Page 14 of Stealing Home

Not yet. The time kinda got away from me. I’ll work on something.

Let me try first. Numbers are usually my thing, but I’d like a distraction.

It is clear really fast why I am more comfortable with numbers. After spending way too much time trying to make something that doesn’t look like a child using Word Art for the first time, I am forced to admit I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I am, however, decent with computers. I find an online graphic design site, and finally come up with something that looks halfway decent after working for about an hour.

I did it.

Three dots appear on my screen, letting me know he’s messaging me back.

Can you come down to the campus? We can print them out and get them out to the schools.

Don’t you have class?

I’ll let my prof know what I’m doing. I’m far ahead of the rest of the class right now, so I’ll be able to miss.

I don’t want to disrupt your classes. I can go to the schools.

Harlow, I told you this isn’t your responsibility. Let me help you.

I take a deep breath. I can admit I’m more than eager to see him again. This is dangerous for me because I need it too much. And I know I don’t have the strength to turn him down.

Where should I meet you?

Do you know where Stanton Hall is?

Yeah, it’s close to the Admin building.

Meet me out front in half an hour?

See you then.

I’m glad I went ahead and got ready this morning. My car is ancient and fights me the entire way to the parking lot across the street. Due to an oversight, they didn’t take my employee parking pass yesterday, so I don’t have to go through the hassle of getting a visitor tag to let me park on campus.

I see him waiting for me before he notices me. For a moment I don’t force my eyes away from him, and I let myself admire him. His long legs are encased in perfectly worn denim. The kind that looks made specifically for him. Scott leans against the brick wall of the building with one leg crossed over the other. My eyes follow thick thighs up to his trim waist. His solid stomach and chest test the limits of a deep blue t-shirt that is almost a perfect match for his eyes.

He’s looking down at his phone, possibly waiting for a text from me. His hair is shorn close to his head on the sides, while a thick blond lock flops in front of his face. My hands tremble with the desire to run my fingers through the soft strands and push his hair out of his face. I give myself a second to pretend that is a possibility.

The idea that there could ever be a scenario where I could freely touch him vanishes as I become aware of the girl trying to get his attention. She stands with her back arched, and twirling a lock of her golden blonde hair. She’s beautiful, maybe trying a little too hard, but that could be my jealousy talking. The truth is he belongs with someone like her, young, beautiful, most importantly, unmarried.

While I wasn’t one of the girls out to land a ball player when I was in college, I watched enough of them vying for the players’ attention to recognize a groupie when I see one. It’s the way she leans towards him, arching her back, and playing with her hair. She’s hanging on every word he says, but he barely pays her any attention. I have to remind myself he’s a player, just like Nando was, and that level of attention changes them. Scott might seem sweet now, but over time he’ll believe he’s as special as everyone tells him he is. The problem is that adulation doesn’t last forever and the absence of it festers.

Before he catches me watching him like a creeper, I cross the street and head his way. His head snaps up when he hears my heels click on the sidewalk and he slips his phone into his pocket giving me his full attention. That panty melting grin of his pulls up the corners of his mouth nearly knocking me on my ass when his shallow dimples show themselves.

I shake my head and laugh quietly. I mouth, “Flirt,” making his grin spread. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I’m losing the will to make him stop.

The girl trying to get his attention gives me a dirty look when she realizes I’ve managed to do what she’s failed to do for a few minutes. No longer satisfied trying to get his attention passively, she reaches out for his arm. Without hesitation he casually steps out of her reach. He isn’t being rude, but he clearly doesn’t want her to touch him.

“Hey, hotshot,” I greet him. If he’s set to ignore her, then I’ll do the same.

He grins. “Harlow, you ready to make some flyers?”

“Lead the way,” I tell him.

“Scoooott,” she bellows when she realizes he plans to leave without acknowledging her.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Katrina, I already told you, I don’t have time for lunch.”

I realize I might have judged him too harshly. He wasn’t callously ignoring her, but instead set a boundary she refused to accept.

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