More Than a Memory (4 page)

“
W
hat do
you mean you haven’t seen her?”

I take a deep, cleansing breath as Emerson grills me about Olivia. After our conversation on Monday, it became apparent she’s avoiding me.

“She keeps to herself. I can’t force the chick to hang out.”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to hang out because you say idiotic shit like
chick
when she does see you. You’re never going to find a good woman if you don’t stop being so damned misogynistic. You realize that, right?”

I want to reach through the phone and shake her, especially since she’s beginning to sound exactly like our mother.

“I thought you said she was pretty,” she says, digging even deeper.

I can’t deny my attraction to her, and wouldn’t even try. Hell, it wasn’t until I saw the look in her eye when she noticed me watching her that I realized the chemistry I’ve been feeling wasn’t one-sided. She freaked out and I haven’t seen her since.

“She has a boyfriend. Poaching girls, no matter how hot they are, isn’t my thing. You know that.”

Her indignant huff is beyond annoying.

“Drop the attitude,” I demand. “You know getting involved with her is the last thing I should consider. I’m grateful she has a boyfriend and is off-limits.”

“I bet,” she mutters, and I roll my head back, my gaze reaching skyward.

I don’t know if it’s Olivia’s proximity, but I’ve questioned my rules about hooking up with girls who aren’t available more than once—and that doesn’t sit well with me. I’ve honored our unspoken agreement to stay away from each other, and it’s not like I wouldn’t be able to control myself around her, it’s the knowledge that I really don’t want to.

Emerson starts asking me about the other girls on campus and I force her off the phone. I can’t handle her meddling this early in the morning. Just a few minutes ago, I heard Olivia head back into her room, so it’s now my turn to grab something to eat from the kitchen and head to class.

I’m taking five classes this semester—two on Mondays and Wednesdays, two on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and one four-hour class on Fridays. I must have been drunk when I made my schedule because sitting and listening to a four-hour lecture every Friday is going to be pure torture; not to mention, its Economics. Even a one-hour lecture would be bad.

I enter my class, ready for it to be over so I can get a jump on the weekend. Grabbing a seat in the back, I pull out my notebook and the textbook that costs several hundred more than it’s worth—not very economical when a book costs almost as much as a new laptop.

With ten minutes before class starts, I spend my time watching people enter the classroom. Oregon State has tons of great looking women. I’ve been blessed so far with the female pool in my first four classes this week, and I’m hoping my luck holds up. I’m not looking to get involved with a chick, but I’m not averse to doing a little window shopping, given the opportunity.

Liam walks in, catching my attention with a quick nod and wave. He stops and talks to several people before settling into the seat next to mine.

“You’re stuck in this fucking class too, huh?” He waves to a couple guys I recognize from the meeting last week as they walk in. Business is a common degree for ball players; it was the same way at Eastern.

“I was just questioning my sanity…” my voice trails off as my eyes linger on the smoking hot woman standing across the room. She doesn’t look like the other girls in class. She seems older, more mature—definitely fuckable. “Damn.”

Liam follows my gaze to the tall blonde, and my fists clench as she leans over to talk to another girl already seated. When she cuts her eyes in our direction, a devilish gleam in them, I realize she knows exactly what she’s doing. She’s well aware a mere inch of fabric is the only thing keeping her nipples from being visible for the entire class.

The sway of her hips as she straightens and makes her way over to us entrances me. My cock jumps in excitement, my eyes still glued to the deep V of her cleavage. Some women know how to flirt with a sly smile, and some know how to seduce without even batting an eye. This woman has seduction in spades.

“Simone,” Liam says, nudging my arm. “She’s a fucking tiger.”

“Boyfriend?” I ask as she stops to say hi to another guy sitting a few chairs away.

“Cleat chaser,” he mutters just before she saunters up to us. I shift in my seat and clear my throat when her eyes land square on mine before she diverts her attention to the seat next to me.

