Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(11)

“Babar? Who’s that?”

“You don’t know Babar?”

Tyler shakes his head. He’s got an adorable, crooked grin on his face. “Is he a cartoon elephant?”

I’m aghast. “How do you not know Babar? Did you grow up under a rock?”

“Lots of different rocks. We moved around a lot when I was a kid.”

“Military?”

“Football. My dad played in the NFL for nine seasons. But he wasn’t a superstar, so he never had job security. A season here. A season there. We moved every time he got picked up by a new team.”

“What position did he play?”

“You know football?”

“I was raised on it. My dad played for the University of Nebraska.”

“Ah, a Cornhusker. What position?”

“Center.”

“Did he go pro?”

“He tried, but he never made it onto a roster. Too small. What was your dad’s position?”

“Defensive tackle.”

“Which teams?”

Tyler tells me a long string of team names, ending with the Dallas Cowboys.

“Your dad must be thrilled you’re following in his footsteps. Did he want you to be a defensive tackle, too?”

“No, he wanted me to be a quarterback, actually. I tried when I was younger, but it turns out my throwing arm is a cannon with zero accuracy. But, hey, consolation prize, the free safety is known as the ‘quarterback of the defense.’”

“Why is that?”

“I make the coverage call and communicate it to the linebackers and other DBs. I disguise the look. Check the defense and make sure everyone adjusts and gets into position.” Tyler taps his temple. “I use my brain as much as my body out there, sweetheart. That’s why I love the position so much.”

My skin is buzzing. Tyler comes alive when he talks about football, and it’s incredibly sexy.

“Hey, you want a water?” Tyler asks.

“Sure. Thanks.”

He gets up and grabs two bottles from a mini-fridge in the corner, hands one to me, and then leans on the edge of his desk a foot away from me, twisting the cap on his bottle. “So tell me about this Babar dude,” Tyler says, his blue eyes blazing. “He’s a cartoon elephant in a T-shirt?”

“No, he’s a cartoon elephant in a snazzy green suit and a yellow crown.”

“Then it sounds like the better choice for our cartoon elephant’s doppelg?nger would be Winnie the Pooh.”

I make a face like that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. “Why on earth would our cartoon elephant’s doppelg?nger be a cartoon bear?”

“Because Winnie the Pooh wears a T-shirt, not a snazzy green suit and a crown.”

I make a buzzing sound. “Thanks for playing, but Pooh wears a polo shirt.”

“No. Pooh wears a red T-shirt. I’ve seen it a million times.”

“Pooh’s shirt has a collar on it. That makes it a polo shirt.”

“Jesus God, I’ve brought a madwoman into my bedroom. Please don’t hurt me.” He pulls out his phone. “Prepare to be schooled, Zooey… What’s your last name?”

“Cartwright.”

“Prepare to be schooled, Zooey Cartwright. I’m one hundred percent—” He gasps. “Holy shit! Winnie the Pooh wears a red polo shirt!”

“I guess I should have warned you. I only argue when I’m sure I’m right.”

Tyler looks at his phone again. “I’m deeply traumatized.”

“That’s nothing. If you really want to be traumatized, then consider this: Why the hell isn’t Pooh wearing pants? He’s a bear who lives in a house and sleeps in a bed. He drinks tea out of a cup. And yet he wears no pants with his polo shirt? I mean, is Pooh fully anthropomorphized or not? Because, if he is, then he’s a ‘public lewdness’ charge waiting to happen.”

Tyler throws his head back and laughs heartily…and the sound of his full-throated laughter sends pangs of regret shooting through my chest. Damn it. He’s so freaking adorable. And witty. And hot. He’s so much more than I thought he’d be when I first laid eyes on him. Why’d I have to throw myself at him, dressed like this? Why couldn’t I have met him on campus while looking and acting like myself? Why couldn’t we have struck up a conversation in the book store—the same way Dimitri and Clarissa did? If only I could rewind time and—

Wait.

What on earth is my crazy brain thinking? Wishing I’d met Tyler under different circumstances is a pointless exercise because Tyler doesn’t want a girlfriend. And I most certainly don’t want a boyfriend. To the contrary, now that I’m finally out from under my father’s protective thumb, I’m determined to have nothing but fun, fun, fun throughout my entire freshman year.

Tyler wipes his eyes from laughing. “Wow. Thanks for fucking up Winnie the Pooh for me.”

“Misery loves company.”

Tyler flashes me a smile that sends butterflies shooting into my stomach. “Okay. That was a nice deflection, but it’s time for you to give me your final answer.” He puts his water bottle down and crosses his muscled arms over his chest. “Time’s up, Zooey.”