Over the Middle: A Sports Romance (6 page)

I'm warmed again when Carrie brushes a lock of her cornsilk blonde hair behind her ear, smiling shyly. I realize she doesn't know how hot she really is, maybe because of the weight loss, maybe because of her keeping her nose in the books too much. But as confident as she is academically or when it comes to training, she's just as shy and insecure in the social realm.

I take her hand. “Come on, Carrie. I promise I'll behave myself, all right?"

"All right," Carrie says, giving me a little smile, and we get to work. She's got a knack for explaining things, better than the teacher's aide who's been trying to get through to a lecture hall of fifty people who can barely understand what he's been saying, and the time flies. Carrie and I are both surprised when the chimes in the library ring, and we realize that we're only fifteen minutes from the library’s closing. "Whoa."

"Yeah," I say, laughing softly. "This has been the best study session I've ever had. And you do make it a lot more interesting than my major courses."

"Which are?" Carrie asks, then shrugs. "They didn't tell me. Coach Taylor just told me you asked for my help on a biology class."

"I'm a management major," I reply, putting my book back in my backpack. "I figure it'll teach me enough to keep my shit together next year when I'm in the pros. A little bit of business, a little bit of leadership, you know . . . stuff that could be useful."

Carrie nods and closes up her own backpack. "You're smarter than that, though. I've seen it. Why do you insist on limiting yourself to being just a football player?"

"I'm more than
just
a football player," I reply. "I'm an exceptional football player. But as to why . . . well, tell you what. Go out with me, and maybe I'll tell you."

Carrie shakes her head. “Not interested in a team party again. I already told you that."

Carrie goes to stand up, but I put my hand over hers, and she stops. "I'm serious, Carrie. No team party, no frat house, nothing like that," I say, and I'm surprised in that I actually am being honest. I want to spend time with her, not just find a way to fuck her. "Just you, me, and maybe a pizza? Stagglione's just off campus makes a pretty mean deep dish."

Carrie considers it for a moment, then shakes her head. "Nope." She sees the disappointment in my face and breaks out in a grin. "I don't like Stag's. But, if you make it the Bangkok House on the other side of campus, I might be tempted."

I grin, and the chimes play again. We've got five minutes to get out now. "Okay, Bangkok House it is. How about tomorrow night, say eight? I'd say Saturday, but after Clement, I might not be in the mood for a date."

"A date, huh?" Carrie teases as we walk toward the exit of the library. "Why, Duncan Hart, I think I might be the first girl in at least a semester you have actually asked out on a date, and not what your reputation says you normally invite girls to."

It's my turn to blush slightly, and Carrie takes my hand when we go outside, walking down the long steps to Allen Quad, and yeah, it's the same Allen that the stadium is named after. Being stupid levels of rich means you get to put your name all over the university you give your money to. "Well, I guess you could say that—”

"If you can keep yourself under control, I think a date with you might be a lot of fun," Carrie says, and suddenly, she gets onto her tiptoes, kissing me on the cheek. "Have a good night, Duncan. See you for taping tomorrow."

Carrie starts to walk away, but she turns and looks back. "By the way, I wouldn't worry about Clement," she says, just on the edge of the circle of light from the library lamps. "As good as you've been doing, they should be the ones worried."

"Who knew you were romantic?" I toss back, and Carrie laughs, giving me a wave. As she walks away, I notice that she's not wearing stuff as oversized as she used to. It's a subtle change, but I can start to see the faintest outlines of her dynamite figure in her clothes, and I watch until she disappears into the night, heading toward her dorm room. I shake my head, and I'm smiling as I get on my bike and fire it up, heading back to my apartment.

A date. For Thai food. God, I feel like such a goofball.

T
he Bangkok House
is not just a restaurant, but a cafe as well, and with the late summer heat breaking slightly to the cool of early fall, I'm glad that the waitress seats Duncan and me at an outdoor table.

"Wow," Duncan says for the second time, and I feel the warmth creeping up my cheeks. I took half an hour standing in front of my closet before picking my dress, one of the cutest I own. The wide shoulder straps and relatively high-cut neckline help support the built-in light bra while I can still wear another underneath, and the tummy area is tighter than I would ever feel comfortable wearing in normal situations, but if Duncan is going to ask me out on a date, then I want to look good.

I feel buzzed, and I understand more about the personal magnetism that is Duncan Hart. "So how was practice today?" I ask as the waitress brings around our drinks, Coke for him, lemon water for me. "Sorry, Coach T had me working the training room all afternoon, doing ultrasound and contrast therapy with the girls on the volleyball team. By the way, Linda says hi."

"Yeah, I bet." Duncan chuckles and takes a sip of his drink. "It went well, but to be honest, I'd rather talk about anything but football. You'll get a whole view of that this Saturday. By the way, speaking of Linda, someone told me that I ran you over in the hallway that day when I said something to her the day before we met. Is that true?"

I nod, laughing. "You plowed me over pretty good. You were wearing your sling and never even gave me a second glance."

