Page 9

FOR A GOOD TIME CALL…

FLYNN

I t was a good thing I basically already had enough credits to graduate, because if I had more than the three classes this semester, my combine prep practice schedule would be wrecked. I could have just skipped this last semester like a lot of guys who were a shoe in for the draft did.

It wasn’t like I was going to go get some job with my business degree. I’d done a lot of marketing to make sure my pro ball player brand was on point.

But no Kingman went onto the pros without a degree.

Did give me a whole extra semester at DSU with a light load, which meant time to play the field for a few more months.

But week one of the semester was already down, and I didn’t have anyone on the line for my first two-week round.

But it was Saturday, and I was on the way to hit the gym, then headed to. ..

I spotted her right away, sitting at a corner table in the campus coffee shop, hunched over what looked like three different textbooks.

The sunshine streaming through the window caught the shine in her messy dark hair, making it shimmer.

Today she was wearing a dress covered in tiny book spines, and I was staring far too hard.

Trying to read the titles printed on the fabric, of course.

Change of plans. Poking at the grumpy girl who was ready to shoot me down again was way more fun.

I put the hood on my sweatshirt up and headed inside to quietly order two cups of coffee. They poured those at the register and I waited so no one would call out my name. I didn’t need her spotting me and bolting.

Her nose was so buried in the notebook she was writing in, she didn’t notice me until I stopped at her table, coffees in hand. “Fancy meeting you here.”

She didn’t even look up. “Following me now, Kingman?”

“You caught me. I have spies all over campus reporting your location to me at all times.”

That got her attention. Her head snapped up, dark eyes narrowing. “Why would that not surprise me?”

“Surprise.” I pulled out the chair across from her. “About this tutoring thing.”

“I already told you it’s a moot point.” She returned to her books, clearly dismissing me. “The tutoring program is to help students who need it. You clearly don’t.”

I let out a big grin. “Was that a compliment hidden in there somewhere? Did you just admit I’m smart?”

“Don’t let it go to your head, Kingman. I’m not totally convinced you didn’t just memorize all that jazz you said in class from some study guide.”

“I think, if you’ll recall, it was a duet with Gryff. ”

Her lips twitched, but she maintained her serious expression. Progress.

“Look,” I said, leaning forward. “We both have to do this tutoring program thing. But what if we just... did our homework in the same space? No actual tutoring required.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“We sign off online saying when and where we meet. You don’t have to teach me anything, I don’t have to pretend I need help, and we both get credit for participating in the program.” I spread my hands. “Win-win.”

“And what do you get out of this arrangement?”

More time sparring with you. “Coffee?”

She snorted, but I could see her considering it. Time to sweeten the deal.

“I’ll buy your coffee for the semester too.”

Wrong move. Her expression went from considering to closed-off in an instant.

“I can buy my own coffee, thank you very much.” She started gathering her books, her shoulders tensing. “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

“Whoa, wait.” I held up my hands in surrender. “That came out wrong. I wasn’t trying to…I mean, I know you can afford…” I was making it worse. I took a breath.

“Let me try again. No coffee bribes. Just two people, doing their homework, occasionally acknowledging each other’s existence. Maybe even having a conversation that doesn’t involve cute fuzzy livestock making people spill their coffee all across campus.”

She paused in her packing. “The donkey chaos was your fault. You were chasing him. ”

“Partially my fault,” I corrected. “But I seem to recall that if someone hadn’t lent a certain four-legged troublemaker to the soccer team for a pep rally, I wouldn’t have had to chase him through half the campus.”

“If someone hadn’t decided to show off his...” she waved her hand in a circular motion in my direction, “football... skills in front of the entire student body, he probably wouldn’t have gotten so freaked out and run all the way through the quad.”

“See? We’re already great at conversation.” I gestured to her books. “Come on. What’s the worst that could happen?”

She sat back down, but her expression remained skeptical. “You actually do your own homework?”

“Shocking, I know. But yes. How do you think I maintain my eligibility to chase balls around a field?”

Another lip twitch. “Fine,” she said finally. “But I have conditions.”

