I did not just shove a white chocolate macadamia nut cookie in Carson Stone’s mouth . . .
Oh God, but I did.
Complete darkness, only the subtle sounds of the other dorm rooms around me, just what I need right now. Being an RA is really paying off at the moment, because I don’t need to talk to anyone or look at anyone—well, unless one of the students need something, but I put up a sign on my door that said only if it’s an emergency. My floor is cool, they know I need a minute.
And boy, do I need a minute.
What the hell was I thinking?
I shoved a cookie in another human’s mouth to stop them from talking, without even thinking, arm propelled straight forward ending in a slam dunk into Carson Stone’s mouth.
Since I haven’t seen any sort of breaking news report of one of Brentwood baseball’s finest athletes going into anaphylactic shock, I’m going to assume he’s good with the nuts.
Thank God for small miracles.
I’m never this awkward, this uneasy around guys, because I’ve always been one of them. I’ve never had a hard time hanging out with the opposite sex or striking up conversation, but there’s something about Carson, or the baseball team at Brentwood in general, that has my panties in a twist, making me say and do stupid things.
Carson seems to be getting the brunt of it.
Thank God I work with the golf team, because Lord knows if I was in the weight room with the entire baseball team, I would be shoving weights up who-knows-what all over the place.
The training staff would ask me to leave, my services no longer needed.
I press my hand against my forehead and stare at the dark ceiling, wondering how I’ll ever recover from this.
One thing’s for sure, I’m not eating at Lakeview anymore, even if it’s the closest dining hall to my dorm. Even if they have the best view. Even if their paninis are extraordinary combinations of bread, sauces, and meats. Nope, can’t go back. Hyde Park it is and their lackluster choices for college cuisine.
My phone buzzes next to me. I’m actually surprised it’s taken this long. It’s been at least two hours. Although . . . what if they were talking this entire time, trying to do damage control for my blunder?
Panic explodes within me, and I quickly pick up my phone to see a text from Shane in the group text I share with him and Jerry.
I swipe open my phone and squint while reading it. Please don’t let it be bad.
Shane: So . . . you shoved a cookie down Carson Stone’s mouth. That was fun.
Groaning, I quickly type him back just as Jerry responds.
Jerry: I don’t think I know who was more shocked, you or him.
Milly: Please tell me he walked away the minute I left.
Shane: Well, he chewed for a few seconds, because you did shove a cookie down his throat without his consent. At least agree to a safe word next time, Milly.
Jerry: I offered him your Sprite to wash it down, but he declined, and guess what? I listened to him instead of thrusting the beverage into his mouth.
Milly: Please, spare me the jokes. I’m already on the verge of jumping off a cliff. Did he say anything?
Shane: Once again, his mouth was full, but I did tell him that you have an involuntary tick that causes you to shove unwanted food in people’s faces and awkwardly salute for no reason.
Milly: You did not.
Jerry: He did.
Milly: Shane! Why would you do that?”
Shane: Why would you force-feed Carson Stone a cookie?
Milly: I don’t know. **Flails** I really don’t know.
Jerry: I’ve seen you do some pretty weird things since I’ve known you, Milly, but that tops them all. I think we need to revisit the whole crush angle, because I’ve never seen you act like that toward a guy before.
Milly: I don’t have a crush.
Shane: I’m pretty sure half the student body at the dining hall who witnessed the whole thing thinks you do.
Milly: Were a lot of people watching?
Jerry: You could say that. Shane and I snuck out shortly after.
Milly: That’s it. I’m never showing my face again. Ugh, why did I have to do that? Tell me what happened after he was able to chew and swallow.
Shane: He asked if that’s how you normally acted and that’s when I said you have a tick.
Milly: Oh my GOD! I hate you.
Shane: Would you have preferred that I told him you have a crush on him?
Milly: I don’t have a crush on him!
Jerry: I’m thinking that maybe you have a little one.
Milly: I will punch you right in the dong.
Shane: She’s totally crushing.
Jerry: *Clasps hands together* Carson Stone is so dreamy.
Shane: *Fans self* All those muscles.
Jerry: *Wipes drool* And the way he grips his . . . bat.
Milly: Are you two morons done?
Jerry: Yes.
Shane: No.
Shane: *Tweaks nipples* Ohhhhh, Carson . . .
Shane: Okay, now I’m done.
Milly: I hope you two have fun sitting out in the nosebleeds at Saturday’s game, because you’re sure as hell not sitting next to me.
Jerry: It’s cool. We’ll heckle you from afar.
Shane: And she’ll probably wear that heinous fisherman’s hat she likes to wear on sunny days.
Jerry: That thing needs to be burned.
Milly: Just because of that, I’m going to wear it. Fools!
Shane: The only fool around here is the fisherman hat-wearing, cookie-shoving, crushing-on-Carson Stone lady—I’m talking about you, Milly.
Milly: Gee, I didn’t gather that.
Jerry: I still can’t believe you shoved a cookie in his mouth. Best moment of my college years.
Shane: I’m giggling just thinking about both of their faces. *Uh, er, ehhhhh*
Jerry: LOL
Milly: You’re both dead to me.
Chapter Forty-Two
CARSON
“Really fucking funny,” I say as my teammates bust out in laughter. Reaching up to the shelf of my locker, I pull down a Pepperidge Farm package of white chocolate macadamia nut cookies and open it up.
Jokes on them, because I actually like these cookies—thanks to Milly and her forceful tactics.
I’m still unsure what happened last night in the dining hall. The moment I spotted Milly—not Melanie, Milly—I knew I had to talk to her. I wasn’t sure if it was the right time, as it seemed like her friend—boyfriend, who knows—was getting super comfortable. For some stupid reason, I couldn’t sit there, with her directly across me in the dining hall, and not say anything.
So, I went to go apologize—for the third time, I think—but every time I opened my mouth to say something, she stopped me . . . then literally stopped me. Plugged me up so fast I had no idea what to do but stand there, hands at my side, cookie hanging out of my mouth. Well, it would have been extremely rude to spit it back out, wouldn’t it? I mean, I was taught good manners and all that.
I don’t think I’ve ever been more shocked in my life. It wasn’t a pie to the face, or a slap to the cheek. It was a straight-up cookie to the mouth, a salute, and then a peace out. An absolute first for me.
Probably for her too, judging the look of surprise on her face.
When I got back to the table, Jason and Gunner wouldn’t stop laughing and pretending to shove cookies in each other’s mouths. I went back to the baseball loft shortly after that, and when I was lying in my bed, in the dark, staring at nothing, I let out a long, pent-up laugh.