Page 10 of Necessary Roughness

Sloane

I spent the rest of Monday agonizing over whether or not to tell the twins. Normally, I told them everything . They were my best friends. In general, I couldn’t imagine keeping any secret from them—let alone one that was this juicy.

But I was afraid that talking about it would make it fall apart, like telling someone your birthday wish. It wasn’t real, wasn’t tangible yet. I wanted to see how everything shook out, if at all, before sharing it with them.

That night, I got an email from Knox with the class notes attached. Surprised by his name appearing in my inbox, I fired off a text message.

Me: How did you get my email?

Knox: I made a copy of your apartment key when I escorted you home after the party. Then I broke in while you were at class, hacked into your computer, and installed a whole mess of spyware.

Me: You looked me up in the student directory?

Knox: I looked you up in the student directory.

Me: Now I feel silly.

Knox: You just wanted an excuse to chat with me before our next class.

Me: I don’t want you to chat with me in class. That’s when we’re supposed to be focusing.

Knox: All the more reason to flirt with me right now, via text message.

Me: I’m not flirting! I’m thanking you for the class notes.

Knox: Are you?

Me: Am I what?

Knox: Thanking me for the class notes. So far all you’ve done is insinuate that I hacked into your computer.

Me: That was your imaginary scenario, not mine!

Knox: It’s a pretty sweet scenario though. I watched a lot of cheesy hacker movies as a kid.

Knox: So are you going to thank me for the notes, or what?

Me: I already did!

Knox: Scroll up, sweetheart. You talked about thanking me, but never did :-)

Me: Damn. You’re right. Thanks for the class notes.

Knox: No problem. I’m sure you’ll find a way to repay the favor.

Me: I don’t think I have to repay anything. I wouldn’t have needed your class notes if you didn’t pester me into leaving early.

Knox: What! All I was trying to do was say hi to you in class. Then you freaked out and ran away.

Me: You didn’t want to just say hi! You wanted to pitch your lets-have-meaningless-sex idea to me!

Knox: In my defense, I was going to wait until after class.

Knox: Gotta go. Study hall. See you in class. I promise to pretend like you don’t exist.

Me: As a bigshot famous football star, you’re probably good at that!

Knox: Wow. Unfair. Now I’m going to ignore you even HARDER.

I grinned and re-read the conversation while I was in bed. This was the most popular guy on campus? Spending his time texting me?

It didn’t feel real.

My Tuesday-Thursday classes were a lot more difficult—two graduate classes sandwiching Creative Writing, the only other gen-ed class on my schedule.

Since these classes only met twice a week, each lecture was longer, which made the day feel so much more grueling by the time I walked back to my apartment at the end of the day.

I went to my Art History professor’s office hours to apologize for leaving early on Monday. I disliked lying, but a vague fib about “lady issues” was all it took for my professor to wave his hand and tell me it was okay.

And in the actual class itself, Knox kept his promise. He still had to sit next to me because it was the only free desk when he arrived, but he kept his eyes straight ahead and focused on the lecture. And when class ended, he was the first student to hop up and leave without saying a word to me.

But on my way to my next class, I got a text from him.

Knox: I ignored you so hard. Because I’m a bigshot famous handsome big-dicked football star who’s good at ignoring the peons around campus.

Me: I know you’re mocking me, but I never said you were big-dicked.

Knox: I added that as a humblebrag.

Me: There wasn’t anything humble about it. That was just a regular-ass brag.

Knox: Well, as a bigshot football player, I’m good at bragging.

Me: Thanks for letting me focus during class :-)

I was beginning to feel overwhelmed with my full course load by Thursday. I already had three papers to complete by next week , along with two exams to study for. It was definitely a blessing in disguise that Troy and I had broken up, because I definitely didn’t have time for a relationship.

But the two football players in my life were a different kind of distraction.

I was sitting in Creative Writing, brainstorming what I would write my paper on while waiting for class to start, when I heard a familiar laugh.

This was an auditorium style classroom, with tiered seats, and the entrance was down below.

And standing there, wearing a goofy grin, was Logan Hunter.

The professor strode past him and took her place up on the teaching platform, so Logan ducked his head and quickly found a spot halfway up the rows of seats. I had a clear view of his broad shoulders and the back of his head.

Me: Are you stalking me?

Logan: I can’t talk.

Me: Why not?

Logan: Because Knox said you want us to totally ignore you while you’re in class, so you don’t get distracted.

Me: I give you permission to tell me why you’re in this class.

Logan: Is that a trick question?

Logan: I need the three credits for my degree.

Me: You weren’t in class on Tuesday.

Logan: I had a meeting with my coach. The professor gave me the notes I missed. They do that for all of the student athletes. It’s fucking dope.

Me: So I’ve heard.

Logan: Are we still on for tonight?

I gave a start. Despite obsessing about it on Tuesday and Wednesday, I’d somehow forgotten all about our sex date today. A swirling mixture of excitement, anxiety, and anticipation hit me all at once.

I decided to defuse it with a little humor.

Me: Why? What’s tonight?

Logan: …

Me: Oh! You mean our Sex Appointment.

A few rows down, I saw Logan’s upper body tremble with silent laughter. He ran a hand through his tousled brown hair and texted me back.

Logan: Sex Appointment. That’s fucking hilarious. I didn’t expect you to be so funny.

Me: Really? Why not?

Logan: Because, and I’m paraphrasing here, you’re really fucking hot.

Me: Hot girls can’t be funny?

Logan: Not in my experience. It’s one or the other. Hot girls don’t need a good personality because they’re hot.

Logan: But I can’t help but notice you’re avoiding the question I asked.

Me: Oh, right. The sex.

Logan: The sex!

Me: I’m still down if you guys are.

Logan: Fuck yeah.

Logan: Now stop distracting me with your hotness and sense of humor. I want to learn about creative writing and shit.

As I put my phone away, Logan twisted in his seat and gazed up at me. He gave me a quick little wink, then turned back to the professor.

The butterflies in my stomach swirled even faster.