Page 4 of Courting Clemson

“Uh-oh. That’s dangerous,” I teased.

She pulled a face in my direction. “Let’s go introduce ourselves to our neighbors. Maybe they’re some hot upperclassmen.”

“Okay!” Grace agreed and bolted to her feet in one easy move.

“Count me out,” I said, and they both looked at me like I’d just sprouted a second head. “What?”

“Why don’t you want to?” Avery asked.

“Because I’m not chasing after any guy—ever. If they want to meet me, they can come over and introduce themselves on my turf.”

“Hmmm, you have a point there,” Grace said.

“That way you establish control from the beginning. I’m no man’s doormat,” I proclaimed. Was I curious about our neighbors? Of course I was. But I also firmly believed in keeping the upper hand in a relationship.

I was raised in a household where my mother was so subservient to my father, it made my skin crawl. I never said anything to her because she was happy as a clam in that role. Some women were. It just wasn’t my comfortable space.

“I’m going to finish unpacking and breaking down these boxes so I don’t miss tomorrow’s trash pickup. We don’t have the extra room to have all these empty boxes lying around.”

“Good call,” Grace agreed first. “Right after we go meet the neighbors.”

“I like the way you think, girl,” Avery said and offered her raised hand for a high-five.

Grace smacked her palm and said, “Let me go freshen up, and we’ll go.”

Chapter Two

Clemson

The first semester came and went. On most days, classes were boring and nearly unbearable. Focusing had never been easy for me, and now that classes were longer, it was even harder. Sitting in a lecture hall for two hours at a pop was going to be the slow, painful death of me. My spirit was already a casualty, and I feared my sanity would be close behind.

As in high school, the highlight of every day was the time spent in the pool. Three days a week, I had a short practice in the morning and then a full session every day from five to eight p.m.

The school’s natatorium was newly remodeled and easily my favorite place on campus. I got lost in my own thoughts in the water. All I had to engage were my muscles, and at this point, they almost worked involuntarily to glide me through the water.

By the time I got home each night, I barely had the energy to study before crashing face down in my comfy bed. More times than I could count, I woke up to the sunrise blasting in through my open blinds, still dressed in my post-workout joggers and hoodie.

When accepting the scholarship for the swim team, I suspected I’d have a very full schedule. Practices and weight training were mandatory, along with community service missions and team-building outings. My social life was nonexistent outside the friends I’d made on the team and my roommates. But even with my teammates, on the occasion we made plans, we usually collectively canceled because we were all so exhausted.

My roommates did not have the same problem, however. They were courteous enough not to party in our own house—very often, at least. Before moving in together, we had all agreed we didn’t want our place to be a gathering spot, and they were sticking to the ground rules. They knew I had certain grades and commitments that had to be maintained or I’d lose my financial support.

For the most part, I didn’t mind the pace I was keeping, but I dreaded getting my grades in the next two weeks. I’d been expertly dodging looking at them all semester because I knew I’d be disappointed. Now, legitimate panic was setting in that I was failing more than one course. Not much could be done this late in the semester, so I spent a lot of time regretting not being more attentive to my academics.

Lesson definitely learned, but I wasn’t sure if I’d get a second chance. The rules were clearly defined in the paperwork that I signed regarding the school’s and team’s expectations. Bottom line—if I lost the financial aid provided by the scholarship, I’d have to head home.

That was the last thing I wanted to do. Now that I was out of that house, I never wanted to go back. All my sisters—even Shepperd—had moved out and were living their best lives with the men of their dreams. I wouldn’t be surprised if I had to shell out the bucks for three bridesmaid’s dresses in the next year. I was over-the-moon happy for all of them and, honestly, a little jealous.

My own dating life sucked at the moment. Well, I didn’t have one to speak of and barely got out to meet anyone new or even score a casual hookup. My roommates were amazing company, but by the midpoint of the second semester, I was really getting lonely. So, when I overheard some of my teammates talking about the guys they’d been hanging out with, I eavesdropped to learn more.

The tall, stunning redhead on our team was at the center of the conversation. Everyone called her Charlie, but I suspected it was short for something else. Two others were talking excitedly about the weekend trip they were taking, and she listened attentively, beaming like a proud parent. Maybe she had set them up? They all definitely were running in the same crowd based on what I was hearing.

One of the girls must have noticed me inching closer to their group and finally said something.

“Hey, Clemson, great practice today.”

“Thanks.” I smiled, grateful she didn’t call me out on eavesdropping.

“What are you up to this weekend? Headed home?” she asked. I think her name was Shelly. Maybe Sheila?

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