The Line Between(24)

“Here, let’s get you off the ground.” Hotty McHotness stuck his hand out, and then proceeded to help me to my feet.

“Can you tell me your name?” He asked, concern marring his perfect eyebrows. His eyes were green, but where mine were clear, his were flecked with honey. A mop of shaggy blond hair hung on his forehead, damp with sweat. His cheekbones were high, his jaw firm, and his lips plump. I was so busy staring at him that I forgot he’d asked me something.

“Excuse me?”

“I asked if you could tell me your name, sweetheart.” He had a drawl, and something about his voice, and his classic good looks seemed familiar. I couldn’t quite place it, but I felt like I’d seen him before.

I shook my head, wincing, and scrambled for a reply. Your name, you idiot. K-E-N-N-E-D-Y.

“Yes, uh, Kennedy. My name’s Kennedy.”

“Kennedy,” he repeated, his pouty lips sliding up into a half-grin. “That’s a good sign. It means you probably don’t have a concussion.”

I rubbed my temple. “You should watch where you throw that thing.”

With pursed lips, Hotty McHotness replied, “You should watch where you’re walking.”

I stepped back, and gave him an incredulous look. “Are you saying it’s my fault that your ball miraculously found its way to my head? Because last I checked, balls don’t fly on their own. They have to be thrown.”

Sure, I was in a hurry, and should have been a little more observant, but the fact that this guy had the nerve to blame me for his poor sense of ball-throwing direction was starting to piss me off.

He smirked, and I noticed the way his eyes roamed my body. He was about to say something, but stopped as soon as his eyes landed on my chest. So much for chivalry. First he hits me with his ball, and now he’s not so subtly checking out my boobs. What a pig!

“Hey, buddy, my eyes are up here,” I snapped. My irritation was growing, and was only made worse by the fact that I was most definitely not going to make my class. Could this day get any worse?

No name guy choked back a laugh, and when I followed his gaze, I had my answer. Yes, this day can get worse.

My coffee had spilled all the way down the front of my dress, and I would have been happy with that if it had been the worst part. But no. Karma, or God, or whoever else had some cosmic power, had decided to take it one step further. The front of my dress had become rather see-through, if a little brown, but it was still painfully obvious that my nipples had joined in the fun and had started playing peek-a-boo. Sadly, in my rush this morning, I completely forgot to put a bra on. Not that it would’ve mattered, since I wasn’t overly ‘busty’ to begin with, but I wasn’t exactly planning on showing my goods to the world.

“You done staring at my tits, you jerk? Or can I leave now?”

My cheeks were hot, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the heat, or humidity.

“Shit, sorry. Give me a minute…” his words trailed off as he walked towards a tree not too far from where we were currently standing. I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to ignore the admiring glances of a few other male students who were walking past. Hotty McHotness came back, and handed me a football jersey. I frowned. “What am I supposed to do with this?” I was being overly rude, and I knew it, but I’d reached my limit on the shit-that-could-go-wrong-today scale and needed to get the hell out of dodge before something else went wrong.

“Put it on. It will cover up your, uh, dress.”

I hesitated for a moment, and then took the jersey from his out-stretched hand. The name ‘Ambrose’ was stitched on the back, with the number 17 below it.

“You some football hotshot or something?” I asked, slipping the too-big jersey over my head. I wasn’t knowledgeable about football, but I was willing to take a wild guess and say that 17 belonged to the quarterback.

Hotty McHotness chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck. The gesture was awkward, but somehow drew attention to the fact that he was shirtless. “Something like that.”

His skin was slick with a thin sheen of sweat, and his basketball shorts hung low on his hips. He was a walking cliché, with his tight abs, and a V that disappeared into his basketball shorts. I couldn’t help but look, despite my agitation with his less than gentlemanly like behavior.

“You about done, sweetheart?”

His voice drew my attention back to his face, and his cocky grin.

“Huh?”

Sweet baby Jesus, Kennedy. Stop blubbering like an idiot.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Do you need me to take you to Student Health?”

I huffed indignantly, and tried to hide my embarrassment. “No, but I think I need to let your coach know your throwing is off.”