“Hey, Liam.” Her voice is raspy, but I can’t tell whether it’s her natural tone or she’s trying to sound seductive.

I’m already concerned with how much effort she put in to her appearance for an eight o’clock class, but trying too hard makes me uneasy. High maintenance women aren’t my thing, and I know her full face of makeup and the luscious curls hanging past her shoulders took over an hour to accomplish. Casual, laid back, and spontaneous are more my speed. If I show up at a girl’s house to surprise her with an impromptu date, I want her to be able to throw on some jeans and head out, not wait around while she consults websites for the best shades to wear with certain clothes.

“What’s up, Simone?” Liam asks without taking his eyes off the door. It’s clear he’s window shopping today as well. Either that, or he’s waiting for someone specific.

“Just came to say hi. I’m Simone,” she says, holding her hand out for me to shake. “Do you play ball?”

Cut right to the chase, why don’t we?

Liam huffs beside me. Cleat chasers aren’t uncommon around the diamond—hell, every sport has a group of females who follow the players’ every move. We call them jersey chasers. Some are hoping to marry a star, some just want to brag about banging an athlete, and some are just attracted to the attention hanging around a team brings. None of them really have a clue what’s actually going on during a game because they’re too busy scoping out their hopeful for the after party.

I get the feeling Simone belongs to the third group. She seems like the type who belongs to no one and everyone at the same time and loves every second of it—which is fine by me.

“Bryson, short stop.”

“Mmmm,” she purrs, taking the empty seat beside me. I ogle the bounce of her breasts in her thin top, praying her wardrobe malfunctions, but my unlucky streak that started with this class continues as her shirt holds up. Light shines off the teardrop diamond hanging around her neck and I place the blame for struggling to pull my eyes from the exposed skin of her chest on that.

Her hand lingers on mine, as if the way her eyes roam up my arm isn’t enough for me to understand her intentions. One of the benefits of being a ball player is never having to hunt for interested women. Even third strings get their fair share of attention. Gorgeous, hot as fuck women flock to athletes, and no matter how far out of my league this woman seems to be, I know she’s not. None of them are. I don’t take advantage of the girls who follow the team, but I’m not ashamed to reap the benefits.

She’s empty-handed, no books or backpack, which isn’t uncommon for students the first week of school. “You haven’t gotten your books yet?”

Liam chuckles again.

“I’m not in this class,” she says with a sweet grin.

Liam’s weight shifts beside me and he rolls his eyes as he looks in her direction over my shoulder. “Simone, you’re not registered at this school.”

Her eyes snap to him and she raises a brow, her glare glacial. I wonder if there’s any bad blood between them, or even with her and the other guys. As much as I’d like to take this chick for a ride, cleat chasers aren’t worth the turmoil they may cause for the team. I’ve met women who pride themselves on pitting team members against one another. Most are sent from rival teams as a distraction.

“I graduated over the summer,” she says, bringing her eyes back to me. “Will I see you at the party tonight?”

“We’ll be there,” Liam answers for both of us.

“I can’t wait to see you there.” She trails her finger up my arm as the teacher enters the room and places his briefcase on the lectern.

She walks away, the sway of her hips riveting me once again. I know exactly where I’d put my hands when I slam inside her for the first time. Simone is seriously on my radar.

“I hope you’re not intent on love,” Liam whispers beside me, his eyes staying on the professor as he discusses the syllabus for the semester. “That girl runs through men like Sunday morning Taco Bell.”

I laugh at his graphic description. “Nah, man. Love is not even on my radar. Just looking for a little fun.”

“Search no further. Simone is one hell of a good time.”

I look over at him to gauge his response, and even though I find nothing menacing in his eyes, I decide full disclosure is still the best way to go. “Hooking up with her a problem?”

