First and Goal (Moving the Chains #1) (4 page)

His handsome face belies an almost boyish charm that is enhanced by his light brown hair, slightly dimpled right cheek, and sparkling blue-green eyes that seem to change color depending on the occasion. He has honest to God mood eyes. They’re so fucking disturbing.

Girls swoon and offer to drop their panties when he walks by, but for the life of me, I just don’t understand it. A physique like his is such a freaking turn OFF.

I mean, sure, he’s gorgeous. I’m not blind. But it makes no sense that women are so attracted to that kind of power and strength. It’s like they don’t understand that it could be turned against them in a moment’s notice.

He could undoubtedly snap my neck without even trying. I can’t fathom how much damage he could do during rough sex and yet, he never seems to be short on offers for it. Male objectification is every bit as rampant as female objectification in society. Both are disgusting. Whatever happened to being attracted to brains, wit, personality?

Sadly enough, he used to have those traits in spades. They all seemed to vanish mysteriously last year when he suddenly turned into a stereotypical obnoxious jock. I can’t explain his seemingly overnight transformation, but it’s always bothered me. It’s like he woke up one morning and decided to join the ranks of his teammates, shedding his old skin like a snake does when it grows.

His new personality drives me nuts, and I’m barely treading water being partnered with him in AP bio. No matter how icy I am towards him, he just doesn’t seem to get it. He keeps trying to charm me like I’m one of his stupid groupies. Luckily for me, I’m onto his game and not about to fall for his act. I clearly need to step up my own game, because dumb jocks like him don’t take subtle hints.

I glance behind me once more as our worthless instructor drones on about the next chapter. Rob’s already staring at me with an unreadable expression, so I do the only thing I can do at this point: scoff, turn around, and pretend like nothing’s wrong. Weakness only excites horny guys after all.

I
keep my eyes trained on Evie as I enter the room and slowly sink onto the stool beside her. She sits there stiffly, her arms crossed over her chest like a shield. As promised, the first questionnaire packet sits in the middle of our shared desk. Evie’s eyes remain stubbornly focused on the paper. She was mostly silent last week in class, so I thought maybe she was warming up to me. Her objections in calc killed that idea.

“When, um…” I clear my throat, but she doesn’t bother to glance my way. “When do you want me to tutor you? We should probably set up a schedule.”

“I have band practice right after school and work after that. I don’t have time,” she fires back without missing a beat.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, repeating the mantra I first came up with last winter.

Being shy and timid won’t get you anything. If you want something, you have to work for it. Speak up and quit being a coward. Just play the part. Never let them see your weakness.

I roll my shoulders and wrap fake confidence around myself. If only it was as easy as putting on pads and my helmet before I step on the field. Every day that I force myself to be someone other than me, it gets a little easier. But sitting next to this girl requires extra protection.

“Listen, I know you failed the first quiz. I sit close enough to you; I saw your grade. And I know math hasn’t ever been your strongest subject. There’s no reason for you to struggle through it this year. Let me help you. I really don’t mind.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you don’t mind since there’s something in it for you.”

Well, that stings.

“A recommendation letter from your calc teacher really doesn’t mean anything to recruiters, so there’s actually nothing in it for me except helping you.”

Her laughter is bitter. “And why would you deign to be so benevolent to me if there’s nothing in it for you?”

I study her for a beat. We haven’t spent much time together, but our shared friends mean that we at least exist in the same social circle. “I’ve always thought of us as friends, Evie. Why wouldn’t I want to help you?”

Her blue eyes practically pop out of her skull when she finally graces me with a direct gaze. “What in the hell makes you think we’re friends? Just because you and Mike are tight doesn’t mean that you and I are. And
don’t
call me Evie.”

All right, that’s fair. Time to change tactics. “Uh, I’ve called you Evie for years. Maybe not very often, but it’s never seemed to bother you before.”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t used to be an asshole before.”

Evie Papageorgiou hates me.

Saying I had mixed feelings about pulling her name out of the basket last week would be an understatement. It could’ve been worse though. I might have picked someone that would’ve made this class more like a date than biology.

It’s always the same crap anytime group work is assigned. I do all the work, and they do all the flirting. It gets old real fast. Especially since I have zero interest in them. The problem is that I’ve had my eye on the same girl since ninth grade.

Yeah, that’s me. I’m the big, bad football jock who is a closet loser and has been pining away for years over a girl who couldn't care less about me.

She was nice to me during freshman year when the only friends I had were the few who transferred from Our Lady like me. Back then, no one else was lining up to get to know me.

