Misadventures of a College Girl (Misadventures #9)(37)
“You don’t need skin in the game. You’re Zooey Cartwright. Our reason for being. Plus, you’re ridiculously cute. That’s payment enough.” He winks. “Okay, are you ready, giggler?”
I shake out my arms and nod.
Hanalei holds up his phone set to the stopwatch function. “Thirty seconds starts in three, two, one, go.”
Tyler smiles at me. “Hi there, cutie.”
I force myself to keep a straight face. It’s not easy to do when Tyler’s turning on his charm full-throttle. “Hello.”
“I’ve got four words for you,” Tyler says. He counts them off with his fingers. “Where are Pooh’s pants?”
I press my lips together and stay strong.
Tyler leans forward and puts his muscled forearms on the table. “Knock, knock.”
“Who’s there?” I reply dutifully.
“Wherefore means.”
I pause for a split second, trying to figure out where this joke is headed. “Wherefore means who?”
“No, Zooey Cartwright! Wherefore means why. How many times do I have to explain that to you?” He makes a face of complete exasperation that pulls an involuntary giggle from my throat. Damn it! It was just a little giggle, but it was unmistakable.
Immediately, everyone at the table explodes in protest.
“Collusion!” one guy yells.
“Damn you, Zooey Cartwright!” another one scolds.
“Are you suffering from Stockholm syndrome?” Aaron asks me. “Blink twice if you need us to save you, Zooey Cartwright!”
“Why do you guys keep calling me by my full name?” I ask, giggling even more.
Everyone ignores my question. They’re too wrapped up in the money changing hands to pay attention to me. While Aaron slumps forward, shaking his head, Tyler leans back in his chair with his winnings, laughing with glee.
“Why the hell did you laugh at that, Zooey Cartwright?” Aaron asks. “That was the stupidest joke ever.”
“Oh, and cheetahs being expelled from the zoo is so fucking clever?” Tyler says.
“It was collusion,” another one of the guys proclaims again. “Plain and simple.”
“It wasn’t collusion,” I insist. “Tyler made me laugh fair and square, guys.”
Everyone protests, yet again.
“He did,” I insist. “Tyler hit me with Shakespeare, guys. He knows I can’t resist Shakespeare.”
I’m lying, of course. Shakespeare isn’t what made me laugh. In truth, it wouldn’t have mattered what joke Tyler told in the end, I was going to laugh, regardless. Why? Because when I’m around Tyler, I feel like I’m sucking on nitrous oxide. Because Tyler willed me to laugh, and I can’t seem to resist giving him whatever he wants, no matter what it is or what’s at stake. The bare truth is that I didn’t laugh because Tyler Caldwell “hit me with Shakespeare.” I laughed because Tyler Caldwell hit me with Tyler Caldwell.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Everyone around me screams like we’re in mutual, mortal pain. Jake Grayson just threw the perfect long ball… I mean the perfect spiraling pass for well over thirty yards…and Aaron Heckerling let the dang ball slip right through his fingers! Oh, the humanity! That was third down! Damn! As the offense jogs off the field and the punting unit jogs on, I take my seat again, groaning along with everyone else on my half of the stadium.
I’ve never had so much fun at a football game in my life. And I’ve been to lots of them with my dad back home, so that’s saying a lot. I had no idea how much fun it would be to sit in the student section with my fellow Bruins, my face painted blue and gold, and cheer on my school. Not to mention the fact that I’m here with Clarissa and Dimitri and his friends, and they’re the sweetest, funniest group, ever. Oh, and to top it all off, we’re playing our cross-town rivals, the Trojans of USC—Boo!—and currently beating them by fourteen points—Yay! Oh, and did I mention the best part of all? I’m watching Tyler play like a god among men down on that field.
Speaking of which, Tyler makes a bone-crushing tackle on the field, and the crowd roars. I glance at the jumbo screen, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tyler’s thug-face. It’s the scary face he almost always makes right after making a big hit, and it never ceases to turn me on.
The view on the jumbo screen switches to an up-close shot of Tyler, but he quickly turns, and the camera catches nothing but his backside as he jogs away from his crumpled opponent. But that’s okay. If I can’t see Tyler’s thug-face, a tight shot of his ass jogging away in his tight little pants is a lovely consolation prize.
I look at the scoreboard. There are about seven minutes to go in the third quarter. Please, God, let us hold onto this lead and clinch the win. So far this season, we’re undefeated, and Tyler’s a huge reason for that. He hasn’t forced a turnover yet today, but he’s been blocking passes and tackling like a man possessed. Plus, in the second quarter, he brazenly stripped the ball right out of a Trojan’s hands, a maneuver that made Tyler look like a Rottweiler and the other guy look like a Chihuahua. I’ve got to think if any NFL teams are watching today to gather intel before the draft in the spring, Tyler’s strip of that ball alone was enough to move him up several spaces on everyone’s list of top prospects.