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t hold it against me. These past few months—they've been some good times."

"Thanks, I guess . . . for me, too," I say, and I know I'm blushing, but I can't help it. "I still don't know why you asked me out, though—I’m not going to be a booty call. There are lots of girls on campus who’ll be that, I’m sure.”

I'm surprised that, instead of denying it or playing it off, Duncan just accepts what I say as a fact. "There are, but I don’t want them. I’m done with that.”

I'm stunned, and I blink, making sure my ears are still working. "Say what?"

"I don’t want those girls,” Duncan says simply, giving me one of his heart stopping smiles. I know I'm too young and in good enough shape to be having a heart attack, but damn if it doesn't feel that way right now. "I want you. Especially after you came in that dress."

“Please. It's not my best look," I say, looking down, but Duncan stops me, his fingers lifting my chin. "I mean, it’s a nice dress, but I need to lose a few. I shouldn’t have worn it."

Duncan starts laughing, and at first, I’m a little pissed. "You really don't know, do you?"

I sit there in silence, unable to take my eyes from his. He shakes his head, his eyes intense, and I pull back, unable to handle it. “Don't tease me, Duncan.”

He reaches beneath the table and rests his hand on my thigh, just over my dress. "I'm not teasing," he says softly. “You’ve got the sexiest legs I've ever seen, beautiful hair, and don’t get me started on your eyes,” he says and starts running his hand up higher.

I don't know what to say, so I say nothing, but when the waitress comes back, he pulls his hand from my thigh. I can still feel it there, a ghost of it just about halfway up my leg, and I wish it had gone higher. It gives me confidence, and I order my Tom Yum soup without any reservations or trying to eat like a bird in front of him. Duncan orders a big plate of Pad Thai, giving me a grin. "We can share if it's more than I can handle, right?"

"I doubt there are many things you can't handle . . . if you put your mind to it," I reply, and I’m surprised that I’m flirting back with him as he reads the meaning of my words.

"That's more like it. You know, when you first started working with me, you were the first person outside the coaches to get in my face and not back down around campus. At least, I can't think of the last time someone called me a lazy bastard without catching a helmet in the teeth."

"It worked, didn't it?" I laugh, sipping at my water. "You know, you surprise me."

“How’s that?”

"Well, you have this public image—this cocky asshole, no offense, that is Duncan Hart. The guy who rocks the tatts, the motorcycle, the trash talker, on and off the field. That guy, by the way, I would never have accepted an invitation to dinner with."

"Yet you're here with me now," Duncan says, setting down the fork that he's twirling point-first on the tabletop.

"Because there's another Duncan Hart, I suspect," I say. "The guy who didn't go off like a child when I needled him during workouts, but just bore down and pushed harder. The guy who asked and listened when we were in the library yesterday. The guy who is taking management courses because he doesn't want to be just a dumb jock."

“Maybe,” Duncan says, his hand warm as it takes mine. "But remember, I could be just doing that as an act, trying to get into your pants."

I laugh and lean in until we're close. "Duncan, in case you haven't noticed . . . I'm not wearing any pants."

We're so close that I can feel his breath on my lips, and I want to kiss him so badly that I'm willing to let go of my nervousness, but before we can close that last little gap between us, a voice interrupts us.

"Well, Duncan, so nice to see you!"

We part, and I look up to see a lean redhead coming up with some other girl, both of them practically wearing a designer catalog on their fashion-model bodies, all tight jeans, pearled tops that hug their size-four bodies, and perfectly coiffed hair. They both are screaming sorority with their body language, and the disdain in their eyes when they see me is evident.

Duncan, however, seems happy to see them, and smiles widely. "Tiffany! Mandy! How nice to see you. What's got you here on a Wednesday night?"

“We were invited to a new club that's opening this weekend, but the owner's having a special sneak peek event," Tiffany titters, pointing down the block. "Since Mandy and I don't have morning class, we were going to check it out. What about you? You can even bring your . . . friend."

The way she says
friend
lets me know that she’s jealous, but I keep my mouth shut. Girls like Tiffany have always intimidated me. They were the ones, back in high school, who were driving new cars while I had to ride the bus or hitch a ride with some of my teammates on the softball team if my parents couldn't pick me up from practice. They had the nicest clothes, the hottest guys, and all the perks, while I had a softball bat and calluses on my palms.

Now I'm confronted by not just one, but two girls like this, and I realize that I'm out on a date with a guy who is one of them. Duncan is a hot shot, one of those guys that every guy wants to be and every girl wants to be with. I'm looking at Tiffany, and she's practically got '
Fuck Me, Duncan'
written on her forehead, but he’s sitting back and taking it in stride. He doesn't understand.

“We'll see. What's the name of the place?"

"Blowouts," Tiffany says, emphasizing the
blow
part. I wonder, if I wait long enough, would she get under the table and suck him off right here? "It's two blocks that direction."

“All right. For now, though, I need to fuel up from practice," Duncan says. "Check you girls later."

