something 'bout you

by don't boop my nose

football player, austin moon isn't a big fan of coffee or studying, but he sure is a fan of the starbucks barista with long brown hair with chestnut highlights and those big brown eyes. in fact, he'd like to shout for an encore all night long, preferably in his bed. austin/ally ooc.

2. Chapter 2

Ally

When I get home, I find my two roommates installed in front of the television eating ice cream and watching Say Yes to the Dress. While none of us is even dating, we seem curiously addicted to the show. I think it's because we have shitty relationships with our moms and this show is all about the momma and daughter drama.

"Tell me there's a half gallon left of that." I don't wait for an answer but throw my backpack on the chair and start rummaging in the freezer. If there was ever a night for real cream, sugar, butter and eggs, tonight was it. I need some relief after talking with Austin Moon. His number has implanted itself in my head followed by the words call me.

"I was going to ask how your mock trial practice went, but since you're shoving ice-cream into your face like tomorrow is the last day on earth, I'm guessing it was shitty?" Piper rests her pointed chin on the edge of the sofa. Her blonde hair clashes against the rich red velvet of the cushion.

"Shitty is too nice of a word to describe how poorly it went." I throw myself into one of the two Papasan chairs that Piper contributed to the decor and dig into the ice-cream. The icy tartness hits my tongue, and some of my agitation melts away. "But it's early. We still have a lot of time." Regionals are right before Spring Break so there are nearly two whole months for us to get our act together.

"Don't get too comfortable," Carrie, my other roommate, informs me.

I pause, my spoon halfway to my mouth, and narrow my eyes. "Why not?"

"Remember 1C complaining about cockroaches?"

"What now?" 1C is an apartment inhabited by two Stepford Wives in the making-both blondes with stick straight hair, identically styled. Every time I've seen them, they're wearing headbands. Who above the age of eleven still wears headbands? Even if their matching hairstyles didn't remind me of the plastic women from the infamous novel, the robotic looks on their faces and the fake smiles they wear creep nearly everyone out.

But the number one reason we don't like 1C is because they complain all of the time, and they regularly canvas the apartment complex to get others to sign on to their complaints. They've complained about everything from noise (it's a goddamned college apartment complex) to garbage (too many pizza boxes stuffed down the trash chute) to non-resident visitors after ten (again, we're goddamned college students).

"They got enough people to sign their maintenance petition, so an exterminator crew is coming next Tuesday. You can keep your stuff here, but you'll have to find a place to stay."

I do a quick calculation in my head. Five days. I'm not even convinced that they saw a cockroach. I don't like changes in my routine. I can already feel my anxiety ratcheting up. Change is not my favorite thing in the world. I live by my routine. "That's bullshit."

"I know," Piper says glumly. "I'm staying at the house. I asked if you could come, but they're so strict. We're still in pledge mode, so only full sisters can stay." Piper belongs to the Alpha Phi sorority whereas Carrie and I are those Goddamned Independents or GDIs as Piper calls us affectionately. I'd have pledged a house if it didn't cost an arm and a leg. I have to save those limbs to pay for graduate school.

"Where are you staying?" I ask Carrie.

"I've decided that Landon is worth a second night," she admits. "Basically I'm sexing him up so I have a place to stay. Let's hope he doesn't expect a third time around because if tomorrow is anything like Saturday night, I'm going to have to diddle myself to have an orgasm once he falls asleep."

"I think I'd rather stay here and be exterminated." I grimace. "I suppose I can stay with Dallas. He'll be back by then and there's so many bedrooms in his house that at least one will be free."

"Speaking of our vaunted Gators, guess who finally showed up in my Public Safety class." Piper waggles her eyebrows.

Apparently someone hot and sexy. "Dunno. Coach Simmons?" I tease.

"No! Austin Moon."

"Who's that?" Carrie doesn't know a thing about football. She fell asleep during the one game we watched together here in our apartment. And the live games? Forget about it. She left after the first quarter. Piper sometimes attends with her sorority sisters if it's part of some fraternity exchange party but otherwise, they have zero interest in the game. The players, on the other hand? They are interesting but Dallas and I made a pact. No pissing in the other's pool. I don't date football players and he doesn't mess with my roommates.

