date? I ask.
The corner of his mouth quirks. Pizza and a movie at my place? he answers.
Pass. I just met the guy and he expects me to go back to his place with him on the first date? Do I have booty call stamped on my forehead somewhere or something?
Netflix and chill? Not really my thing. I write and toss the note back to him. We’re running out of space to write so hopefully this will end soon because his date suggestion only confirms that he is a total player who wants an easy lay. Sorry, buddy. That isn’t me. Then again, what did I expect? He probably has his own personal fan club of jersey chasers who are happy to throw their panties at him.
The note lands on my desk again. Not what I meant. I figured we could do something low key. Get to know each other. When he puts it like that, it doesn’t sound so bad, but it’s still bad and I’m not naive enough to fall for it.
Dominique’s face flashes through my mind. His lips pressed into a disapproving frown, a silent warning that I better fucking not. My stomach flips flops which only serves to annoy me more. I shake the image of him from my head. What the hell is wrong with me? I shouldn’t care whether or not Dominique would approve. Actually, I don’t care. Not one bit. This is just a side effect of sleep deprivation. I barely slept last night. Whoever is in the room over mine decided to have company over, and let’s just say they stayed up into the wee morning hours doing some extracurricular activities, and had zero problem letting the entire house know about it. Yeah, that’s all it is. I just need to catch up on sleep.
I give Deacon another look through my peripheral. He gives me a small smile and a tilt of his head as if to say please.
I’m not really looking to get into a relationship. I write, and return the paper to him, somewhat frustrated at my unwillingness to give the guy a shot. I know Dominique is factoring into that decision, even if he isn’t the only reason, and I hate it. Hate that he has this invisible pull over me when I know nothing will ever happen between us, and that’s a good thing. We can hardly stand one another.
Deacon’s mouth dips down as he writes out his response.
Not asking for your hand in marriage or to be your boyfriend. Just a chance to get to know you. Maybe be friends?
Friends wouldn’t be a horrible idea, but … I mentally shake myself. I might regret this, but I refuse to let Dominique’s imaginary disapproval decide for me. Okay. Friends.
His smile grows when he sees my answer. Any suggestions for our first friend date?
Not a date. But how about coffee?
Got it. What’s your number?
We exchange phone numbers and I discreetly enter his into my phone, praying this isn’t a mistake when the teacher draws everyone’s attention.
‘That’ll be all for today. Finish your reading for the week and do not forget about Friday’s exam. This will count for twenty percent of your grade, so it would behoove you not to slack off. It will be difficult to catch up should you fail and there will not be retakes so don’t think emailing me you’re sick the night before will buy you any extra time to study. It won’t.”
A collective groan rolls through the class as everyone shuffles to their feet. ‘So,’ Deacon rubs the back of his neck. ‘What class do you have next?’
‘Health,’ I tell him as we both walk out the door. His hand brushes against mine and I instinctively bring it to my chest. He doesn’t notice my reaction.
‘Cool. I’ll walk with you. I’m going the same way.’
‘Sure.’ I mean, it is a free country. I can’t very well tell him, no.
We spend the next ten minutes talking about nothing and everything, and my initial apprehension begins to wane. Deacon is … charismatic. He’s animated when he talks, using his hands, and his face is so expressive. He’s one hundred percent as arrogant as I initially pegged him to be but, I don’t know, he’s not an asshole about it, despite what happened in the hallway, and he doesn’t grab me again.
I find myself laughing more than I’m used to after meeting someone new. There’s just something about talking to him that is, I don’t know, easy. He reminds me a lot of Emilio in that way.
I discover Deacon is in fact on the football team. No surprise there. He’s second string seeing as he’s an incoming freshman, and he’s a QB so he’s gunning for Dominique’s spot.
He’s confident and definitely a little cocky that he’ll get it by the end of the year, but I know that won’t happen. Not before Dominique graduates at least, so Deacon will have to wait until his junior year to start.
A part of me wonders if the two of them are friends, or friendly at least, since Dominique would be the one responsible for working with him. None of the guys are particularly social unless they have to be, Dominique less so than even Roman, and that’s saying something.
In high school, the guys actively avoided everyone not in their close-knit circle, including their fellow teammates, and were called Devils for a reason that had nothing to do with the school mascot and everything to do with the hell they rained down on anyone dumb enough to bother them.
I can’t imagine things are any different here. It’s unlikely Dominique would bother getting to know a second-string player off the field, but during training and practices, he might be less of an asshole. Maybe. Okay, probably not, but a part of me is tempted to ask Deacon how well he knows Dominique. I try not to dwell on why I want to know that, though.
We reach the school’s athletic center and I turn to wave goodbye.
‘See you around, Deacon,’ I tell him, but before I can move for the doors, he clasps my hand with his and tugs just enough to stop me.
“Okay, can you not do that?” I ask.
He drops my hand immediately, lifting his own in a show of surrender. “My bad. I just …” He adopts a sheepish expression. “I wanted you to know, I’m glad we ran into each other today. Literally and figuratively.” He drops his hands and a slow smile spreads across his face.”You’re not like other girls, Kasey. It’s refreshing.”
Oh.
“Thanks. I, uh, I’m glad we ran into each other too.”
“Yeah?” he asks.
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. You’re not that bad, but don’t let it go to your head. I’ve only agreed to coffee,’ I remind him, and the next thing I know, he closes the distance between us, reclaiming my hand anyway as he brings it to his mouth, gently pressing his lips to my knuckles.
His eyes flick up, holding my gaze, and a small smile plays on his lips before he straightens and takes a step back. “See you around, friend.”
“Yep.” I turn and make a beeline for the doors, not sure what to think of that, when for the second time today I crash into another warm body, this time hard enough that I stumble back a few steps and fall flat on my butt.
“Seriously!”
A warm chuckle has me looking up to find Dominique’s amused stare locked on me. Not who I wanted to run into right now.
