Page 43 of I Want to Know What Love Is

Hell no. I let her go, didn’t I? And here I am by myself, climbing the fucking walls of my room, too antsy to settle down or do something constructive, least of all sleep.

The worst part is that she refused to talk about her fucking ex-fiancée because I’m an ass and sprung the topic on her with the finesse of a rhinoceros. He’s a fucking asshole and it’s obvious he hurt her bad. I toss my backpack on my bed and open it up. Without thinking I pull out my tablet and type in the words Gary Ludwick.

“Let’s see what Google has to say about you.” After an hour, when I should be sleeping, I find out a lot about him, mostly bad in my opinion. He’s a social climber and from a wealthy family planning to get married soon, the fucker. That has to be the ultimate insult for Amanda. Especially since his future father-in-law is ten times wealthier than he is and it’s clear as fucking day the bastard’s marrying for money.

I’m glad she didn’t end up married to the jackass because he doesn’t deserve her. I wonder if she feels the same way or what the hell she saw in the guy in the first place. But she must have been young when they met and he was six years older. The exact age difference between me and her now. Only reversed.

Fuck. I’m out of my mind worrying about her, feeling betrayed and outraged on her behalf, ready to pummel some guy I never met.

I need to put my concern away, lock it down and start thinking rationally. She has everything under control. She moved away for a fresh start and she’s kicking ass in her career. She’s put him behind her. Now all she needs is a new man. Not me. Fuck if the notion doesn’t bother me that some lucky guy is going to snatch her and I won’t have a prayer of ever… What?

I snort-laugh at myself. I’m pathetic. I’m too horny and it’s affecting my brain. I need release but the idea of finding a young lady I hardly know and don’t have more than a flicker of interest in turns me off, almost deflates my stiff dick. Yeah, stiff again because it always goes stiff when I contemplate Coach Amanda Lake.

* * *

“What are you doing after the game?” Shelby asks as he sprinkles pepper on his omelet until it’s completely coated with black specs. My nose twitches and I look away to stop myself from sneezing then I slide my chair away. The BMOC breakfast table is laden with enough food to feed a small country—or a house full of voracious athletes. He shovels a forkful of egg into his mouth, waiting for me to answer him.

“No plans.” I remember Heather and wince. Shit. She texted me yesterday and I haven’t responded, haven’t even read her text. Not cool. I docu-signed her uncle’s contract and sent it this morning after Shelby’s dad, Mr. Bertrand, made a couple of small changes. Thank fuck he didn’t make any comments about the nature of the deal. He said we’d talk later since he didn’t get it to me until late last night.

“Kappa Kappa Gama’s having another party.” Shelby grins. “That sweet blond girl who adores you will be there. What’s her name?”

“I don’t know.” I snort at my lie.

“All the flirting you’ve been doing and you don’t even know her name?” He waves a finger at me like he’s a proper southern momma because that’s how he was raised. Why we get along like brothers because we have that in common on a team of man-whores.

“If we had any chemistry I bet I’d remember her name.” Without the help of my contractual obligation whereby I have to escort the girl around campus as if we’re something we’re not.

“Shoot. That’s too bad about the chemistry. Nothing to do about that except keep looking elsewhere.” He eyes me and I know he has something on his mind.

“What?” He leans in and uses his discrete voice and I know I’m in trouble.

“Unless you’re still all tied in knots about a certain coach.”

“Don’t lecture me—”

“I’m not. But you need to let it go.”

“Maybe I have.” He snorts and almost drops his fork of food. He shakes his head.

“Shoot, you are a bad fucking liar.”

Downing the rest of my coffee, I push back from the table, only partly because this isn’t exactly appropriate breakfast table conversation. Even with Shelby’s discrete voice, the table’s quiet at this time of day and the last thing I need is for anyone to overhear, to get a clue about my god damn crush when the furor over our initial flirtation has finally cooled.

“I have finance class in twenty minutes. I gotta go.”

“I’ll walk with you.” It’s bad when Shelby abandons an unfinished plate of food, but that’s what he’s doing.

We grab our backpacks and walk outside.

“Should we drive or walk?” he says. It’s a perfect crispy fall day, the kind that makes me want to betray my Louisiana roots and adopt New England as my homeland. We should walk, but walking home at the end of the day after practice and team meetings is a bitch because it’s late and we’re usually beat. But fuck it. I need the air to clear my head.

“Walk.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Since when did you turn into my therapist?”

“I’m worried for you, brother.” He’s serious. “What you have is more than a crush, it’s a fixation. Maybe more.”