Page 37 of The Wallflower and the Running Back

“What’s in the bag?” I bring it back to my chest and Rachel sits up, folding her legs in but staying close, her thigh tucked against my side.

“Only the best donuts in the state of Iowa,” she says, unrolling the bag and pulling out a golden ring glazed with bright pink frosting and party sprinkles.

“Go Nuts Donuts?” I lift a brow, hopeful.

“Like I said, only the best.” She holds the donut out for me and I sit up on my elbows, letting her feed me a bite.

“Oh, my God, that’s good. I needed that.” My gaze hits hers as I chew. She reaches forward and touches her fingertip to the corner of my mouth, picking away a sprinkle that she promptly sucks off her finger.

“I’m jealous of that sprinkle,” I say, which makes her eyes flare again.

“You are the patient tonight. No dirty talk.”

The blush on her cheeks only increases my urge, but she’s right. I actually feel pretty awful. And I don’t want my bad mood to come anywhere near the things I want to do to her. With her. For her. On her.

“Eat your donut. And give me your laptop. I’ll put on The Office.” She hands me a napkin and I follow her orders, but while she’s setting up my laptop at the foot of the bed, I do come back to the sprinkles for just a moment.

Her. Sprinkles. Everywhere. And my tongue.

“Your mom is calling back,” she says, handing me my phone and pouring cold water over my erotic imagery of me and Rachel. And Sprinkles.

13/

rachel

I knew it the second he hit the ground. My brother has been through it all when it comes to football injuries. Two concussions, that we know of. One broken rib. A tooth situation that required my mom to hunt down a carton of milk to drop his canine into until we could get to the emergency dentist. And then my brother’s knee. His was supposed to be a sprain, too. It was his senior year. It ended up being his last high school game ever, and he missed playoffs because of a tear. He probably missed out on some bigger scholarship offers too. He was never quite as dynamic because of it.

But for my brother, football was always extra. It wasn’t life. And he wasn’t nearly as amazing on that field as Logan is. I hope this sprain holds true. I hope it heals fast. And I hope he keeps the fire lit because watching him out there was breathtaking. I’ve never loved football more.

Despite what I know has been a crushing blow, Logan’s kept the proverbial sunshine out. I admire it. Maybe even aspire to it. It’s also made me glad I never entered the pool. I’ll find another way to earn money. Another scholarship. Maybe even at tonight’s Dean’s Dinner. I can be charming when I have to. Or I’ll go to Germany another time.

That’s probably not going to happen.

I’m less crushed over the whole thing now, though. Three weeks with a guy I didn’t think knew my real name before we started studying together and my perspective is shifting. Now, if I can just find the courage to ask how phony this fake dating scheme really is. Because it feels pretty real. As in, I’d really love for him to meet my brother, then maybe my parents kind of real.

I roll up my lab coat and tuck it in my satchel, along with my leather-bound notebook containing my latest experiment notes and a few copies of my embossed resume. Leaning close to the mirror, I touch up my pale pink lipstick and push the few stray hairs back into place, hoping the loose bun I pinned at the base of my neck holds up for the next three hours.

Logan isn’t going to recognize me in a black pant suit and heels. I smirk at the thought, and a part of me wonders if he’s going to like this grown-up business woman look. It’s why I didn’t want to cancel our study session. I figured I could go right from the library to the dean’s house across the street with plenty of time to spare. Plus, this way Logan would get to see this side of me. I watched his game, and he gets a glimpse of mine, rubbing shoulders with a room full of academics. The end goal is simple—secure a chemistry apprenticeship after graduation.

With my bag tucked to my side, I make my way out of the chemistry building, my heels clicking against the terrazzo floors. The clacking sound turns a few heads at the front desk, and I spot one of the first-years push his glasses up his nose as he stands to catch a view of me. It’s rare, this feeling, but I think I like this attention. I feel beautiful and smart.

It’s breezy out, so I cup my hand over my bun as I rush toward the library, pausing at the glass door to check my reflection for more stray hairs. It seems to have held up, so I head inside and stop in my tracks when I’m greeted by Logan Ford, wearing a suit and holding a rose.

“What is this?” My mouth hangs open as I drink him in. Dressed head to toe in dusty blue, his jacket hugs his muscles and his pants are snug around his hips and thighs. The crisp white dress shirt must be new because I know the man doesn’t own an iron, and his tie is pink. I step forward, taking the rose in one hand and his tie in the other as my eyes scan up and down one last time.

“You said most people have dates, and I thought—” He licks his lips, then takes a step back, palm rubbing his chin as his eyes drop down my length.

“I’m sorry, but you’re sexy as fuck,” he says through a kind but surprised laugh.

I turn slowly to show off every last bit of my Ann Taylor clearance find. These miracle black pants are sheer in places and drape my curves. I almost didn’t try them on but the manager at the store begged me to. I’m glad she did.

“Yeah?” I hum, meeting his gaze again.

He reaches up and nudges my chin, urging me closer.

“If you kiss me you’ll smudge my lipstick,” I warn.

His gaze drops a hint and he smirks.

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