Campus Player by Jennifer Sucevic
Demi
Can you stop by the office when you get a chance?
I glance at the text from Dad before pocketing my cell phone as I head from my last class for the afternoon and onto the cement walkway that winds through campus. It’s three o’clock, and I need to go home, grab something to eat, and get my butt to the field.
Lucky for Dad, I pass by the stadium on my way home. Less than ten minutes later, I’m strolling down the corridor. One left and then a right turn brings me to the guy’s locker room where Dad’s office is located. The moment I pull open the door, boisterous male voices greet my ears. That might deter some girls from stepping inside, but not me. A quick scan of the interior solidifies my suspicion that the team has just finished up practice. There are guys in various states of undress. Some already have underwear on while others have small white towels draped around their waists. I catch sight of a few naked ass cheeks before jerking my gaze straight ahead.
“Hey, Demi!” a few guys call out, unconcerned with their nudity. That just goes to show you the difference between males and females. Most girls I know wouldn’t willingly parade around in front of the opposite sex.
I throw up my hand in a quick wave, not bothering to glance in their direction. I’ve been in the locker room dozens of times. It’s not really a big deal. I’ve known these guys since freshman year, so most of the players see me as one of the boys.
Coach’s daughter.
As I move past another set of lockers, that telltale tingle of awareness scampers down my spine. There’s only one person capable of instilling that kind of sensation in me. I don’t have to glance over to confirm my suspicions.
Although that doesn’t stop my eyes from snapping in his direction. What I find is the blond quarterback lounging in front of his locker with a small towel wrapped across lean hips. His attention fastens on me, and I feel the connection straight down to my toes. Almost as if it’s a physical caress. Before I can stop myself, my gaze dips to his bare chest.
Damn.
Why does he have to be so gorgeous?
The sculpted, sinewy strength that stands out in sharp relief is enough to make my mouth turn cottony. How is it possible that his muscles have muscles?
All of the raucous laughter falls away as my focus drifts from perfect pectorals to tight washboard abdominals. It’s like I’m having my own not-so-private moment with him. Even though I’m wearing shorts and a thin cotton T-shirt, my body is seconds away from bursting into flames. I’m tempted to pick up the collar of my shirt and pull it away from my chest in an attempt to cool myself.
My attention sinks to the towel, and I narrow my eyes, wishing for the first time in my life I had X-ray vision.
What the hell am I doing?
Mortified by my shameless perusal, I rip my gaze away and race into my father’s office before slamming the door and collapsing against it. My inhalations turn labored as I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to banish the nearly naked image of Rowan from my mind.
It doesn’t work. The last minute has been singed into my memory for all eternity. And my panties...yeah, they are embarrassingly damp.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Dad says, knocking me out of those disturbing thoughts.
My eyelids fly open, locking on him. Thank God he can’t see the X-rated images rolling through my head. The man would have a heart attack if he realized I was sexually attracted to his star quarterback.
We’ve always been more like siblings who barely tolerate one another. All right, so maybe that’s not a hundred percent true. I’m the one with a problem, not the other way around. Rowan doesn’t seem to have an issue with me.
It would be so much better if he did.
It takes everything I have inside to shove those thoughts away and paste a smile on my face. “Hey, Dad.”
“Thanks for stopping by on such short notice.” He shuffles around a few documents on a desk exploding with paperwork. He tells me there is a method to his madness. I think he’s full of crap. He grabs the remote from a drawer and clicks off the game film he’s been watching. The man must pour over a hundred hours of film each week. He’s obsessed. It’s what makes him one of the best coaches in Division I football. It’s also what makes him a terrible husband, which is precisely why he’s still single after being divorced for five years. Mom is now happily married to a man who caters to her every whim.
“It wasn’t a problem. I’ve got a couple of hours before the game.”
“Yup,” he sits back on his swivel chair and folds his hands behind his head, “I’ll be there. Should be a good one.”
A fresh wave of nerves slide through me. I always get ramped up before a match, especially when we’re playing UNC. They are a Division I powerhouse who have had a number of players turn pro. Playing for a professional women’s team has been my goal since I was a little girl. With scouts in the stands, there’s a lot riding on today’s game. As soon as that thought enters my mind, I shove it away. If I focus on it, I’ll end up psyching myself out. And I can’t allow the pressure to get to me.
“You’ll be great,” Dad says, voice filled with conviction as if sensing my sudden burst of anxiety.
“Thanks.” I’ve done everything possible to prepare myself for this evening’s match. Now I just have to get out there and let instinct take over. “Why did you want to see me?”