"He's on the defense," I explain. "Linebacker. Will be a pro after his senior year." I look at my spoon and then down into the half-empty carton of Fruity Mint Swirl. I should probably stop.

"He's this huge mountain of sweet male meat," Piper shares with Carrie. "He's got this beautiful blond hair that I crave to touch and hazel eyes. I swear they're fake. Are they?" The question is directed at me.

I drag my attention away from the icy treat and to my two roommates who are looking at me with intense interest. "I have no idea. I've never talked to him. Dallas hangs out with the offense, mostly Elliot and Gavin, more recently." Elliot's the running back, and Gavin is a new guy-a tight end with magic hands that never seem to drop a pass and with sticky feet that somehow always manage to stay inbounds. "I think Moon is best friends with Dez Wade and Jace. According to Dallas, anyway. I don't hang out with his teammates."

Well, I did once. Operative word being once. The one time I went to the Gas Station, the preferred hangout place for the football team, Dallas was swallowed up by well-wishers. He forgot I was there, and I had little interest in being shoved around by the mass of people trying to slap his back.

He'd apologized the next day, but I didn't go out with him again. When we do hang out, it's usually here although I've been over to his house a few times. I try to avoid that because nine times out of ten, someone is having sex in the living room or the kitchen. Dallas says it's because sex is an athletic activity, no different than lifting or running.

"Ohhhhh," Carrie breathes out. "I had Intro to Communications with Dez first semester sophomore year."

"Carrie, are you blushing?" Piper exclaims. Carrie is not a blusher. She can rip off the bawdiest statement as if she's standing in church reciting the Lord's Prayer, so this slight reddening of her cheeks is highly unusual. "You are! What did you and Wade get up to?"

"Nothing." Carrie grins ruefully. "Unfortunately. I threw myself at him several times, but he never noticed."

"He's a dog. You are better off," I offer comfortingly. I don't know the defense well, but most of the single guys, Dallas included, freely partake of what their elevated social status provides-a never-ending line of college girls wanting to know what it's like to sleep with a star. It's one reason I'd never date a football player. They don't know how to hit the "off" button once they're not on the field anymore. Life's a big fat game to them, and girls are just objects they move around on the board.

"A hot one," Carrie admits.

"And his hot dog has probably been licked so many times he's on the WHO list of dangerous diseases," I retort.

Piper waves her hands, the multitude of bangles clanging cheerfully against each other. Piper would never be able to sneak up on anyone. She wears too much jewelry. "Who cares? I can't stop staring at this Austin guy. He's always wearing short-sleeved shirts, no matter how cold it is outside, and when he takes notes, his biceps muscle flexes. I swear the room gets ten degrees warmer when he walks in. I'd love to give him a little ride."

"It'd only be for one night," I caution.

Piper shrugs. "Again, who cares?"

Carrie disagrees. "Here's my theory. I think guys do one-night stands because their egos can't take the blows that a more sober second hookup would deliver. They don't want to hear they are bad in bed, so they do one-time-only events."

"What's our excuse for our lack of regular companionship?" I joke.

None of us has had a decent relationship since we came to college. I broke up with my high school boyfriend a month into my freshman year. Carrie has tried to date guys on and off, but when none of those relationships panned out, she's settled for random hookups with guys like Landon. Piper was madly in love with one of the basketball players, but he graduated in December and hasn't called her since, thus confirming my anti-athlete bias.

"We're looking for the unicorn," Carrie says. "The guy who's a good lay and decent out of bed."

"I had a good lay once," Piper informs us. "Two years ago. Spring Break. Greece." She fires out details like they're bullets shooting from a gun. "That guy from the Philippines had a tongue like a snake."

"That's a terrible visual." I shudder.

Piper is undeterred. "It felt amazing. He licked places I didn't even know had nerve endings."

"Two years ago was your last good sexual experience?" Carrie asks with genuine concern.

Piper nods. "With a partner. I can get myself off fine, but that's about two minutes and then what?"