He chuckles and covers his laugh with his hand when the teacher stops talking and locks eyes with us. The professor moves his attention back to the rest of the class and continues speaking, but Liam waits a few minutes before angling his head closer to mine. “Simone is kind of like a rite of passage. She’s the first one to jump on the new guys when the school year starts. I’m not even surprised to see her here, even though she graduated last year. You’re going to be an extra nice treat, since you’re not a freshman. Have at her, man, just make sure you wrap it up. I’m not saying she’s got anything, but she’s been around.”

I nod. Most jersey chasers jump from guy to guy, so that tidbit of information isn’t new.

“Surprisingly tight pussy, all things considered.” His smile fades and my brows draw together, thinking he suddenly has an issue with the idea, until I follow his gaze.

His eyes bore into the back of a brunette’s head as she leans in close to another guy, whispering in his ear. I turn my attention back to the teacher. Drama is something I try to avoid at all cost. Even though Liam is the closest thing to a friend I’ve found on campus, it’s not enough to go wading through his shit-storm.

M
y full bladder
reminds me I fell asleep before relieving it. I pull sweats on over my sleep shorts, but don’t bother with the hoodie. A quick trip to the restroom and back doesn’t call for the full body armor this morning. Since it’s Saturday, I don’t anticipate Bryson being up just as the sun is coming over the horizon.

The door knob moves away from my hand the second I reach for it and I freeze, my eyes wide as Bryson stands before me wearing nothing but a towel and a smile. My gaze skirts across his sculpted chest and abdomen, and I tighten my fist, my fingers itching to trace his muscles and tickle the dark line of hair leading into the plush fabric below his belly button.

His throat clears and my eyes snap up to his. He’s not even trying to avoid the awkward way I was staring at him. A knowing smirk marks his handsome face, forcing a frown to harden mine. His cocky attitude rubs me the wrong way. Combine that with the anger I feel for even being attracted to him in the first place, I’m nearly in a rage within seconds.

“I know I would normally dart off to my room after getting caught gawking at you, but I really need to pee.” I look around his arm into the bathroom. Meeting his knowing gaze is no longer an option.

When he steps past me into the hallway, the heat rolling off his skin ignites the same reaction to mine. The tiny hairs on my arms stand up, as if reaching out to him as he slides a mere inch from my body. I can’t blame him. We don’t live in a luxury condo or anything. It’s not what I wanted when I moved away from home and started college, so the hallway isn’t wide enough for two people to walk past each other without touching. Considering Bryson’s size, I’d literally have to turn sideways to get past him.

“I don’t mind you looking,” he whispers in my ear. He’s too close for comfort, a few inches inside my personal space, but that doesn’t keep my body from leaning toward him a fraction.

Straightening, I shuffle back and shut the door in his face. His chuckle pierces through the wood as I sit on the lid of the toilet, doing my best to catch my breath.

He has to go. There’s no way I can continue to live in this apartment with him. For the first time since he arrived, the urge to pack up and move home hits me. The notion is unwelcome and only lasts as long as it takes to inhale a few fortifying breaths.

His scent is everywhere in the humid room, and as much as it should unnerve me, it is actually refreshing. The aroma of Bryson’s body wash or shampoo is thick and masculine—nothing like the way I’m used to the bathroom smelling. I take comfort knowing it’s the opposite of Duncan’s scent, which has always had more of a rich, expensive edge to it.

I take care of business, but remain in the bathroom for several long moments. After getting my stupid hormones under control, I head to the kitchen for coffee, crossing my fingers Bryson already left. He doesn’t stick around much. This last week, he seemed to only be home when it was time for him to crash.

The coffee begins its dark drip into the carafe when I feel Bryson approach from the hallway. When he doesn’t say anything after a few moments, I turn around, questioning whether he walked up at all.

I wasn’t wrong. He’s leaning against the counter, a smirk on his face. I groan internally, knowing he’s going to bring up the whole towel thing. A gentleman wouldn’t mention it again, but I’m discovering Bryson Daniels is far from a gentleman.