“Name them.”

“No trying to charm me. No asking personal questions.” She ticked them off on her fingers. “And absolutely no....looking at my notebook, umm notes. Keep your eyes on your own paper.”

I filed that last one away for future reference. “Counteroffer. Charming is my natural state so I can’t help it, and I accept the notebook mystery. But I reserve the right to ask exactly three personal questions per study session.”

She considered this for a long moment. “Two questions. And I can veto any I don’t want to answer.”

“Deal.” I stuck out my hand.

She shook it, her soft small hand disappearing in mine .

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“No, of course not.” I opened up my backpack and pulled out my own books and settled in.

Her groan was music to my ears. “Now?”

“What? Like I’ve got something else to do?”

We settled into a surprisingly comfortable silence, just the scratch of pens and occasional sips of coffee. I tried to focus on my marketing assignment, but I kept getting distracted by her.

She had at least four different colored pens spread out on the table, all these colorful tabs, and she was using them systematically as she made notes in the mysterious notebook.

Every few minutes, she’d smile at something she was writing, this small, secret smile that made me want to know what was so funny.

Finally, I couldn’t help myself. “Good part?”

She glanced up, like she’d forgotten I was there. “What?”

“In the play.” I nodded toward her book. “You keep smiling.”

A faint blush colored her cheeks. “Oh. It’s just As You Like It . Rosalind and Orlando are...” She trailed off, then straightened like I’d caught her doing something... naughty. “It’s a classic example of early modern theatrical comedy.”

“With all the best parts,” I said. “Love at first sight, gender-bending disguises, forest adventures, multiple couples getting together in the end.”

She stared at me.

“What?” I grinned. “You’re not the only one who’s done the reading list. ”

“No, it’s just...” She tilted her head, studying me like I was a puzzle she couldn’t quite solve. “Most people don’t get excited about Shakespeare. They think it’s boring or too highbrow.”

“That’s because they forget he wasn’t writing for highbrow audiences.

I mean, yeah, he had the nobles up in the balcony, but he was really writing for everyone.

The groundlings paid to stand there and watch for hours.

” I thought about Jules and her romance novel collection.

“It’s kind of like how my sister and soon to be sister-in-law talk about romance novels. ”

Her pen stilled. “Romance novels?”

“Yeah. Jules, my sister, she’s always telling me how romance gets dismissed as frivolous, because it’s mostly for women, by women, about women, but it’s actually this huge genre that appeals to all kinds of readers.

And my brother’s fiancée, she runs this book club, and her members are, like, doctors and CEOs and stuff, but they all love these books because they’re fun and engaging and.

..” I noticed her staring again. “What?”

“Nothing. Just... surprised you know so much about romance novels.”

I shrugged. “Hard not to when you live with a teenager who won’t shut up about them.

Actually, I’m fairly sure Jules was just freaking out about some super-popular romance novel based on a Shakespeare play, but with hockey players or something.

Wouldn't stop talking about it at family dinner last week. She kept saying she can’t wait to see what the author writes next. ”

Something flickered across her face—surprise? panic? and was that a slight smile when I mentioned the author’s next book?—but before I could be sure, her phone buzzed. She grabbed it immediately, frowning at the screen.

“Everything okay?”

“I have to go.” She started shoving books into her bag. “There’s a... situation I need to handle.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No.” She said it too quickly, then tried to smooth it over. “No, thank you. It’s just... a thing. At my place. Which is... somewhere you definitely can’t go.”

I raised my eyebrows. “That’s not suspicious at all.”

“Shut up, Kingman.” But there was no heat in it. She hesitated, half-standing. “Same time Thursday?”

“I’ll be here.” I watched her hurry away, nearly colliding with a chair in her rush. Only after she’d disappeared did I realize I hadn’t used either of my two questions for the day.

Somehow, I had a feeling she’d planned it that way.

I packed up, feeling a little off kilter. The campus rec center was exactly where I needed to be. A good workout always cleared my head, and after that... study session, my head definitely needed clearing. I checked my phone as I pushed through the doors, finding a text from Gryff.