I nod. She speaks the truth. I miss having sex with a guy I have feelings for. I think that's why my relationships here have failed. I can't summon up the requisite... passion for any guy. I keep trying. Ethan is the fourth guy I've tried with, but the sex is so bland I'm better off masturbating. Alone.

Carrie shrugs. "I've had good sex with partners. You have to be more vocal and take charge though. Most of these guys think just jabbing you is going to get it done. Not to mention the opposite end of the spectrum, where they think they're awesome and want to show off their amazing moves."

"No, the worst is whiskey dick where they keep going and going and you're willing to do anything for them to either come or get the fuck off," Piper interjects.

"Jesus, we're jaded." Maybe I should start looking at sex like exercise. Lord knows, with the increased stress in my life from mock trial, my glucose levels are going to be completely out of whack. I get up and shove the nearly empty container back into the freezer.

"It's all part of growing up. Welcome to adulthood," Piper jokes.

Sadly, though, I think she's not too far off the mark, which is yet another reason why turning down the gorgeous guy at Starbucks was a good idea regardless of how sultry his lips looked forming my name or how his rough hands scraped against my softer, more tender skin. I have a sinking feeling he's good in bed. He's got a way with his body-graceful despite the size-that said he was comfortable in his own skin.

"What're you thinking about now?" Piper asks.

I give myself a little shake. I really need to stop dwelling on this guy no matter how hazel- Oh, god. I turn back to my roommates.

"Some guy hit on me at work," I say slowly as the puzzle pieces click together. Hazel eyes. Blond hair. Muscles so nice they'd get a nun excited.

"Jon Cryer or Charlie Sheen?" Carrie is a film major.

I make a face. "How about neither?"

"Okay, pick your own look-a-like actor."

"How about, instead of an actor, I pick football player. I didn't recognize him last night without the eye black and helmet. Plus, he was wearing glasses."

Piper hoots. "He Clark Kented you!"

Carrie waves her hand at Piper to get her to stop laughing. "Seriously, Austin Moon hit on you last night? What'd you say? Are you going out with him?"

Piper jumps in. "I know exactly what she said. He's not my type." She turns to me. "Am I right?"

I shrug. "So I have a type. Sue me. I don't think liking a certain flavor of ice-cream is a bad thing."

"Sure, if you're eating ice-cream," Piper cries in dismay. "But this is prime, Grade A manflesh."

"We need to hold an intervention." Carrie sighs. "What was the excuse you gave?"

I make a face at Carrie who, in turn, sticks out her tongue at me. Fine, I did give him an excuse. "I was working on my mock trial stuff. Plus, he seems like he'd take a lot of effort. Doesn't matter now. Dallas and I have the pact. No football players for me."

"There are eighty guys on that team. Who cares what Dallas thinks?" Piper's long hoop earrings swing as she bobs her head in indignation.

"Agreed. Besides, Dallas just made that stupid pact up so he can keep you to himself."

I reach into the cupboard so Carrie doesn't see me roll my eyes. I've heard her theory before about Dallas' crush on me. Sounds like she's still clinging to it despite the number of times Dallas has been in this very apartment talking about the girls he's been banging.

Piper is beside herself with disappointment. "Other than your extracurricular activities, sixteen hours of school, and twenty hours of work, surely you could make time for someone who looks like that. I'd bang him so hard."

"Then you call him. Here's his number." I stomp over to my bag, pull out the paper he scrawled his digits on and shove it toward her.

"He gave you his number?" Carrie says in disbelief.

"Yup."

"I give up on you." She turns around and folds her arms across her chest in disgust.

"You're the one who said good-looking guys are probably bad in bed," I remind her, ignoring that inner crone voice yelling, Liar! "Besides, most of the single football players go through women like tissues. Look at Dallas." I'm gratified when both of my roommates give reluctant nods of understanding. "Austin just gives off this vibe of someone whose default toward women is always 'on.' He'd probably flirt with a tree if he knew it was female."

"You know this how?" Piper challenges.

"He hit on me. At Starbucks."

"You say that like Starbucks is a nun's sanctuary. I know for a fact that you and Ethan hooked up there."

