Page 12 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

I’m a little awestruck at his response. Maybe a little shook by him standing here, too, in front of my door. This isn’t a building Logan Ford visits. We don’t party here. This is the dorm for people who take seven a.m. classes and who go to bed at nine, maybe ten on a weekend.

“Wait here. I’ll check my backpack and notepad.” I leave my space in the doorway and Claire instantly fills it with herself.

“You can come in, too. If you prefer,” she says. What is this flirty side? I don’t know her well, but we had a lot of core classes together, and this feels out of character for her. I think she’s boy crazy or something. Is Logan really that good looking?

He chuckles, and the warm timbre sinks into my chest like the perfect bass line. Perhaps there is something infectious about him.

“I’m all right. I’ll wait here,” he says, and an odd sensation kicks in my diaphragm, not quite a punch but not quite a sting either. I think I wanted him to accept Claire’s invitation to enter my space.

As I expected, my notebook has nothing but blank pages left and my backpack shows no trace of a torn-out page he could have left behind.

“Do you know what was on it?” I glance over my shoulder and Claire pops the door open wider a foot or so to give Logan a clear view of my ass as I squat in front of my bag. Cool air dances across my spine where my waistband should be and I silently pray that I’m not giving him a plumber’s crack view. I twist around and hop up to stand just in case.

“If I knew what was on it, I probably wouldn’t need it,” he says through a soft laugh.

“Good point. Well, let me see where what you have ends. I can probably figure out what cut off.” I move back to the door. I have to physically squeeze myself into the slight space Claire gives me, and I glare at her profile when she finally moves her hip enough to allow me room. She’s staring at Logan the way a cartoon dog stares at a steak. I reach over and nudge her chin to close her mouth. She shoots me a hot glare, but quickly shakes her head, ripped out of her trance.

“Thanks for snapping me out of that,” she mumbles, patting my shoulder and retreating into our room.

When I look back to Logan, he’s tucked the folder back under his arm. I glance at it and he shakes his head.

“It’s fine. We can figure it out next time. I was here late for weights and figured I’d stop by on the off chance. You know, I bet we left it at the library. I’ll stop by on my way to the lot. I’m sure the librarian has it waiting for me at the front desk. She’s a big fan.”

His playful smirk makes me smile back at him.

“She’ll probably want your autograph,” I say as he takes a few steps back.

“Yeah, I’m sure she will . . . on some form that bans me from ever setting foot in her library again. Shhh!” He holds his finger to his lips, his smile subtle, crooked, and forming a single dimple. He does that winking thing, and I catch myself leaning against the door jamb like a lovestruck teenager.

“I’ll see you Wednesday,” he tosses over his shoulder before disappearing through the stairwell door. I linger in my doorway for a few extra seconds, practically feeling the heat of Claire’s knowing gaze on my back. There’s zero chance she doesn’t tease me about any of this.

I step back into our room and shut and lock the door. Claire’s sitting with her legs folded up in the center of her bed, and she’s watching a video on her phone. I pad my way back to the empty space between my piles of notecards and sit down.

“You know, if you need money you should consider entering the Science Ball pool.”

My head snaps up, but Claire’s eyes are still masked by her phone, the video she’s watching flashing in her pupils.

“I always thought that thing was a bit insipid. And honestly, it feels cheap,” I say, quickly dismissing her idea.

The Science Ball happens every winter, usually in early November. It’s an awards ceremony on one level, but also a nice excuse to dress up in formal wear and eat a fancy meal someplace ritzy. The pool part started about a decade ago in response to the freshmen athlete thing that happens here at Tiff where all the male first years make bets on hooking up with girls who are way out of their league. Not to be outdone by a bunch of jocks, the students on honor council decided to mix it up and create a pool. Whoever shows up to the ball with the hottest date wins. Entry is fifty bucks, and the winner is decided by secret vote during the first dance. Oh, and one more caveat—there must be proof of intimacy.

“You know people cheat at it anyhow,” I throw in. Claire finally moves her phone from her face and meets my gaze, her mouth quirked with disappointment.

“Last year’s winner was one of my teaching assistants. He split the pot with some girl on the bowling team. They made a sex tape for proof. Offered to screen it in the ballroom and everything.”

Our eyes are locked as we stare at one another with seasick expressions. I skipped the ball last year. Dalton didn’t want to go. A part of me wonders if that’s when he began fooling around with Stella and that was the reason why.

“Yeah, definitely not for me,” I say, moving my attention to my note card stacks. I bind them with rubber bands before tucking them into my backpack for Wednesday.

“Six thousand dollars is a lot of money,” Claire says, halting me mid band stretch. I let go of the end and it snaps against my fingertips.

“Six grand?” I figured the pool got up to a thousand, maybe two. But six?

“Oh, yeah, and last year was low. I heard the highest was close to eight.”

I swallow hard. Forty-five hundred bucks would secure my spot in the abroad program this spring.

“Anyhow, you should totally consider it. Moral compass be damned. You walk in with Logan Ford and you’ll totally win.” She offers a quick shrug then lifts her phone back up, covering her face.

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