You missed training, jackass. Whoever she was, must have been hella cute.

What he was really saying was that she’d better have been worth it.

She was.

This was ninety percent of the reason why I didn’t do girlfriends. They were a distraction. But everyone knew Kingmans played better when we were getting laid. It was why the Mustangs were going to win the big Bowl this year. All four Kingmans on the team had a woman in their bed.

In their lives.

In their hearts.

That was a bit much for me. I didn’t need to be in love. Ever. I just needed to have some fun. That way nobody got hurt.

Time to focus on football and forget about the way Tempest’s eyes lit up when she talked about Shakespeare, or how she didn’t simper or giggle or?—

“Oh my god, Flynn. I didn’t know you worked out here.”

I looked up to find Brittany from my business capstone class walking over, followed by two other girls I vaguely recognized from the department. We’d probably had classes together sometime in the last four years.

All three of them were wearing matching pink workout sets that had definitely never seen a drop of sweat.

“Hey.” I switched on my media smile, the one that made headline writers call me ‘charming’ instead of ‘cocky.’ “Just getting in some work to prep for the combine next month.”

“That’s so amazing.” Brittany twirled her ponytail. “You’re going to get drafted so high. I just know it.”

“First round for sure,” one of her friends chimed in.

A semester ago, this would have been exactly what I wanted. Easy conversation, obvious interest, clear expectations. My two-week rule was practically famous on campus. Everyone knew exactly what they were getting into with me.

But now all I could think about was how Tempest had rolled her eyes when I’d mentioned playing pro ball. Not dismissively, like she didn’t care about football, but like she wasn’t impressed by it either. Like I’d need to bring something more to the table than just my future draft prospects.

“Thanks.” I adjusted my gym bag. “But I should probably?—”

“We’re about to do a spin class,” Brittany said quickly. “But maybe after, we could get smoothies?”

She was pretty. They all were. And they were exactly the kind of girls I usually dated. Ones who knew the score, wouldn’t get attached, perfect for my no girlfriends rule.

Unlike Tempest who had just flat-out refused to be charmed by me.

“Can’t today.” I gestured vaguely toward the weight room. “Serious training schedule.”

“Oh my god, you’re so dedicated.” Brittany’s friend—Kirsten? Kylie?—stepped closer. “That’s so hot.”

I waited for the usual rush of blood to my dick from female attention like this. Nothing.

No, what got my engine revving was Tempest’s unimpressed “you actually do your homework?” And how much better it had felt to surprise her, to prove her assumptions wrong.

“Thanks.” I took a step back. “But I really need to?—”

“Here.” Brittany made a motion for me to pull out my phone. “Let me give you my number. You know, in case you want company during your next workout.”

I let her put her number in my phone, more out of habit than interest. She’d probably tell her friends I was playing hard to get. They’d probably find it exciting.

And I was bored to death right now.

Two weeks with Britt would be easy. Like a habit. My brand, practically. Everyone knew Flynn Kingman didn’t do relationships. Didn’t do complications. Didn’t do real feelings. Just fun.

For a good time, call Flynn.

But watching the pink-clad trio head toward their spin class, giggling and glancing back at me, my usual fun times with Flynn held absolutely no appeal.

At the end of this semester, my whole life was going to change. I had to hit the real world, and while I was looking forward to playing in the pros, it wasn’t going to be the same as this easy, comfortable life I’d been living.

I wasn’t going to be ready if the only prep I did was for playing ball. I needed to change things up in my life too. Maybe just for this semester, I abandoned my rules. Just to see if I could get past Tempest’s defenses, get her to actually like me instead of just tolerating me.

Not like I was going to fall in love with her. Or her with me.

Just getting her to let me kiss her would be a challenge. Into bed, would be practically impossible.

I smiled as I headed for the weights. I’d always loved a good challenge. I ate impossible for breakfast.

In fact... I was really good at eating a lot of things. That was something else I’d love to surprise her with. And it would definitely be more fun than I’d ever had with any of my two-week flings.