"First, we did not hook up there. We work there. And because we work together and spent so much time together, it was natural that we would sleep together. But do I have to remind you how boring it was? How I nearly fell asleep one time when we were having sex? If that's not a reason to stay away from men turned on by the smell of coffee, I don't know what is."

Piper makes a face. "I suppose. Still, I think Austin Moon would be worth at least one roll in the hay. You could do it for me. For womankind. You could test out the theory whether really good-looking guys actually know how to satisfy a woman. Report back as to whether he's a dud or a stud."

Stud. Austin Moon's hot body looks like he could take some abuse. I keep that thought to myself lest Piper launch herself at me in frustration.

"Oh sure, let me go and sacrifice my night for you." She sticks out her tongue at me. "How about this," I say placatingly. "I'll fantasize about him. I'll probably have a better orgasm by myself, objectifying him, than with him."

"True," Carrie says glumly. "If he really was good in bed, he'd be the unicorn, and then we'd wonder why he was single. Like, what is so wrong with him that he's out trolling coffee houses for companionship? He should be able to go to the Gas Station and clap his hands and have a dozen babes at his feet."

"Thank you. My point exactly." But being right doesn't make me feel better.

---

Austin

I find myself at Starbucks the next night. When Cassidy announced she was forming a study group for our Criminal Practice and Procedure class, I wasn't interested. When she said they'd meet at Starbucks at seven, I couldn't get my name on her list fast enough.

I tell myself it's because I need to study, but the moment I walk in and set eyes on Ally's long brown hair, I admit it's because I want to see her again. Despite her rejection, I'm still hot for her in a way I can't remember feeling toward another girl.

Plus, focusing on Ally, even if she did turn me down, is a thousand times better than dwelling on the ridiculous task Coach wants me to undertake. He's the coach. If he wants a player moved, he moves the player. He doesn't come to a linebacker with that request. I'm ignoring it for now. Ignoring it and, instead, applying my energies in a different and better direction: convincing sweet Ally to go out with me.

At Cassidy's table, there are two chairs and she's sitting in one of them. Either everyone else is late or it's just going to be the two of us. I ignore the way she's patting the chair next to her and drag one around so I can sit facing the counter. This is a definite two birds, one stone moment.

"Did I scare everyone away or are we it?" I ask, pulling out my glasses and opening up the textbook. Ally is mostly blocked by the machines, registers, and glass cases displaying sugary carbs, but I know she saw me when I walked in. I gave her a little wave and she frowned. She recognizes me. I'm taking that as a sign of encouragement.

"No, it's just us. Isn't that nice?" Cassidy's words break up my inspection.

Whoops. Forgot why I was here for a minute. I quickly process Cassidy's response.

"I definitely need a study group," I answer diplomatically.

Her smile dims a watt or two but doesn't completely disappear. "I'm glad I can be there for you."

Spring semester is always a little harder for me to stay focused. I only have a few weeks of spring ball, but the rest of the time, my schedule is wide open. Most of the trouble we players get into is when we don't have a coach breathing down our necks and 7 a.m. full pads practice.

From my limited study of Cassidy I don't know if she's interested in sleeping with me or merely bagging, tagging, and hanging me trophy-like in her sorority house. In prior years, I'd have tapped that ass in a heartbeat. Nowadays, I've learned to be pickier. If we were at the Gas Station or a post-game party, the rules are pretty clear. Here? She might be angling for something more than I'm interested in giving.

Jersey chasers are a dime a dozen, always willing to take a ride on the football side, but you've got to be careful with the overly eager ones, the ones who aren't just trying to make a trophy outta you, but a fuckin' Lifetime Achievement award. As in, poking holes in condoms and look at that, you're a baby daddy. I don't know if Cassidy falls into that latter category, but she's a little too eager for my taste.

Too eager? Since when do I complain about eagerness?

A husky laugh draws my eyes to the counter again. Oh right. Since the hot brunette turned me down. She makes my dick move. I lean forward, wanting to be part of whatever is making her smile. Cassidy follows my gaze. Her eyes narrow with laser-like focus.

"Do you know Ally Dawson?"

