“You just want that chick to play with you. Finally get that tiny pecker of yours some action.”
My jaw tightens and my hands squeeze into fists. I hate being reminded of my lame sexual status. Status as in, there is none. “Gimme that fucking thing. You’re such a prick, you know that?”
He kicks the ball up and catches it in his hands before pulling it close to him, like I’m about to steal his fucking beloved blankie or something. “I have a better chance of getting someone to kick this little ball around with me than you do of getting your balls played with.”
I’m starting to regret agreeing to have Carl as my dorm mate. This guy’s supposed to be my friend, my wingman. Not the one making jabs at my manhood, or lack thereof.
“Douche. You’re a real douche.” I shake my head, ignoring Carl’s smug look and dragging my hands through my hair to remove the strands that have fallen in front of my face. Damn floppy hair is obstructing my view of Blondie.
“She is pretty cute, Dec. Let’s go over to her. See which one of us she picks.”
That’s it—fucking ball’s mine. While Carl is busy musing over my new obsession I swipe the hacky sack from him and toss it over to a bunch of stoner-looking freshmen. The pattern on the ball resembles Bob Marley’s Rasta hat—they’ll like that. One Love and all that free spirited shit.
“Hey. What the fuck, man. Why’d you do that?”
“Eyes off my girl.”
“Your girl?” he laughs so hard it’s almost maniacal. “You’re delusional, bro. And I’m willing to bet my fake ID that she’ll never be your girl.”
When I see her in the library, wrapping strands of her long hair around a dainty finger, her beautiful face buried in a textbook, I decide it’s finally time to take charge of my destiny. I’m bordering on stalkerish tendencies—asking about her around campus, following her to classes. It’s about damn time I take action.
Ever since the first time I saw her at orientation four weeks ago, I knew I wouldn’t be able to rest until I at least tried to talk to her. Hell, I wanted to do more than talk to her. I wanted to kiss her heart-shaped mouth, rest my arm around her sexy still-bronze shoulders, take her on a date. And as much as I’d obsessed over her, Carl’s bet only made it more interesting. I really wanted to prove him wrong, thinking I can’t get the girl, but I could honestly give a shit less about Carl right now. I’m thinking about her, and me, and…God, I really want this girl. I feel like such a loser, but I’d spent four weeks building up courage and scrounging up information about her to get to this point.
Legs, don’t fail me now. Walk! When my two suddenly-awkward legs comprehend the order from my brain and start to move, I take a deep breath. I’d played this over and over in my head, but with my heart thundering the way it is, my script is out the damn window.
When I reach her table, staring at the back of her head; the sunlight bringing out all crazy shades of gold and yellow in her naturally highlighted hair, I blurt it out. “Hey, aren’t you in my psychology class?” I know she isn’t, but I’m just following the script.
Startled, she looks over her shoulder and the first thing that registers in this nervous brain of mine is the expression on her face. I’ve seen this before, and I’m not completely clueless. I know the look of a girl who likes what she sees. Widened eyes, roaming irises, a sheepish smile. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus, Mia likes what she sees.
She tucks some of the shiny golden hairs behind her ear, peering up at me through thick, long lashes.
I drop a hand on the back of her chair. “You’re Mia, right?” There’re those big baby browns again. The ones that took my breath away that first day I saw her. I can tell she’s surprised that I know her name. If she only knew the lengths I’d gone to find out. But it was all worth it for the smile she’s gifting me with right now. I want to be the reason she smiles like that all the time.
When I ask if I can pull up a chair, she doesn’t even hesitate. I sit then swivel around, looking in the direction of Carl a few tables over. Stupid SOB is about to eat his words and hand over that ridiculous fake ID. I’ll be doing him a favor, actually; he won’t be fooling anyone with it.
Mia’s roommate gets up from the table, leaving us alone. The conversation, in all its flirty brilliance, goes so smooth I feel like freaking Johnny Depp. Her sweet laughter warms my insides in a way that reminds me of home cooked meals. In ten minutes of speaking to this girl, I’m ready to throw the idea of freshman-year bachelordom in front of a train. Carl had talked me into trying to hook up with as many random chicks as possible in our first year here, but Mia makes me hungry for something else. Something way more serious than a dumb notch on a belt.