I do my best to feign nonchalance at his presence, but hate how the sight of him makes my breath catch and nipples tighten in my tank top. His eyes move down, as if they waved a flag in his direction.

“Coffee?” I ask, ignoring my body’s reaction to him.

“Nah, I think I’ll have a beer,” he says, pushing off the counter and reaching for the handle of the refrigerator. The kitchen is almost as small as the hallway, but his hand grazing my hip as he bends down to grab his drink out of the fridge feels intentional.

I sidestep away from him. “It’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” I ask, glancing toward the clock on the microwave. It’s just after seven.

The bottle hisses when he twists off the top. Thankfully, he moves back against the other counter, putting as much space between us as the small kitchen allows. He raises his eyebrows at my words. “It’s evening, Olivia. If you didn’t sleep all day, you’d know that.”

There isn’t a hint of chastisement in his voice, just plain fact. I pull my phone out of my pocket to verify and reach over to turn off the coffee pot. No sense in drinking it now. I don’t set out to have hours opposite most people. Some days, it just happens that way.

“I’m heading to a party off campus,” he says, holding the beer out to me. “Wanna go? You can drink. I’ll drive.”

My eyes glance over his distressed jeans and nice button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I didn’t think anything of his attire before, just assumed he was getting ready for the day. And now that I think deeper, it’s still not surprising, given the time. Young, single guy dressed nice on a Friday evening, kind of par for the course, isn’t it?

The thought of a college party makes my stomach turn, even if the idea of hanging out with Bryson, regardless of the fact that I’ve been dodging him all week, is enticing. But I’ve avoided any form of social situation for months, and a smiling ball player isn’t enough to make me want to change that.

“No thank you.”

“You sure? I don’t mind. It’s my first party here, so I have no intention of getting smashed or anything.” He winks at me. “I’ll make sure you get home safe.”

“I have no doubt,” I say, walking past him into the living room. “Parties really aren’t my thing. I would normally be polite and say something like ‘not this time’, but the answer will always be no. Feel free to never ask again.”

“You don’t go to class, I’ve never seen you leave the apartment, and the only two people you speak to are your mom and boyfriend. I don’t know if that’s very healthy, Olivia.” He sits down in the armchair as I curl up on the couch.

“I didn’t realize you were a psychology major,” I snipe, reaching for the remote with every intention of turning the volume up until he takes the hint and leaves.

He leans forward and snatches the device out of my hand before I can even hit the power button.

“What do you do for fun?” He places the remote out of my reach on the table.

“Sleep,” I quip.

“Sleep is a necessity, not a means of entertainment.” His lips twitch and I contemplate asking him to tone his sex appeal down a notch, but I’m not certain he even realizes how tempting he is.

“Naps are the highlight of my day,” I tell him. “I look forward to every one I take. Sometimes I’m thinking about my next nap when I’m dozing off for a current nap.”

He shakes his head, but a beautiful smile lights his face.
Colgate commercial, anyone?

“Are you afraid to be around people? Is that another part of your germaphobia?”

I gawk at him, my hackles rising further the longer this conversation continues. “Germaphobia? Just because I like things clean does not mean I’m a damn germaphobe. And for your information, I’m not anthrophobic either.”

“I don’t know what that word means, but your brain is incredibly sexy. Do you know lots of big words?” His smirk forces me to realize he’s messing with me.

“Do you always flirt your way out of situations your mouth gets you into?”

“I usually use my mouth to get me out of those same situations.” I watch, riveted, as he licks his lips.

“Not gonna work this time, buddy.”

“Too bad,” he whispers before rising to his feet and walking out.

Guilt isn’t too far behind the closing of the front door. I know my decision to stay away from him is the right one, but it seems like I almost gravitate toward him. I fire up the TV as a means to ignore the thoughts going through my head.

The guilt triples when my daily alarm goes off, reminding me it’s time for Duncan. I feel lower than dirt when I silence the alarm and make no move to turn on my laptop.