Page 6 of Blitz

And now he’ll be sitting next to me, four hours a day, twice a week, from now until the end of term. I wish that made me feel excited. Instead, I just feel dread.

While I’ve had my share of boyfriends in the two and a half years since we broke up, I don’t mind being single. I have enough shitty exes in the rearview mirror that I’m not interested in starting anything new right now. Especially when the only guy I can think about is standing right in front of me.

Tucker hangs his coat on the rack beside the door. I can’t think of him as my King anymore, it hurts too much. He’s wearing a worn Newton Football hoodie and dark jeans that make his ass look amazing. A few flakes of snow linger on the back of his neck, bright and white against his dark skin. He bats them away with one of his enormous hands.

Everything about him is enormous in the best possible ways. He’s tall and wide, which makes him a successful defensive tackle on the football field. His heart is nearly as big as he is. He is the personification of the heart eyes emoji, and I’ve got hearts in my eyes whenever I see him.

Even if he has a pretty blonde girlfriend now.

I’ve caught glimpses of him on campus and in the ASC. I didn’t realize they were dating. He’s always with the same group of five guys. I’ve seen the blonde with them a few times. I went to all of his home games last season. I’ve been cheering him on, even if he hates me.

I want Tucker Kingsley. I want his smiles and his laughter and his stupid corny jokes. I want to bask in the warm glow of his affection.

But he hates me now. I’ve thoroughly burned that bridge. I didn’t just burn it; I demolished it with dynamite. There is no bridge remaining.

We sit side by side at the reception desk and don’t talk. When clients come in, he greets them with a warmly polite smile and helps them sign in. In the downtime—and there is a lot of downtime—he makes notes in his sociology textbook. I don’t think he realizes we’re in the same course. He sits towards the front on the left side by the door and I like sitting in the back, where I can see the whole classroom.

“Do you have any fun plans for your weekend?”

He grunts, which I suppose is better than silence.

“I have a track meet tomorrow.”

He doesn’t acknowledge me.

It’s only my third meet of the season. We had two low stakes meets right before we went home for winter break. Tomorrow will be the first true test of my abilities. I have to prove they didn’t make a mistake in allowing me to transfer.

I liked Georgetown. It was good for me. I was close to my parents’ houses in suburban DC, surrounded by the people I knew growing up. But I never really felt at home there. Their psychology department is middle of the pack. Newton had the holy trifecta of a good coach, good academics... and King.

That he doesn’t want me isn’t the end of the world. I’ll get over him and move on. I’ll run my heart out. I’ll get into a top-ranked grad school, preferably at Newton, which has always been my top choice for a Marriage and Family Therapy program. I won’t look back.

Micah texts me around two o’clock. I see the wall of text he’s sent me and immediately groan. My twin only writes essays like that when he’s really worked up.

“I’m going to take my break now.”

Tucker grunts. How charming. Why am I in love with him again? Even when he treats me like shit on the bottom of his shoe, I can’t help that sick need inside of me to catch his attention, to make him smile. He’s all I’ve ever wanted, even when I was confused and overwhelmed.

Sitting on the bench in the hallway, I call my brother.

“What’s wrong?”

“I think I fucked up.”

“You didn’t fuck up.”

“No, I really put my foot in it this time,” he says. “Mase, I’m failing.”

“You’re not failing. You just won your bowl game.”

“No, I mean, I’m failing. I’m flunking out of school.”

I laugh. “Mic, it’s the first week of the semester. You haven’t passed the drop deadline yet, you can still get out of your troublesome classes. You aren’t failing.”

He’s quiet. “If I don’t get my GPA up, I won’t be eligible next season.”

“It’s a good thing you aren’t playing next season.” Micah wants to declare for the draft next month. He can do it. He’s one of the top five ranked running backs in his conference. He could be selected in the second round or in the middle of the third round.

He coughs. “I might have sprained my ankle.”