“Right!” He drops his arms and sits forward, closing the distance between us as he sifts through a small mountain of paper before opening up a manilla folder and glancing at the top sheet. “I know you’ve got a lot going on this semester, but would you have time to work with one of the players?”
“For which class?” In the three years I’ve been at Western, I’ve tutored half a dozen guys. I’m a four-point student, academics have always come easy to me.
“Statistics.”
A prickle of unease flares to life in the pit of my belly as I push away from the door and slide onto the chair parked in front of his desk before dropping my backpack to the linoleum tiled floor.
Before I can respond, he quickly adds, “It would only be a couple hours a week for about a month or so. Just enough time to make sure he is over the hump. And you’re so good at math...”
Dad wouldn’t ask unless it was absolutely necessary. While I don’t have a ton of extra time, carving out a few hours a week shouldn’t be a hassle. “Sure, I can probably work something out.”
“Great!” A relieved smile breaks out across his face. “You know what it’s like trying to find someone who is actually interested in tutoring rather than talking football.”
It’s not the talking football that turns out to be the problem. It’s the girls who are interested in hooking up with a football player and then trying to turn it into a bona fide relationship. It’s an occupational hazard that comes with being an athlete at a school obsessed with everything football. And that certainly won’t help with eligibility requirements.
I grab my backpack from the floor and rise to my feet, ready to take off.
“Hey,” he says, “I really enjoyed meeting Jackson last night.”
I narrow my eyes and wonder if the name slip is purposeful. “It’s Justin.”
“Right.” He points a finger at me. “Justin. Anyway, I really enjoyed meeting him. Seemed like a nice guy. You should bring him around more often.”
“Really?” My forehead furrows. This...isn’t what I was expecting to hear from him. Normally, when I introduce Dad to a potential boyfriend, he nitpicks, finding something not to like about the guy.
I’m not going to lie, I’m a little thrown off by his easy-going demeanor.
With a grin, he lounges back in his chair again. “Yup. I really enjoyed our chat in the study.”
“You did?” With a frown, I drop my chin and search his face for any indication that he’s messing with me.
“Sure.” Innocence enters his dark eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Hmmm. Something feels off about this conversation. “I don’t know. Normally you don’t like the guys I introduce you to.” Which is precisely why I don’t do it unless I’m certain they’ll be around long-term. Most of the time, it’s not worth the hassle.
Last night’s dinner went well enough. On the surface, everyone got along fine. It was the undercurrents that almost suffocated me. Specifically, with Rowan. Even though I refused to make eye contact after what transpired in the kitchen, I could feel his gaze crawling over me the entire evening. It was a relief when eight o’clock rolled around, and we got the hell out of there.
“Will Jasper be at the game tonight?”
“Justin,” I correct automatically, blinking out of those thoughts and shifting my weight. “I don’t think so. He has a mandatory study hall for baseball.”
Dad shrugs before adding pleasantly, “That’s too bad. But don’t worry, Rowan and I will be there to cheer you on. On the off-chance Justin shows up, he can sit with us, and we can pick up where we left off last night.”
All right, it’s official. The man is seriously frightening me. As I stare, trying to figure out what game he’s playing at, a grin stretches across his face. Yup, he’s definitely enjoying this.
“What? Is it a crime to want to get to know the guy my daughter is dating?”
Possibly.
Ugh. I should probably give him a status update so he can knockoff this weird behavior. It’s a little freaky. I’d thought it would be better to have that discussion with Justin before I tell my father. And since I didn’t want to slide into the car and have that uncomfortable convo on the way back to campus last night, I kept my mouth shut. It’s also not something I’m going to delve into before my game. So...tomorrow. I’m going to end it with Justin tomorrow. There’s no point in letting this relationship limp along when my feelings aren’t there.
“You can stop pretending to be so nice,” I finally grumble. “I don’t think it’s going to work out with Justin.”
He straightens in the chair as his lips tug down at the corners. “What? Are you serious?” Before I can verify the information, the frown disappears, and he’s throwing his arms in the air. “Oh well, that’s a shame.”
Please...I am totally on to him. “Uh-huh. You seem heartbroken by the news.”
“Trust me, I am.” He taps his chest. “On the inside, where you can’t see it.”
With a shake of my head, I readjust the strap of my backpack on my shoulder and head to the office door. As I reach for the handle, it occurs to me that Dad never mentioned which player is in need of tutoring. I pause and glance over my shoulder. “Who needs help with stats?”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Rowan.”
And just like that, my belly goes into freefall, dropping to my toes where it settles.
When I remain silent, he continues, “Row mentioned that you two are in the same class. I figured that would make it easier.”
Easier for who?
Certainly not me.
FML.