"Nah, I'm not much of a coffee drinker." I don't go into my theory about sweat-infused water. My main drink of choice is Gatorade followed by Gatorade and vodka chased with a beer, which is why I've set foot inside Starbucks maybe a half-dozen times since I started attending UF.

"I'm not sure what her major is. Communications. Political Science? Something like that. She's very strange."

I swivel back to Cassidy, surprised at her bitchy comment. Usually when girls run down other girls in front of me, they have more finesse. It's more along the lines of "she'd look so much better in a different dress" and not so much with the "she's an ugly bitch, stay away" because even self-absorbed people realize at some point that those kinds of comments are off-putting. "In what way?"

"Why do you want to know?" She frowns.

I've spent enough time around women to recognize danger when I see it. Cassidy's intuitive enough to sense she has competition. Actually the competition is all in her head, but that's still a problem. I intentionally draw her attention away from Ally by tapping my book. "Why don't we start with the fruit of the poisonous tree doctrine?"

This seems to work as Cassidy's attention is diverted. Ally's saved and she doesn't even know it. Cassidy and I buckle down to work for all of ten minutes before Cassidy hops on her phone.

"What do you think of this picture?" She flips her phone toward me. The display is filled with her and three friends wearing tiny bathing suits. "That was last year in St. Thomas. We were thinking of going back there this year."

"Looks good," I say dutifully. I'm a big fan of Instagram. And Twitter. And Snapchat. All of these things have made it exceedingly easy to find like-minded women-women who want one good night and that's it. But I want to study now, and it's a struggle to keep the irritation out of my voice.

My non-effusive compliment doesn't deter Cassidy. Instead she pages through more photos and turns the phone around again. This time she's wearing a shiny sparkly dress standing next to another girl in a sparkly dress. I can barely tell them apart. Idly I wonder whether they'd serve as a disco ball if we strung them up on the ceiling. Maybe we'd just need the dress.

"This was at the fall formal last year. I think I look heavy in this dress. What do you think?"

I squint. She looks as if she ate a diet of carrots and celery for two years. "I think you look nice."

This time, she frowns. "Nice?"

"Yes. Nice. Pretty. Great." I keep tacking on adjectives in hopes I hit on the right one, but I don't inject enough enthusiasm in my voice. And my half-hearted efforts to compliment her kill her desire to study, if she ever had any in the first place. She buries her nose in the phone and after about five minutes of silence, I decide I'm thirsty.

As I wait in line, I stare at the board wondering what the best tasting coffee is for someone who doesn't like coffee. Dark roast seems out. Maybe the light roast? Is that like a steak? The coffee beans are only slightly roasted and so still taste like whatever an uncooked coffee bean tastes like.

"Can I help you?" Ally cocks her head to the side. Her hair is caught up in a ponytail, the ones that I like wrapping around my fist while-

I cut off my train of thought when she clears her throat and delivers a well-mixed look of disdain and contempt as if she knows what I was thinking about just now and figures I'm not much good for anything else. Were her eyes this big last night? Were they this... soft? They look like a puppy dog's eyes. Brown, warm, and endearing. If the puppy thought I was an idiot, that is.

"I'm trying to decide which is the best coffee for me."

"I thought you didn't drink coffee."

"I don't." I shrug. Can I be more obvious? I don't think so. Unfortunately, Ally isn't taking the bait. Another girl would be leaning against the counter, maybe twirling her hair around her finger. Ally looks bored. That should bother me more, but instead I feel kind of energized by her dismissiveness. It's sure as hell different. "You didn't use my number."

"I was studying. We have eight different kinds of tea."

"I have the same problem with tea as I do coffee. Anything else?"

She opens her mouth to ask me what my problem is, then snaps it closed almost immediately. Hmm. Maybe I'm cracking her barrier a tiny bit.

"How about a spiced mulled cider?"

I perk up. "You can make that?" It's January and as cold as a penguin's ass, so spiced cider sounds great.

"Yup." She scribbles something on the cup. I'm guessing it's not her phone number because the vague smile she directs my way is the same one she gave the two students before me and undoubtedly the next one who will come behind me.

I shouldn't feel a twinge of disappointment, but I do.

"Anything else?" she asks tentatively.