"Sounds good. Duncan, and . . . well, anyway, see you," Tiffany says, walking off before I can even tell her my name. Duncan watches them for a second, then turns his eyes back to me, where he sees that I'm not happy.

"What?"

"You didn't even introduce me, Duncan. That's pretty rude, you know?"

He shrugs and spreads his hands. "I figured you were going to speak up any second. You know, the way you stood up to me, I didn't think those sorority sluts would get you like that. Chill."

"Chill? You treated me exactly how they think of me—that I’m beneath them. And I saw Tiffany's face. You've given her the full effect, haven't you?" I shouldn’t be getting jealous, but I can’t help it.

"She's never had the pleasure of having a Hart Attack," Duncan says, and I gawk at him. He has a fucking nickname for his sex skills? What the fuck?

“You think that makes it all right?” I ask, standing up and folding my napkin. "No offense, but I'm not in the mood to play invisible good-time girl for your Hart Attack any time soon. I won’t be a side piece.”

"Carrie, come on!" Duncan says, getting up and stepping in front of me. "We were having a good meal, and I thought a good date. Let's go back to that, okay? Listen, I'm sorry that I didn't introduce you to those girls, but what's the point? They're not the kind to take a liking to you anyway."

“So you’d rather keep your playmates separated by social class?" I ask, now fully pissed off. "No thanks,
Touchdown
." I make sure to emphasize Touchdown to let him know how mad I am.

He recoils, his face darkening as he finally feels the anger I've been feeling for the past few minutes. "Carrie, I'm not like that, and I think you know it. Sure, I’m no saint, but a lot of my reputation is built on rumor."

"Whatever. I’m not sure I believe that, but maybe we should just keep it semi-professional between us. I'll tape you up and help you in science, but other than that, I don't intend to let myself be given the
Hart Attack
any time soon. Good night, Duncan."

* * *

"
D
o
you want to talk about it, honey?"

I'm back in my dorm room, a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios in my left hand while I have a huge spoon in my right. "What do you mean, Mom?"

Mom is on the other end of the Skype call, her own blonde hair pulled back and her face filled with concern. "Carrie, you never call on weekdays unless something is up, and you never eat cereal like that unless you're upset about something. In fact, the last time I saw you with a bowl that big was . . . well, I think it was when Dale James broke up with you right before the prom."

"Yeah, thanks for that memory," I grump, unable to help myself even though I know Mom didn't mean anything by it. "Just . . . had a bad date tonight, that's all."

"So that's why your hair is still up." Mom chuckles. "Be glad your dad is out on the road tonight. He'd be more concerned than I am. He still doesn't understand that you're not his little girl that needs to have her scraped knees kissed away any longer."

Dad is a long-haul trucker, which is good money, but it meant he couldn't spend as much time at home as a lot of other parents. It makes him overprotective. "I'll get over it. Just a guy from the football team who thought he could play me."

"I see. He must be cute," Mom teases, and I have to laugh. Mom has always used humor to get me out of a funk.

"Mom! Okay, okay, he's gorgeous. But . . . we're just from different worlds, that's all."

She nods and goes to say something, but there's a knock at my door. "Well, honey, sounds like you've got a visitor. I'll let you go. If you need anything, give me a call, okay? And Dad should be home Friday night. He's excited to see the Western game. You guys are going to be on national TV—he's hoping that maybe he can see you on the sidelines."

I laugh. That's so him. "Okay, but the most he’s going to get is a half-second side shot if he's lucky. See you later. Love you."

The knock at my door comes again, and I get up, already calling out, "Hold on, hold on!"

I open the door and see Chelsea Brown in the hallway, a smile on her face. "Hey, Carrie. What's wrong?"

"What is it? Do I have a sign over my head that says I had a bad night?" I ask, stepping back into my room.

"Your hair is up, you're wearing a pajama t-shirt even though it's barely nine o'clock, and to be honest, I didn't even think I'd find you here. I was coming to drop off some notes from Coach Taylor. I was gonna leave them on your desk. Guess your date didn't go very well?"

I give Chelsea an only slightly surprised look, then just shake my head. Fuck it. I'm just not used to this level of social scrutiny. "How'd you know?"

"Duncan was happy as hell about it during practice," Chelsea says, and I remember she worked football practice today while I was running a rehab session with Rita Smothers of the tennis team. "He even shut down a couple of the guys who tried to give him shit about it. I figured you'd still be out for another couple of hours. What happened?"

"Tiffany and Mandy happened," I say. "Couple of sorority row girls who came by with dismissive looks for me and open legs for Duncan. They practically begged him to go to some new club with them. He . . . he didn't exactly stick up for me."

Chelsea nods, as if she's seen it before. “I know what you mean.”

"You too?"

“Not with Duncan, but yes, I know what you mean. It's in the past, and I’d like to keep it that way, no offense. By the way, here are the notes. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I say, taking the notes. "See you, Chelsea."

It's about twenty minutes later that I hear a motorcycle rev its engine outside, a Kawasaki, I know for sure, and I finally let a tear trickle down my cheek.