Fade Out (The Morganville Vampires #7)(5)
Until I find out her name, I’ll just give her my own to completely separate the two. But, damn, if she hasn’t hijacked my whole brain. I can’t get those amber eyes out of my mind…
Gavin pulls his head back and says around Laney, “Coach still riding your ass about beefing up?”
Grateful for the diversion from my morbid thoughts, I nod, forcing down the starch-filled biscuit. “I’m six pounds away from goal weight.”
He adjusts Laney on his lap, maneuvering her to the side so he can get to his food. “That sucks.”
I huff a curt laugh. Not to sound like an ass, but that’s probably about the most sympathetic and enlightening thing I’ve ever heard come from the guy’s mouth.
“Thanks, dude.” I lift my fork to dive into the cake but pause. The flimsy utensil hovering over the icing. I didn’t realize it in the moment with my thoughts racing, but it’s been a long while since I was prompted to do anything—even as little as sharing the last piece of my favorite dessert—for anyone else. Especially a girl. Ever since sophomore year, since I made starting quarterback, I’ve had girls falling over themselves to make sure I was taken care of.
Clothes. Food. Sex. You name it. I’m like a prized stallion here at Braxton—and I’m really not trying to sound asinine. Or vain. It’s just the truth. For nearly three years I’ve been pampered, groomed, and indulged to assure the team’s victory. So very estranged from my bleak high school years where I was a skinny runt nobody.
Football changed my life.
And the events that rocked it right out of control.
“I’m out,” Gavin says. He bucks Laney, making her giggle, then lifts her up to stand. “See ya on the field. Fucking Keebler is riding my balls in algebra.” He’s gone before I can acknowledge this. Keebler—professor from hell—might be the reason why Gavin gets benched for a while. Which would really hinder our game. I need him on the field.
I hurriedly stuff the last of my lunch into my mouth, still chewing as I jump up to leave. Unlike Gavin, who gets his shit worked over pretty hard, the professors are a little more slack on me. Doesn’t mean I don’t get a good ass chewing from time to time.
Just recently, Professor Collins took an interest in me, requesting I work an extra half hour before class to improve my writing skills. It’s the reason why I now eat lunch in the boring cafeteria rather than at Jack’s Bar Wench downtown with the rest of the team. I have less than five minutes to make it to her class.
On my way out, I glimpse the new girl once more. Poking sadly at her salad. It is a pretty sad salad. But from here, at a safe distance, I note the differences between her and Alyssa—the things I couldn’t register as clearly in my shaken state. The slender nose that buds out to a cute button. The slight cleft in her chin. The full top lip that plumps her mouth into a sultry pout.
She looked just similar enough to evoke my guilt. And I’ve clung to that for a long time.
A sudden, fierce desire to go back in time to just a few minutes ago sweeps through me. I wish I’d said something else—I don’t know. Maybe I can salvage something from that awkward encounter. And what’s more, I don’t just want to; I need to—I need to know about this girl. She’s triggered some neurotic side of me that I fear will only get worse if I don’t see this through.
Maybe I’ve been given a second chance…some shot at redemption.
With one last peek, I note the carrot cake is missing from her tray with a crooked smile. Score a couple points for the QB.
3
Arian
First day from hell.
But I survived. Sort of. I got through each class, loaded down with course work literally coming out of my binder, and I managed not to attract any unwanted attention. The main staff at Braxton knows why I’m here. That I was kicked out of my last college and that I had limited choices as to where I would attend next.
The dean let me know, not too subtly, in front of my brooding parents that he was uncomfortable with why I selected Braxton. Even though I assured him it was a top choice. Still, it wasn’t my choice at all. My father picked the most out-of-the-way school imaginable, where he could hide his shamed offspring.
It’s not like I made Internet star status with my scandal. Hardly. No one particularly cared at Dartmouth. While I was being reprimanded, another student became a YouTube celeb with his hazing stunt. The images of a guy—his buttocks burned so badly after being torched with a Bunsen burner—were all over campus.
Still, being caught with speed was all it took for them to toss me out. I wasn’t a student body icon. I wasn’t on a sports team or a club leader. Despite my prestigious name and my father’s standing with the school, they had no real qualms about replacing me with another highly regarded student that had been waitlisted.
Because I’m not a future leader of tomorrow.
And that’s fine, really. My aim was never that high. I never wanted the pressure of living up to that standard; I have enough stress just meeting my family’s expectations. I remind myself of this as I trudge down my dorm hallway, weighed down by my assignments. I have so much work to make up, just so I can barely pass this semester after missing months of school. And Braxton prides itself—small private university that it is—on academic achievement.