Page 17 of The Game Plan

“Same!”

This is going way better than I thought. The guys aren’t exactly verbose, but they’re hardly kicking me out. And Miles is warming up to me the longer we sit here. He’s wearing a navy Newton Football sweatshirt, his dark hair styled neatly to the side. There’s about three days’ growth of beard lining his cheeks, but it looks purposeful rather than lazy. He was clean-shaven after the game on Saturday. On Mondays in class, he has a hint of scruff, and it develops into most of a beard by Wednesdays.

He’s cute. I don’t know why I didn’t notice it before. He is good-looking already, but when he smiles that tentative half-smile, he shoots right up to a perfect 10. I don’t care that he’s on the bigger side. He’s solid muscle beneath his bulk, strong. It adds to his charm. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with him, and I hate that other people think he’s somehow less than because of his size.

I hate thathethinks he’s less than because of his size. I’ve heard the comments before. I’m what could politely be called curvy and less kindly called fat. I’m that in-between size between plus size and large. Sure, I work out all the time. I have muscles on muscles. But I also have bulk. I have a butt and hips and boobs. I’ll never be stick-thin. That’s just not me.

Eventually, I have to get to class. As much as I’m enjoying hanging out with the football guys, political science waits for nobody.

“Have a good day,” I say to the guys, lingering over their empty plates.

Barrett grunts. Tucker waves. Wes turns a page in his book.

“You, too,” Miles says, his cheeks going pink.

“Nice to meet you,” Greg says, standing when I do. He escorts me as far as the tray return receptacle before he turns back and returns to the table.

The sorority house is teeming with people by the time I arrive after classes. That’s not unusual. What I’m not expecting are the half dozen guys loitering about the living room. They’re all wearing Gamma shirts and sweatshirts, representing our brother fraternity.

“You’re late,” Wendy, our president, tells me when I walk in.

“I brought donuts,” I say, holding up the box.

“Okay, you’re forgiven,” she says. “What flavor?”

Laughing, I pop the top. I know she’s going to take the buttercream filled donut. That’s one of the reasons I got extras of that flavor. It always goes quick, as do the maple bacon logs and the red velvet cake donuts. Every week, a different sister is in charge of supplying snacks, and I know donuts are always a hit.

The meeting starts out normally enough. Tamar is sitting on the opposite side of the room with Kiersten, Haleigh, and the other girls in our class. So far, nobody has commented on our abnormal distance. Normally we’re attached at the hip. Right now I can’t even look at her without my blood boiling all over again.

“Don’t forget, formal is coming up, we’re only five weeks away,” Wendy says. “The guys are here to help. Elijah will pass around the committee sign-up lists. We’ll have Jake and Dylan on bartending duty. Sarita has already agreed to check dates’ IDs. There’s still room on the decorating committee and on cleanup duty.”

Shit. Formal. Also known as my least favorite event of the year. I hate every minute of dressing up, putting on a formal dress and heels, and finding a date for an interminably long evening of partying. Because it’s not only the formal dance. It’s the getting ready, the pictures before, the bus ride there, the dinner and dancing, and then the unofficial afterparty. It’s an ordeal.

Freshman year I took a baseball player I was kind of talking to at the time. He tried to feel me up during pictures before the bus even left, then pouted the rest of the night because I didn’t want to sleep with him. He might be the reason I’m so disdainful of baseball players now. Last year I went with one of the Gamma brothers, Jake, who had recently broken up with his long term girlfriend and wasn’t ready to commit to anyone else yet. We had a decent time, drinking and dancing, and at the end of the night, we went our separate ways. Okay, so maybe formal isn’t always so bad.

Across the room, Jake meets my eye and winks. It’s not flirty, more friendly. I’m not opposed to asking him to accompany me again, though last I heard, he and Stacey are back together.

I have no idea who I’m going to ask this year. Going dateless is simply not an option, but there is nobody even close to being on my radar. I don’t date much, preferring anonymous hookups I meet at a party and take home for a night or two. It doesn’t last much beyond that, and that suits me just fine. Not every girl is cut out for a serious relationship, and right now, I don’t think I could handle it. I have enough going on between school, softball, and my sorority obligations. I don’t have the bandwidth to devote any real attention to a guy on top of that, too. Right now, I have to prioritize myself and my existing commitments before I even think about adding anything—or anyone—else into the mix.

Immediately my mind flashes to Miles and his shy smile. Which is ridiculous, because I hardly know the guy. We’ve talked two, three times now. We’re not even friends. Although I could see it turning out that way... The faint bead of arousal rears its head again. Yeah, he’s cute. Yeah, I could see myself going out with him. That doesn’t mean he’s interested—and if he is, if he’s interested in what I have to offer. I’m not cut out for long term. Once or twice and then I’m done. I can’t do much more than that.

After the meeting, I stay for dinner with my sisters. I try to spend as much time with them as I can. I’m already disconnected from them by living in Athlete’s Village and spending every waking moment in the softball house. I’m stuck in that awkward liminal place between being part of the crowd and an outsider.

On his way out the door with the rest of the brothers, Jake comes up to me and gives me a half hug. “Hey, girl,” he says, tugging on my ponytail, and I laugh and bat his hand away.

“Hey. You looking forward to this formal?”

He makes a face. “Not really.”

“If we can’t find any other dates, you cool with going together again?” I hold my breath, half hoping.

Jake raises his pinky finger, and I lift mine. Together we shake on it, a pinky promise.

“It’s a deal,” he says. “Stace and I are… well, I don’t know. TBD, basically.”

“I get that.”

“When you going to get a boyfriend?”

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