“You too.” I give him a small wave that causes his smile to grow even wider.
So handsome.
With a quick wink, he sticks his earbuds in his ears and takes off running down the boardwalk, in the opposite direction I’m going. I take a moment to watch him, his strong backside, his muscly legs taking him down the boardwalk quickly, his broad shoulders shifting back and forth.
Yup, he’s all kinds of perfect. Way too good to be true.
On a sigh, I tuck my donuts into my side and start making my way back to the dorms. I’d like to say I’ll share these with Dottie and Lindsay, but Knox did say he bought them for me, so . . . I’ll be sure to break into them when I’m studying later. And in class tomorrow, I’ll report which ones I enjoyed from best to worst. It’s my duty, after all.
Chapter Ten
KNOX
“Study hall, six sharp, don’t be late,” I call out to the team as they’re taking their practice gear off and heading to the showers. “Freshmen and sophomores are required, upperclassmen, you know who you are, make sure you’re there.”
“Do we really have to meet in the library?” Gardner, a lousy and extremely lazy sophomore asks. I can’t stand the prick, and he’s probably the only guy on the team that grates on my nerves.
“Yes.”
“But Venice allowed us to have study hall in the loft last year.”
“And we had the worst grade point average as a team last year. Not while I’m captain. It’s in the library, and there will be no fucking around. Got it?”
Gardner grumbles and walks off toward the showers as I take a seat next to Carson, who’s eyeing me suspiciously. “We didn’t have the worst grade point average last year.”
“Shhhhhut up,” I hiss while looking around. I lean in close and say, “Do you really want these fools hanging out at the loft all the time? We have enough teammates to deal with, and we don’t need the young ones dicking around in our place too. Library is where we should be studying.”
“Those chairs hurt my back.”
“Then bring a goddamn pillow,” I shoot back to Carson. He doesn’t need study hall, as he’s one of the most intelligent motherfuckers I know. He’s majoring in architecture while keeping his starting position at second base. My workload isn’t half as much as his and I struggle, so I have no idea how he does it. Because he doesn’t struggle with school, he’s not required to go to study hall, but being the good friend he is, he attends.
I also think it’s because he found his groove in study hall, and he’s one of few guys who actually gets a lot of work done.
“Are we allowed to have snacks in the library?”
“No, and no drinks apparently,” I answer.
“And you expect us to go there after practice when we’re starving?”
“It’s called eating and walking. Grab something from the cafeteria upstairs; you know they’ll make you anything, and eat it while walking to the library. You’re smart, dude, figure it out.”
I roll my eyes and lift from my seat where I start peeling off my clothes. They don’t need to know I might have a small ulterior motive for going to the library for study hall. It might have to do with a little brunette I can’t seem to stop thinking about. I catch her once during the week in our class, but even at that, our interaction is brief. I’ve set a notification on my computer to let me know when she’s on student chat, and it’s rare. And it’s even a crapshoot when it comes to parties.
Running into her at the donut shop was a miracle, and I tried to soak up as much of her as possible, but she cut our chance meeting short. Hell, I could have sat there all morning talking to her.
And do I have her phone number? Nope.
I’ve been too much of a pussy to even ask. Given our track record, I guarantee she’ll say no if I ask. This is going to be a slow burn with this girl. And if I didn’t see an ounce of interest in her eyes, I would forget about it, but when she looks at me, I can see it deep in her eyes. She’s interested.
I take a quick shower, dry off, and get dressed. Unlike my typical athletic gear, I put on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved Brentwood baseball shirt. I consider skipping the hat and doing my hair, but knowing the boys, they’re already going to give me shit for wearing jeans, so I put a black BU hat on and start packing my backpack.
“What’s with the jeans?” Carson asks, as he sits next to me by his locker, towel wrapped tightly around his waist.
“Got some shit on my sweats.” It’s a lie, but whatever. If I run into Emory, I don’t want to look like a homeless man in sweats like I do every Monday in class. The least I can do is put some jeans on and a tight-fitting long-sleeved T-shirt. Give her a small show.
“Hendrix and his girl just got engaged,” Holt says, pulling his gaze from his phone and holding it out to Carson and me. A picture of our first baseman from two years ago is on the screen, holding his long-time girlfriend and showing off a ring.
“No shit,” Carson says, grabbing the phone for a better look. “Didn’t he bring her back to the locker room his junior year?”
Holt nods. “Yup, he knew she was the one.”
What a weird fucking tradition. I don’t even know how it started. Well, that’s not true, it started with this guy named Gary Bernard, a catcher back in the day. He brought a girl back to the locker room and she wound up saying yes to his proposal at the end of his senior year. He claimed the locker room had magical powers in convincing her. Ever since then, any player in a serious relationship has done the same and basically fucked anywhere of their choosing.
It's fucking weird.
But whatever, as baseball players we’re superstitious, so I get it.
“Do you think I’ll ever find a girl good enough to bring back here?” Carson asks with hope in his eyes.
“Keep going after the locker room hunters and no, no, I don’t,” I answer while zipping up my backpack and throwing it over my shoulder.
Locker room hunters are the thirsty college girls, looking for an invitation to the locker room where they’ve heard the best orgasms are created. That is another far-fetched tale because there’s no way in hell, Felix O’Hare was able to deliver any kind of mind-blowing orgasm to his girl. The man fumbled with his hands more than any person I’ve seen before. He was a walking disaster.
“They’re just so tempting and willing,” Carson complains.
“Which means they’re not long-term. If you want a girl worthy of what you have to offer, she’s going to make you work for it. Keep that in mind.”
“He could not be more right,” Holt agrees, pulling our attention. “You have to work for it.”
Interesting. Gripping the straps to my backpack, I ask, “Is there someone who’s making you work hard?”
“Is that why you’ve been MIA at the parties?”
He pushes his towel through his hair. “Yeah, there is. And I like her a lot.”
“Whaaaaat?” Carson asks in an exaggerated tone. “When the hell did this happen?”
“Over the summer.”
Carson clutches his chest and practically spews heart eyes across the locker room. “Fuck, summer love. How presh.”