"You alright, Aaron?" Dave leans over and asks me. I finally break my focus from Penelope shaking in ways I desperately wanted to see, but in a different environment altogether.

"Yeah, sorry. Just got distracted."

"I didn't peg you as the cheerleader type," he responds, looking out onto the floor to find what I had been staring at so intently. "Unless you're not and it's just that one cheerleader. The blonde. She's the girl?"

I clear my throat before responding, finding it suddenly dry. "Yeah. That's her. She's in one of my seminars."

"She's beautiful." Before I can resist, I look at Dave with anger in my eyes. "It was just a comment, Aaron. I'm not after you girl. Jeesh. You've got it bad."

"I know," I reply, putting my head in my hands. "I shouldn't have come tonight. I just wanted to escape thinking about her for a few hours. That seems impossible now."

"Especially with her wearing that outfit." After Dave's response, I can't help but look back out on the floor at Penelope. He's right. She looks incredible. The cheerleaders begin their pregame routine and I feel my heart skip a few beats as she dances before me. Her high kicks are my undoing as her beautiful creamy skin is revealed more and more and my imagination kicks into high gear. Visions of my hands on those creamy thighs, my mouth on those thighs. Oh god, I need to get out of here.

I stand up to leave, but as I do, Penelope looks over and her eyes find mine. She smirks at me and it is my utter undoing. Dave pulls me back into my seat and I can't tear my eyes away from hers. It seems that every move she makes is made for me. This was such a bad idea.

Thankfully, the routine ends shortly after my attempted exit, and I see Penelope head over to the sideline with the other cheerleaders. Her eyes find mine once again as the team enters, and they are only torn away by the look of surprise she has on her face as one of the players runs behind her and smacks her ass. My eyes tear away from hers in anger and I find myself looking at number 22.

"Who is number 22?" I ask Dave, trying to seem as though it's out of interest in the team.

"Ah, the young man who just smacked your girl's ass?"

"She's not my girl. Who is he?"

"That would be Derek Morgan. Team captain. He's supposed to lead them to the National Championship this year."

"Good for him."

"Don't sound so bitter. They're probably just friends."

"Really? Do you smack your female friends on the ass?"

"Generally, no, but you never know."

"You're really selling me on this."

"I'm sorry. Maybe it's for the best if it helps you get over her."

"Yeah," I responded, feeling broken on the inside. I am way too attached to her to be feeling this way.

Somehow I find the ability to stay for the rest of the game, although I find myself not able to focus on anything. I can't look at the court or I risk looking at Penelope. I can't think about the game or I think about that Derek Morgan character. Every time I attempted to leave, Dave pulled me back down and told me that this is what I needed. As if torture is going to help me get over the girl of my dreams.

At halftime, when the cheerleaders took the floor again, I refused to even acknowledge their presence. Taking the time to leave the court and grab beers for my whole group. I didn't mind one bit that the line was horrendously long as long as it meant that I was away from her and the temptation to watch her.

However, at the end of the game, I found myself unable to continue avoiding her and looked up just as Derek Morgan was walking over to her. As she saw him approaching, her eyes found mine and she looked apologetic and worried, but nothing kept her from talking to Morgan. Based on their body language, it was pretty clear that he was flirting with her and she seemed to be responding to it. The playful push from Penelope is exactly what I needed to finally force me to make my way out of the arena and back home, worried about how I was going to act when I finally saw her again that coming week.

"Derek, what are you doing?!" I ask as Derek walks up to me, forcing me to tear my eyes away from Mr. Hotchner.

"What, Baby Girl? I just came over to talk to you. You know, post-victory flirting session."

"Yeah, sorry, I'm just-"

"Distracted? I noticed. Who's that guy you've been staring at the whole game? You're supposed to be staring at me."

"Oh shut up," I respond, pushing him while trying to keep the blush from my face.

"No, seriously. Who is he? I've never seen you look at someone like that."

"He's my TA for the English class I'm taking."

"Ooh. An older guy. Look at you."

"Yeah, but it's never going to happen."

"And why is that?"

"Because he's my TA. He'd be in danger of losing his job if he was even seen with me outside of school. If we dated, he'd definitely lose it. I can't do that to someone. No matter how dreamy their eyes or how well they read Shakespeare's sonnets in class. Plus, I'm not sure how he's going to feel about me after tonight?"

"What do you mean? You look hot as hell in that uniform."

"Well, thank you, sugar, but I actually meant because of you smacking my ass."

"Oh, that," he responds grabbing the back of his neck. "Sorry if that messed things up."

"No, it's fine. And it's not like I didn't enjoy it or didn't know what it was. I love a good friendly ass grab as much as the next girl. The problem is our eternal problem: people don't get our friendship. I just like him a lot."

"Then maybe he'll figure it out."

If only.