King of Campus (25 page)

“Know what you want?”

“Yep.  Mushroom, sausage, and pepperoni.”  It’s my absolute favorite.  And I especially love the way they prepare it here because the sausage is cut paper thin instead of left in little chunky balls and the mushrooms are ridiculously huge.  The crust is New York style which means it’s super thin.  A lot of people like to eat it by folding the slice in half.  My mouth literally starts to water even thinking about it.  I’m suddenly glad Roan suggested we come here.

For just a moment he stares at me silently.  “That’s my favorite too.  Did you know that?”

I almost snort.  Is he seriously suggesting I’ve been what-
cyberstalking
him?  You know… just in case we grabbed a pizza together which, let me remind you, was entirely his idea in the first place?

“No, that’s what I always order,” I say with a distinct edge to my voice. “You can ask Lexie if you don’t believe me.”

And just like that, I’m thinking that agreeing to this dinner with Roan was a colossal mistake.  This guy has one hell of a massive ego…

“Open the menu and take a look at the specialty pizzas.”  His suggestion is mildly stated as if he knows his question has rubbed me the wrong way.  Guess I have to give him points for that.  Begrudgingly…

Feeling annoyed that he thinks I’m some creepy closet Roan King fangirl, I don’t question his reason for asking me to do this.  I’m too busy silently seething across from him.  The second page has a long list of all the different styles of pizza you can order.  Without another word, my eyes start scanning the list.  Hawaiian.  Supreme.  Veggie.  Margherita.  The King.  The Henry Winkler.  The Works…

Wait a minute.

The King?

My eyes immediately arrow back up to that one.  Mushroom, sausage, and pepperoni.

Oh come on… are you kidding me?

It’s rather flatly that I ask, even though I already know the answer, “They seriously named a pizza after you?”  At my favorite place.  God… the injustice of it all…

He grins and something dangerous pings in my belly.  Damn him for being able to do that.  “Yep.”  His eyes actually twinkle with unfettered glee.  “Glad to see you’re finally a fan of something of mine.”

The waitress arrives with two big glasses of water.  Clearly they’re well acquainted because she gives him a little wink even though I’m sitting right across from him.  Then Roan orders us an extra-large King.  I roll my eyes when he says it.  He must notice because he looks like he’s trying to rein in his laughter as the waitress asks if we need anything else.  Almost as an afterthought, Roan tacks on an order of garlic knots.

Which, yeah, I love as well.

But I’m not telling him that.

Once she’s gone, he takes a long drink of his water, almost draining the entire glass.  When I raise my brows in question, he explains that he and Dylan just worked out.  And he only wolfed down a protein bar before leaving for the gym and that was hours ago.

Leaning forward, he looks to be on the verge of saying something when an older man approaches the table with his wife.

Breaking eye contact, he glances over at the elderly couple before giving them both friendly smiles as if they’re already acquainted.  But I notice it’s different than the smiles he beams in my direction.  There’s not a devilish curl to his lip or humorous twinkle in his eyes.

“Young man, I hope you don’t mind the interruption, but we just couldn’t resist coming over and congratulating you on the winning season Barnett is having.”  The couple has to be in their late seventies, maybe even early eighties.  They’re so cute.

“Thank you, sir.”  He nods politely to the man’s wife.  “Ma’am.  The whole team is playing well.”

The man’s face crinkles in response.  “Yes, they certainly are, but it’s you who keeps catching all those passes.  Can’t say I’ve seen anything like it in a good decade.  You sure are something to watch out there on the field.”

Nodding again, Roan accepts the compliment graciously.  “Thank you, sir. But I couldn’t catch any of those passes without Liam Garrison throwing them right to me.”

The man agrees easily before laying a wrinkled hand on Roan’s shoulder.  “Garrison’s a solid quarterback.  Has a good arm on him.”  He pauses for just a moment before his sparkling brown eyes take on a decidedly cagey look.  “Been hearing rumors about you turning pro after this season.  Not sticking around for another year, huh?”

Looking slightly contrite, Roan dips his chin in acknowledgement.  “That’s the way it looks right now.”

“Well, I sure hate to see Barnett lose you.  There’ll be quite a hole in the program when you leave.”

“I appreciate you saying that but there are a number of talented players coming up.  I have no doubt they’ll be able to fill the open spots left by this year’s graduating seniors.”

