Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(22)

“Any specific aspect?”

“Yes, thank you for asking. I’m curious to know what would persuade a beautiful, curly-headed freshman theater major at UCLA to want to have sex with an extremely well-endowed free safety named Tyler Caldwell.”

I bite my lip. “Interesting query. Unfortunately, I think that’s a bit specific for a social psych experiment. Kind of niche-y, I’d say.”

“You think?”

“I do. Although there might be some cross-over with my preferred topic.”

“Which is?”

“I’d like to explore the halo effect.”

“What’s that, again?”

Damn. This is exactly what I was worried about when I got stuck with a football player as a partner. That I’d be forced to work with a jock who doesn’t give a crap about his school work, and I’d have to do all the work for both of us.

I lean back into the sofa, my body language tight. “It was in the reading assignment, Tyler.”

He smiles. “I haven’t done the reading assignment yet.”

I flash him an annoyed look that says, Yeah, no shit.

Tyler’s smile vanishes. He flips his pen onto the coffee table. “Okay, let me explain something to you, Zooey Cartwright. In all seriousness.” He sighs. “Playing football at a school like UCLA, especially on scholarship, is a huge fucking deal. It’s a full-time job on top of all my classes. Every day except Sundays, I’ve got massive time commitments on top of my classes and homework. Take today, for instance. I was at the gym before five this morning. Worked out for close to three hours. After that, I went to two classes, after which I stuffed some food into my mouth, and then high-tailed it to a three-hour practice that kicked my ass. Right after that, I had a cryogenics session with a trainer that I skipped out early on so I could swing by the store to buy ingredients for the awesome dinner I planned to make for a pretty theater major who was coming over to my house later that evening. And then I raced home with just enough time to shower, grill up gourmet cheeseburgers, and create a playlist of bonin’ songs intended to subliminally persuade said pretty theater major to have sex with me tonight.” He flashes me a charming smile. “Now when the hell was I supposed to do the Social Psych reading on top of all that? It’s still the first day of school, dude. You think maybe your expectations for me are a bit unrealistic?”

My cheeks bloom. “I’m sorry. I didn’t…realize.”

“I’ll pull my weight in this partnership. That’s a promise. You just need to be patient with me if I need to play catch-up sometimes. I typically do my reading on Sundays. That’s my only free day of the week.”

“I get it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound so pissy. Forgive me.”

“It’s okay.”

I shift in my seat, feeling stupid. “So, um…” I clear my throat. “The halo effect. It’s when people think good-looking people are smarter and cooler and funnier than everyone else, even when in reality they might be stupid or boring. Add athleticism or any kind of celebrity status into the mix, and the halo effect supposedly goes through the roof.”

“You think the halo effect is real?”

“I know it is. Just look at my reaction to you. I wanted to sleep with you based on looks alone, before I’d even spoken two words to you. You could have been the stupidest, most boring guy in the world, and I didn’t care simply because you’re gorgeous. Halo effect.”

“Sounds like basic animal attraction to me. I wanted to have sex with you the second I saw you, too, even before I found out you’re a total weirdo.” He grins. “Was that the halo effect, too?”

I open my mouth and close it. “I’m not sure. Maybe?”

“At least from my experience,” Tyler continues, “the halo effect is a wash. For all the times someone thinks great things about me based on my looks or athleticism alone, someone else assumes bad stuff about me.”

“Like what?”

He grins wickedly. “That I’m the kind of guy who runs around calling other guys ‘nerd.’”

I shoot him a snarky look.

“Seriously, though, people tend to think I’m a dumb jock or a complete douchebag. Or that I’m some kind of raging manwhore who can’t keep his dick in his pants. I’m constantly having to disprove people’s stereotypical, preconceived notions about me.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got to stop you right there, cupcake. If you don’t want people assuming you’re a meathead manwhore who can’t keep his dick in his pants, then how about you stop wearing shirts that say God’s Gift to Womankind and You’re Welcome!”

Tyler holds up his finger. “Ah. The shirts prove my point. Is it possible you’re holding my T-shirts against me because of my looks? Imagine if Dimitri wore one of my message shirts. You wouldn’t think he’s a douchebag manwhore for a split second. You’d think he’s funny and charming. You’d probably think he was being sarcastic and, therefore, that he’s self-deprecating and humble.”

I make a face like he’s got a point.

“So it’s your assumptions about me, based on my looks, that turn me into a perceived egomaniac when I wear them. As a point of fact, there’s a very good reason I wear those shirts.”