These days it seems like no one remembers the skinny, dorky fifteen year old that I used to be. All my friends were bigger than me, even if I was taller. They were already building muscle mass, growing facial hair, and landing dates. I was just trying to work up the nerve to speak. On the football field, I was finally finding my groove. Off the gridiron, painfully shy was a more accurate description. Even my coaches were shocked as hell when I bulked up and seemed to come out of my shell the summer before sophomore year. Some things didn’t change though. I didn’t have the balls to talk to girls the way my friends did. The pretty girl who caught my eye was no exception.

My circle of friends grew as I became familiar with all the guys on the various teams I joined. Soon that sweet girl was pushed aside by other girls who didn’t care whether or not I was interested because they clearly were.

None of them mattered. All I could see was her.

The girl I wanted was so far out of my league though. The more I watched her, the more that painful fact became clear. Still, I couldn’t quite bring myself to give up hope that she could be mine. I spent the next two and a half years waiting for the right opportunity…or for the guts to go for it.

Then last year, right smack in the middle of basketball season, she started dating someone else. I was fucking furious. Out of all the guys that constantly tried to get her attention, the one she chose was a total douche bag.

My girl always seemed so intelligent and down to earth. She never acted like all the other jersey chasers. Out of nowhere, she chose the worst possible contender. It didn’t make any sense. Hell, it still doesn’t.

I knew deep down that I had no one to blame except myself. If I only had the balls to ask her out first, maybe she would have been with me instead of the shit-for-brains she chose. I just couldn’t let go of my anger over the whole situation. That one single moment when I saw him kissing her in the hall destroyed me. That mental image burned into my brain until it turned me into some kind of rage-driven monster that I never knew was lurking inside me. I became Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Bruce Banner and the Hulk. I haven’t been the same since.

My dream girl’s short relationship ended in unimaginable embarrassment for her. I should’ve been ecstatic, but suddenly everything was different. She completely changed and hell, so did I.

I told myself that if I ever did get another chance with her, I wouldn’t waste it. I’m not holding out much hope. I still have no idea what to say to this perfect creature. I’ve got no freaking clue how to make her mine. Even after everything that’s happened, she’s still so beautiful, so perfect, so out of my league. If the universe is trying to tell me to get my shit together and make a play, it’s now.

Because Evie Papageorgiou is my bio partner and newly appointed calc student. And even after three years and rough water under the bridge, she’s still the undisputed star of my wildest dreams every night.

“I want you to know,” she whispers so our teacher won’t overhear, “that I’m just going to lie on all of these questions.”

And oh, that’s right. She hates me.

“If that’s how you wanna play it, then I’m gonna mix up my lies and truths, and you’ll never know which is which.” I read the first question before she punches me. “All right, question number one: If you could pick anyone in the world, who would you invite to dinner?”

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Well, you of course! You’re obviously the best thing like, ever!”

Her cheerleader impression is flawless.

“Haha, very funny. All right, um, I’d pick… wow. I don’t know. This is hard. Um…” Godammit, brain, work. It’s no wonder she thinks I’m an idiot.

“Well, I can see we’re gonna get through all of these today,” she mumbles, leaning against the table on one elbow and winding a strand of her curly, dark hair around her finger absentmindedly. That sight only serves as a further distraction to me. Shit like that is so annoying when other girls do it purposely, but hot as hell when she does it for no reason at all.

“Sorry. I can’t decide. Uh…Elon Musk.”

She raises her eyebrow at me. I think, hope, maybe she’s going to ask me about my man crush on the real life Tony Stark, but she just reads the next question. “Two: Do you want to be famous? How so?”

“Oh, easy. Yes, and football.”

“Of course,” she rolls her eyes again. “Yes, and I want to be a porn star. I’m already training.”

Controlling the flash of anger that courses through my veins at her answer brings a sheen of sweat to the surface of my skin. “Your sarcasm is noted. Three: Do you ever rehearse what you will say before making a phone call?”

“Obviously. Especially when I’m tricking. My pimp gives me my lines.”

In my mind, I wrap my arms around her and promise no one’s ever gonna screw with her again. In reality, I answer the question. “No, because I really only talk to Alex, Mike, and my mom.”

She laughs, but it’s so fake it makes me cringe. “Four: What is your idea of a perfect day?”

“Watching your porn all day, obviously.” I cannot believe those words just came out of my mouth.

“Disappearing,” she answers quietly, fiddling with the corner of her notebook.

“That one wasn’t a lie. Why would you want to disappear, Evie?”

“Oh, right. Because after watching my porn all day, you’re suddenly an expert at detecting if I’m lying or not? God, you disgusting jocks are all the same.”

At a total loss over what to do with this situation, I find myself wishing for the millionth time that life came with a playbook. Instead of pushing her, I just read the next question. “Five: When was the last time you sang to yourself? When was the last time you sang to someone else?”

“Uh,” she exhales slowly but forcefully. “I sing all the time, but I’m in choir, so that’s no big surprise.”