“Excuse me?”
“I asked if you could tell me your name, sweetheart.” He had a drawl, and something about his voice, and his classic good looks seemed familiar. I couldn’t quite place it, but I felt like I’d seen him before.
I shook my head, wincing, and scrambled for a reply. Your name, you idiot. K-E-N-N-E-D-Y.
“Yes, uh, Kennedy. My name’s Kennedy.”
“Kennedy,” he repeated, his pouty lips sliding up into a half-grin. “That’s a good sign. It means you probably don’t have a concussion.”
I rubbed my temple. “You should watch where you throw that thing.”
With pursed lips, Hotty McHotness replied, “You should watch where you’re walking.”
I stepped back, and gave him an incredulous look. “Are you saying it’s my fault that your ball miraculously found its way to my head? Because last I checked, balls don’t fly on their own. They have to be thrown.”
Sure, I was in a hurry, and should have been a little more observant, but the fact that this guy had the nerve to blame me for his poor sense of ball-throwing direction was starting to piss me off.
He smirked, and I noticed the way his eyes roamed my body. He was about to say something, but stopped as soon as his eyes landed on my chest. So much for chivalry. First he hits me with his ball, and now he’s not so subtly checking out my boobs. What a pig!
“Hey, buddy, my eyes are up here,” I snapped. My irritation was growing, and was only made worse by the fact that I was most definitely not going to make my class. Could this day get any worse?
No name guy choked back a laugh, and when I followed his gaze, I had my answer. Yes, this day can get worse.
My coffee had spilled all the way down the front of my dress, and I would have been happy with that if it had been the worst part. But no. Karma, or God, or whoever else had some cosmic power, had decided to take it one step further. The front of my dress had become rather see-through, if a little brown, but it was still painfully obvious that my nipples had joined in the fun and had started playing peek-a-boo. Sadly, in my rush this morning, I completely forgot to put a bra on. Not that it would’ve mattered, since I wasn’t overly ‘busty’ to begin with, but I wasn’t exactly planning on showing my goods to the world.
“You done staring at my tits, you jerk? Or can I leave now?”
My cheeks were hot, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the heat, or humidity.
“Shit, sorry. Give me a minute…” his words trailed off as he walked towards a tree not too far from where we were currently standing. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the admiring glances of a few other male students who were walking past. Hotty McHotness came back, and handed me a football jersey. I frowned. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I was being overly rude, and I knew it, but I’d reached my limit on the shit-that-could-go-wrong-today scale and needed to get the hell out of dodge before something else went wrong.
“Put it on. It will cover up your, uh, dress.”
I hesitated for a moment, and then took the jersey from his out-stretched hand. The name ‘Ambrose’ was stitched on the back, with the number 17 below it.
“You some football hotshot or something?” I asked, slipping the too-big jersey over my head. I wasn’t knowledgeable about football, but I was willing to take a wild guess and say that 17 belonged to the quarterback.
Hotty McHotness chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck. The gesture was awkward, but somehow drew attention to the fact that he was shirtless. “Something like that.”
His skin was slick with a thin sheen of sweat, and his basketball shorts hung low on his hips. He was a walking cliché, with his tight abs, and a V that disappeared into his basketball shorts. I couldn’t help but look, despite my agitation with his less than gentlemanly like behavior.
“You about done, sweetheart?”
His voice drew my attention back to his face, and his cocky grin.
“Huh?”
Sweet baby Jesus, Kennedy. Stop blubbering like an idiot.
“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need me to take you to Student Health?”
I huffed indignantly, and tried to hide my embarrassment. “No, but I think I need to let your coach know your throwing is off.”
With raised brows, he replied, “Okaaaay, definitely no concussion.”
“So, is ‘Ambrose’ your first name, or…” I trailed off, hoping this guy would give me his name. I’d need some way to find him so that I could return his jersey.
“Chase,” he said. “My first name is Chase.”
I nodded once. “Well, Chase, I wish I could say it was a pleasure meeting you, but I’m not a liar. I’ll have your jersey cleaned before I get it back to you.”
I spun on my heel, and started walking away when his hand gripped my elbow.
“Do you want my number?” He asked. The expression on his face told me that he wasn’t usually the one to offer his number to girls, and clearly had no idea how to go about doing it.
“No,” I replied. “I’ll find you.”
I left him there, mouth agape, and instead of heading to the class that I was miserably late for, I text Jade to see where she was. My phone pinged, and I quickly changed direction when her text said that she was at the coffee shop with Grady.
‘Bean Me Up’ was the trendy coffee shop situated next to the student Union, and was always crammed with students. Its early morning hours made it the first stop for most students before class, and its late closing times provided come much-needed caffeine boosts during test week, and finals. Today though, it was even busier, if that were possible, and it was decorated with navy blue, gold, and white streamers – the school colors.
The school spirit was at an all-time high, and that usually only meant one thing. Football. I completely forgot that our team was facing their biggest rivals tomorrow, and with the atmosphere being so intense, students around me jumped up and down like they were high on E. I dodged a few people, and wound my way through the clustered tables until I found Jade and Grady huddled in the corner. They were caught up in a deep conversation, like they’d known each other forever. It didn’t take long for Grady to find his place in our little group, and even Ashley adored him. We went from being a group of three to a group of four without effort. Grady belonged with us, and had quickly nestled his way into my little family.
Jade stopped whatever it was she was saying, and as if they were somehow connected, their eyebrows simultaneously lifted when they saw what I was wearing. I graciously responded with an eye roll and muttered, “Don’t ask.”
“Seriously?” Asked Jade. “You’re wearing our star quarterbacks’ jersey, a day before the biggest game this season, and you expect us to have enough self-restraint to not ask any questions?”
Grady tsk’ed beside her, and shook his head in disapproval. “She’s right, honey bee. You need to -”
His words were cut off by a loud holler, and I turned to watch the entire football team walk in, their cheerleading hanger-ons hot on their heels.
“Right on time,” muttered Grady, a salacious grin on his face.
I turned back around to face him. “For what?”
He leaned forward, and spoke in a hushed tone. “That right there, is the crème de la crème of the male species here at Brighton. It’s our very own Hot Guy parade.”