Because, like a dumbass, I'm still staring at her. I shift over to the glass case. "I could use an apple streusel."

I'll have to do an extra ten minutes on the sleds tomorrow to pay for that, but what the hell. We just won the championship. I have three weeks until spring ball starts. If I want to eat a piece of cake, this is the time.

"We make it fresh every day." She recites the line with enough boredom to convey she's tired of saying it. As she reaches inside the glass case with a pair of tongs and picks out the biggest slice, she asks, "Would you like it warmed up?"

"I don't know, will I?" The words slide out, husky and provocative, and totally unintended.

Her eyes widen. "Ah, most people do." She shoots me an irritated look and ducks around to heat up my cake while I feel like a total idiot. Not since sixth grade have I been so unpolished with a girl.

My phone buzzes.

Dez: Where are u? The chicks at the Gas Station are so hot tonight. It's like winter doesn't exist for them. God bless band-aid dresses.

Me: Bandage.

Dez: Same thing. Where are u?! Do you think the Christmas break makes these UF girls hotter? I don't remember them being so fine last semester.

Me: How much have u had to drink? It's only 8.

Dez: Where are u?

I sigh. If I don't answer him, he'll probably run out of the Gas Station and start yelling my name like the guy who keeps yelling "Stella!" from that movie my mom loves so much.

Me: Starbucks. Striking out.

Dez: Noooooo.

Hopefully, Dez's drinking with a friend tonight.

My phone vibrates again but this time the screen displays the number fifty-five. It's Jace. Damn, I'm going to miss that bastard when he leaves school at the end of this year.

Jace: Dez texted me. Sounds like you need help.

I roll my eyes. What'd Dez say?

Jace: Screenshotted the convo he could fit on one screen.

Me: Dez's shocked to find out that there are women outside the Gas Station. Worse, they have the word no in their vocabulary.

Jace: Situation appears dire. Look around. Do you see any adults?

I look up at Ally, who's talking to her co-worker and actively avoiding me. I think that's a good sign.

Me: My ball size indicates I'm the adultest thing here.

The microwave dings, and she slides the streusel out. That's not a good sign. I no longer have an excuse to loiter here at the counter. I point to the first thing I see. "I'll take one of those, too."

"It's coffee cake. This version is made with actual coffee." I don't even have to look at her to know her expression is hovering between this guy is an idiot and when is he going to take his shit and go back to his table.

"Yeah, give me a big piece."

She clearly thinks I'm short-changed in the big head. No clue what she thinks of me otherwise.

Me: I haven't been rejected this hard since I tried to block the punt in that game against OSU last semester.

Jace: My girlfriend says rejection is good for you. Makes you mentally tough.

Me: You love saying that phrase "my girlfriend."

Jace: You bet your fat ass I do.

Me: You don't think it's completely strange that you're 21 and acting like a Taylor Swift song?

Jace: Bro, sorry you feel left out. Stop by later and I'll give you a hug.

Me: Fuck off.

Jace: I have MY GIRLFRIEND to do that for me. Thanks, though. Hug still stands. I'll even let you smell me. MY GIRLFRIEND says I smell delicious.

Me: I've smelled you before, which is why I'm not sure how you convinced Trish to date you. She must have defective olfactory senses.

Jace: Me and MY defective GIRLFRIEND will be getting it on tonight. While u have only Rosie Palm.

Me: Don't worry. I get plenty of variety. Left-hand Laura sometimes steps in.

Jace: Heard you were out with Cassidy. Be careful. She eats little linebackers like you for breakfast.

And the fact that I don't even want to make a sexually charged comeback tells me exactly how I feel about Cassidy. Hope she doesn't mind being just study partners.

"Here's your apple streusel and your coffee cake."

I tuck my phone back into my pocket. Ally's cheeks are back to a normal color, and her smile is one that says any future flirtations from me are about as welcome as a nighttime visit from a spider.

"You ever going to use that phone number?"

"I already did." She tips her head down toward the end of the counter. "You can pick up your cider down there."

