He reached over, ripped a piece of paper from my notebook, and chuckled at the way my jaw dropped in disbelief. He leaned back in his chair and slid the ripped out piece of paper to me.
What did you want me to remember?
I froze for a beat. Was I supposed to respond in a note? He had an impatient look on his face that made me huff out a breath and scribble: nothing. You were even drunker than I thought.
I passed it back and watched him write: I remember that you looked beautiful.
My heart skipped as he continued: I remember wanting you to be with me and not Paper Boy.
I met his eyes then, and not for the first time, wished I hadn’t. He had a seriously alluring, penetrative gaze, and it was all just too much. I needed to stop this right now. After class, I’d continue this, but right now? Right now, I needed to stop it. I licked my lips. His expression darkened. My heart felt like it was going to explode.
“So.” I cleared my throat. “When was the last time you paused to think about the fact that women in sports don’t get paid as much as men do?”
He let out a surprised laugh. “Never.”
“That’s sexist.” I raised an eyebrow. “I guess it’s good that you’re here then. Maybe you should join the discussion.”
“Why don’t you join the discussion?” He looked at me. “You’re sitting isolated up here as if you want no part in any of this.”
“I’m simply admiring the discussion.” I shot him a look. “Besides, I’m not an athlete. I don’t think it’s my place to say anything. Some of the girls down there are wearing their volleyball and soccer practice stuff.”
“You don’t have to be an athlete to have a say in this. You’re a woman. You should rally behind them. That’s what I’d do. That’s what men do. It’s why we win.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“It’s the only way to look at it. There’s power in numbers.”
“What do you think about this, Mr. Fitzgerald?” the professor asked. “I’m sure you have a lot to say since you’re obviously involved in a thrilling conversation back there with Miss Bastón.”
I nearly jumped out of my seat. Every single person in the room turned around to look at us. At him. I looked as well. I figured if nothing else, this gave me the perfect excuse to get a good look at him. He had the kind of wardrobe Charles Addams would’ve been proud of—all black everything. Not that I could judge. It was the color I wore most these days. Logan made it look vibrant somehow though —maybe it was because his eyes were the kind of emerald green that sparked up a room. He had a perpetual five o’clock shadow and a jawline that looked as though it had been taken from a Ken Doll. Yeah, on a good-looking scale of one to ten, Logan Fitzgerald was a one hundred.
“I think women should definitely get paid equally,” he said. “However, I do think it depends on the sport and the revenue it brings in. I’m not saying that because I’m a man and I know I’ll get paid top dollar. According to Forbes, the revenue the NHL brings in is 1.5 billion. The international soccer club brings in 9.4 billion, so I know I can’t demand Ronaldo money even if I am the Ronaldo of hockey.”
“But you do believe in equal pay?” one of the students up front asked.
“Of course I do.”
“What if the women’s team brings in more revenue than the men’s team? Do you think they should still get paid equally or more than the men?”
“If they bring in more money, they should get paid more money.” His lips curved into a lazy smile. “I’m all for equal opportunity.”
Everyone seemed to quiet all at once. I wondered if they were all mesmerized by the way he seemed to transform with something as simple as a smile. The professor continued talking. Logan turned to me and winked. I glanced away quickly, knowing I’d start blushing any minute.
“Aren’t you supposed to take pictures of our practices?”
“Yeah. I’m going tonight. I’ll be behind a camera lens and trying to be as quiet as possible, so I doubt you'll notice me."
“Impossible. I’m always aware of your presence.”
I felt myself blush. The professor chose that moment to dismiss us and tell us to read the first chapter of our textbook by Thursday. Everyone got up and collected their things. I realized then that Logan had never taken anything out of his bag. I eyed him closer.
“You don’t even have a book bag?”
“No.”
“Where do you carry your books?”
“What books?”
“Your textbooks.”
“They’re at home. I only go to classes to listen to my lectures. If I wanted to stare at my books, I would sign up for online classes.”
I couldn’t really argue with that logic. We walked down the steps of the auditorium. As we passed the professor, she turned to us.
“Fitzgerald, are you planning on signing up for this class or should I expect you to waltz in here every week so you can hit on Miss Bastón?”
“I was just making sure the course was worth my time before I signed up.”
“And?” She raised an eyebrow. “Did we meet your expectations?”
“I have to think about it, but yeah, I think you did.” He flashed a prize-worthy smile. “See you Thursday.”
“So you aren’t in this class.” I pushed him lightly.
He chuckled. “Not yet. Still thinking about it.”
“So you were stalking me.” I was smiling. I didn’t know why I was smiling.
“Not stalking. Just . . . biding time.”
“Before what? Your actual class?”
“Nah, I’m done with classes. I’m going home to take a nap before practice.”
“Sounds heavenly,” I sighed. I felt like I was running on seventy-two hours of no sleep and twelve gallons of caffeine.
“You want to join me?”
I eyed him sideways. “I’m not one of your—”
“Groupies. I know. I meant just to sleep.”
I gnawed on my bottom lip.
“I can tell you’re tired, Amelia. You look tired.”
“I am.”
“So, come sleep with me.”
“Quiet down.” I looked around. “People are going to think you mean you want to—”
“Fuck you?” His eyes danced.
“Logan.”
“What? You don’t want people to think we’re fucking?”
“Oh my God, can you stop saying that?” I covered my face, which felt like it was one thousand degrees hotter than the rest of my body.
“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone who doesn’t want people to think I’m—”
“Stop.” I got on the tips of my toes and reached up to slap my hand over his mouth.
He laughed harder, pulling my hand away from his mouth and stopping. We were now standing there, blocking the exit, so that people had to walk around us on either side, and my hands were in his as he looked down at me. His expression slowly turned serious. I just stared, heart at my throat.
“Come on.”
“You said you don’t let anyone in your bed,” I whispered.