The Locker Room(27)

I can see it in her body language, the defeat. No matter what I say right now, she’s going to counter it with a reason why things wouldn’t work out with her. That fucker must have really damaged her to make her believe no one would make her a priority. I might have a busy schedule and obligations, but there’s one thing I know with absolute certainty: when I’m invested in something, I don’t ever drop the ball.

And I’m invested in Emory Ealson. From the moment her map slapped me in the face, I knew this girl was something special, and I plan on showing her that.

I take a step back and resign to our conversation’s end, making a promise to show her how serious I am. “Believe what you want, Em, but I’m different.”

She lifts her eyes up, curiosity lacing her gaze. “I know you are, Knox.”

“Good, so remember that, because I’m going to show you how much I mean every word I say.”

With a parting smile, I take off toward the tables where I find a few teammates already congregating. It’s going to be tough as shit studying, knowing Emory is only a few feet away, but I need to make sure she doesn’t know that. She needs to see I’m serious about my studies too, and not here for a free ride. Maybe, if she sees I can put effort and time into friends, my role as captain, my studies, and my sport, she’ll see I am not singularly focused. She’ll see that I want her in my life too, and there is an important place for her. Because that’s what my heart is telling me. Winning Emory Ealson is a necessity, not a challenge. She’s worth it.





Chapter Eleven





EMORY





My computer dings, lifting my eyes from the torturous textbook my eyes have been glazing over during the past hour. Why is Language and Literacy Methods so boring? I should care about this, and yet, I can’t seem to focus to save my life.

I keep thinking about the conversation I had with Knox the other day in the library. And this is proof, right here in the flesh, why I need to stay away from this guy, because I can’t focus. He’s on my brain and that’s not helpful.

When I focus on the chat box that opened on my computer, I can’t help but sigh. Speak of the devil.

Knox: What are you up to right now?

Should I answer him?

I really shouldn’t. I’ve written the same sentence over and over in my notebook for the past five minutes, unable to retain it. I need to study.

Then again, maybe if I feed the unfocused monster in my head a little of Knox, it will settle down and return to getting the job done.

I chew on my pen, thinking of my choices.

This boy is dangerous. I feel it whenever I’m around him or whenever I see his name pop up on my screen. He could easily insinuate himself into my life—be all-consuming, despite what he said—and that’s not what I want.

But maybe he doesn’t want that.

Maybe he wants things to be light and fun.

I mean . . . I could do light and fun, right?

Chew, gnaw, chew.

I’m not sure if I’m a casual dater, BUT . . . it wouldn’t necessarily kill me to see what he wants right now. I think.

I set my pen on my desk and reach for my keyboard. A little harmless break, that’s all this is.

Emory: Studying. At least attempting to. You?

He types back immediately and if Dottie and Lindsay were in my room right now, I would have to hide my cheesy smile from them.

Knox: About to leave the library. Just finished a paper. Are you in your dorm?

Emory: Yeah.

Knox: Meet me in the dining hall for some ice cream? I won’t take up much of your time. I just need something sweet.

I scan my outfit of holey sweats and tight-fitting long-sleeved T-shirt. No makeup, hair in a side braid hanging over my shoulder. Not my best day, not my worst. But it’s not like I have to impress him. It’s ice cream.

Emory: As long as you don’t mind hanging out with a girl who wears old, holey sweatpants.

Knox: It’s my preferred attire. I’m headed there now, once I shut my computer. Meet me in five.

Before I can stop myself, I type back.

Emory: See you there.

I exit out of the chat box and squeeze my eyes shut for a second, taking a deep breath. This will be fine, everything is fine. Casual, that’s all this is. Super casual.

I can do casual.

I stand from my chair and look in the mirror, taking in my red holey sweats that hang off my narrow hips.

I was born to do casual.

I lean toward the mirror and smile; nothing in my teeth, that’s a good thing.

I can be the master at casual.

I can teach a class in casual, that’s how freaking casual I am.

I grab my keycard and head out my door past Lindsay and Dottie, who are playing MarioKart in the common area.

“Done studying?” Dottie asks, eyes trained on the TV just as she blows up Lindsay with a bomb.

“You rotten bitch,” Lindsay seethes. “You just can’t stand it when I’m first, can you?”

“Heading out,” I call to them, not wanting to stick around for the trash talk. “I’ll be back in a little.”

“Heads-up, Dad’s sending over Greek tonight,” Dottie calls out before I shut the door to our dorm.

Greek sounds amazing, so I’ll be sure to get a small ice cream. As I make my way down the dorm stairs—we have an elevator but I’m on the third floor so it’s not a big deal to take the stairs—I think about how grateful I am to have Lindsay and Dottie back in my life. Yes, they may push me at times, but it’s out of love. As I look back and consider how isolated I became because of Neil, I’m horrified. It was as though he had . . . emotionally imprisoned me. Thank God my girls never gave up on me.