I open my mouth to say something extremely witty when her male co-worker starts shouting out my phone number. So that's what she wrote on the cup. The entire coffee house looks up at the skinny, hipster dude with his hair gelled so immaculately he might actually be a Ken doll come to life. Ally spares me a glance under her eyelashes, and I can't help but laugh.

I lean forward. "I like that you have it memorized."

She pinkens, and I walk back to Cassidy's table, laden with goodies and the sweet knowledge I actually won a tiny round against the formidable Ally Dawson.

"You know she has stage fright, right?" Cassidy huffs when I sit down and start eating.

"Who?" I shovel the last of the streusel into my mouth and dig into the coffee cake, hoping there's enough butter and sugar in it to overcome any actual coffee taste. After the first swallow, I realize I am an idiot because the cake is gross. I take another big bite and wash the entire mess down with a chaser of Gatorade.

"Ally Dawson!"

I rear back. "Ally? The coffee shop girl?"

"Yes. One of my sisters was in one of her classes, and when she went up to present she totally freaked!"

I finish the coffee cake off before answering. "She's human."

"So you know her?"

God, what's with the fricking inquisition? "Yeah, we're seeing each other," I lie. I figure Cassidy's not going over to confront her about this, so my lie is about the safest one I've ever uttered.

Cassidy's mouth drops open. "Why'd you even come tonight, if you're already dating someone?"

Now it's my turn to be offended. "You said it was a study group."

"And you believed me?"

"Why wouldn't I?" Hell, maybe I shouldn't venture outside the Gas Station. It's too complex out here. "This is college, and study groups do exist. A lot. College is to study groups as libraries are to books. They go together."

"But you're a football player. A starter, right?"

"So?"

"So you don't need to study."

"Maybe not, but that's because I'm smart, not because I get a pass for being a football player."

"I thought..." She trails off and looks down at her papers in frustration.

I help her out. "You thought I was a dumb jock and would be grateful for your attention?"

She purses her lips. That's exactly what she thought. "I can share my sorority sister's outline with you." She shoves a set of papers toward me.

"Thanks, but I don't really need it. All of us dumb jocks get free tutoring."

Cassidy picks up her phone and presses something on the screen. She turns it around to face me. With a plastic smile, she says, "How do you like this?"

It's a Snapchat picture of me looking at Ally like she's the tastiest treat in the entire place. The text overlay reads Austin Moon can win at football, but he loses at life.

"Thanks for taking the picture from the right." It's apparent I should be offended, but Cassidy's game is too obvious. Anyone will read that and know she's the one who got turned down. "It's my best side."

She releases one of those silent screams, the kind where she swallows most of the sound but you still know she's screaming at the top of her lungs. Her bag is packed in seconds, and she takes off in such a rush her hair slaps me across the face.

"You forgot your cider," Ally calls over. "You look like you could use a beer, though. We sell that, too."

"We were just studying."

Ally turns to look in Cassidy's general direction. "That's an unhappy study partner you have there."

"We had a misunderstanding. She thought this was a date and I thought it was a study group."

"So you're not losing at life?"

Apparently the Snapchat is spreading faster than an STD in a frat house.

"When it comes to you, apparently I am."

She rubs a knuckle under her chin. "I get off in fifteen minutes and I need to eat something. You can join me if you want."

I brighten. "Really?"

My obvious enthusiasm earns me a slight frown. "Don't get any ideas. It's not an invitation for anything but sitting across the table from me while I eat."

This is a date even if she won't admit it. "Do I get to eat, too, or do I just sit and watch?"

Her eyebrows squeeze together in a rather adorable way. "You had coffee cake and apple streusel."

"I'm a bottomless pit, or so my mom tells me." My hand falls to my stomach, and her eyes follow in a gratifying manner. Maybe I'm not striking out because the way her gaze is eating me up right now tells me she'd like a side of Austin with her meal.

"Great. Meet me out front in fifteen." Then she spins around and goes back to bustling behind the counter. As if I'm not even here.

Or hell, maybe she's inviting me to dinner to tell me exactly how much she doesn't want to see me again. That would actually be a little on the crazy side, which means I should walk away, but she's hooked me good. So good that, at this point, I'd pretty much follow her pretty ass anywhere.