Page 23 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“Let’s just say I trust you a little more.”

I nod and again, somehow, keep my mouth shut.

More slack.

Noted.

9/

rachel

So this is the football house. Huh.

I thought it would be bigger.

Two stories, yes, but there isn’t some grand staircase and a corridor of rooms like the frat houses in movies. There’s a big screen and a decent entertainment center loaded up with speakers and various game consoles. The sectional in the living room is well-worn but clean, which is also somehow surprising, and the place doesn’t smell like a locker room.

I have, however, noticed an inordinate amount of empty beer cans. Most in stacks, like mini challenges or sculptures. I pause at one on a small table along the wall between the entrance and the archway that leads to the kitchen.

“Did someone try to make this spell Tiff?” I crouch to view it from tabletop level, and yes, it in fact sort of spells Tiff.

“That one’s Dante’s. He’s very proud of it. Don’t poke fun,” Logan says.

His expression doesn’t seem like he’s kidding, so I form an oh with my mouth and stand up tall again, then follow him into the kitchen. My eyes dart all over the place, so much stimulation around me, so many clues to lock in about this secret lifestyle I’ve always been curious about. And then there’s Logan’s ass in those jeans, his shoulders stretching the blue and red plaid flannel across his back, the slight ripples made with the movement of his arms.

And then there’s my ass under this dress. I swear it’s on fire. I feel as if a werewolf scratched my skin and left me raw, which is insane because I know his touch was definitely guarded. But holy hell! I’m glad I wore my hipster underwear instead of the boy shorts I usually go for when I wear a dress. I would have missed out on all of that.

“We can work in here. Can I get you something to drink?”

I snap out of my daze at the sound of his voice and retrace what I think I heard him say.

“Water?” Please let that be the right answer.

“You got it,” he says, opening the fridge while I pull out one of the wooden chairs.

Logan slides a water bottle toward me as he drops his backpack on the table. He turns his back to me again to grab a jar of peanut butter from the cupboard. He unscrews the lid on a shaker bottle and dumps in scoops of peanut butter along with ice, milk, and protein powder before recovering it.

“Is that really any good?” It looks clumpy, even after he shakes it rigorously.

He shrugs and flips half the lid up before taking a big swallow.

“It’s worse when I put egg in it.”

I shiver at the thought and he laughs, pulling out the chair closest to me and sitting with his legs stretched out, one under my chair and the other under the table. My eyes go right to his crotch.

“So, should we review or work ahead?”

I blink up and his smirk tells me he probably saw me staring, well, at his penis.

“Review. Yeah, uh . . .” I clear my throat and tug his backpack closer. I pull out the familiar folders and his notebook, my nerdy side singing a little when I notice he’s kept the tabs on the pages I marked for him the last time we studied.

“This helped?” I flick the pink tab with my finger.

“Tons! I knew what to focus on before the quiz. Oh, and hey!” He pulls his bag toward him and reaches in, exaggerating his motion as if he has to crawl inside to find something. I shake my head and roll my eyes, but really? It’s cute when he acts like this.

“Ta da!” He pulls out another quiz, this one with an eighty percent circled on the top. “Definitely not failing.”

“Logan!” I rip it from his hand. I’m truly proud. Two weeks ago I figured I’d do my best to survive a semester of frustrating review, but now? I think he’s going to pass! And the only frustration I’m starting to feel is the nagging temptation to touch him.

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