The man smiles but it’s obvious he has a differing opinion regarding the issue.  Instead of addressing Roan’s statement, he says instead, “Well, good luck to you, son.”  For the first time since he arrived at the table, the man’s warm eyes slide to mine before he tips his head.  “You two kids enjoy the rest of your evening.  Get rested up for the big game on Saturday.”

Roan says goodbye to both of them before his eyes settle on mine again.  Once the couple leaves the restaurant, I quietly ask, “Doesn’t that get old after a while?”

Gazing around, I notice quite a few people staring in our direction.  I’m reminded of Chad from the smoothie shop and the pictures that ended up online.

Looking somewhat resigned, he shrugs his broad shoulders.  Without another word, he suddenly reaches behind him and pulls out a well-worn ball cap before tugging it onto his head. Then he pulls it down low.  It’s the same one he wore when we headed over to the library.  He must carry it around with him when he doesn’t want to be recognized.  Not that it does the trick because honestly, whether or not you can see his face, people would still stare.

Roan is so tall.  He must be about six three or four and he’s broad in both the shoulders and the chest.  When he’s wearing a t-shirt like he is now, where it totally hugs his cut upper body… well, he’d draw attention for that alone.

The guy is seriously built like a Roman gladiator.  He’s all thick chiseled muscle.  Add that gorgeous face into it and you have girls tripping over themselves just so he’ll turn those beautiful turquoise hued eyes in their direction.

I know firsthand because, as much as I don’t want to, I feel the same draw myself.  Something within me clamors for his attention.

“Comes with the territory.  If I wasn’t a good ball player, people wouldn’t give two shits about me.”

Well, that’s debatable.  Whether Roan played ball or not, women would still find him ridiculously attractive.

I snort.  “Ah, I don’t think that’s true at all.”

He levels me with a hard look.  “Yeah, it is.  People care about me because of my talent on the field.  It’s always been that way.”

It’s quietly that I say, “I’m sure you’re parents care about you for
you
, not football.”

Almost instantly his eyes soften.  “Yeah, they do.  But everyone else just wants a piece of me.”  Glancing around the restaurant, he pitches his voice lower.  “Ever since I picked up a football, it’s what my life has been about.  Consequently, it’s all people want to talk about.  Or maybe they think it’s all I
can
talk about.”  His lips curl self-mockingly.  “Like I’m just another dumb jock with no other interests outside of the sport I play.”

Surprised by the sharp bitterness of his words, I simply stare at him from across the rectangle table that separates us.  Is it totally crazy that I feel kind of… sorry for him?  I mean, does that even make sense?

He’s Roan freaking King, for goodness sake.

Tentatively, because I’m not quite sure if it’s a mistake or not, I reach out until my hand gently covers his larger one.  As if surprised by the gesture, his eyes fall to our now connected hands.  Mine do the same as my breath catches in my throat.

What the hell am I doing?

Seriously?

But I just can’t seem to help myself.

I like him.

And the more time I spend with him, the more those strangely tender feelings grow and flourish.  If you had asked me a month ago when I spilled my drink all over him, I would have told you in no uncertain terms that I wanted absolutely nothing to do with a football playing Neanderthal like Roan King.  I would have said he was a dumb jock coasting through college on his football prowess and by nailing as much ass as he could.

But somewhere along the way, my opinion of him has slowly started to change.

Yeah… I still think he’s a player but now I’m kind of wondering if he’s just using women the same way they seem to use him.  I almost want to shake my head as that thought settles within my mind because I can’t believe I’m actually making excuses for his behavior.

Before I can say anything, he leans towards me, his eyes on mine.  Holding them captive with their blue-green intensity.  “Do you realize you’re the only one who never talks to me about football?”

When I merely stare in confusion, he continues, “Even my professors talk to me about the season and turning pro.”  His body continues straining towards mine.  “There were two last year who didn’t even grade my papers.  They just gave me A’s.”

My eyes widen at his hushed admission.  “How do you know that?”

“Because I found a few errors and brought it to their attention.  Both just smiled and patted me on the back.  Told me not to worry about it, that I had bigger concerns to focus my energies on.”

For a long moment, neither of us says a word.  We simply watch each other silently.  I’m actually flabbergasted that something like that could happen.  Especially here at Barnett.  I mean, this is a top notch school.  Academically rigorous.  Challenging.

His face tenses.  “You can’t tell anyone about that, Ivy,” he mutters the words under his breath.  “I’m serious.”

I nod but can’t say I don’t feel conflicted about it.  That’s not really fair to everyone else who has to work their asses off to pull good grades.  Even though Roan isn’t taking advantage of professors who are willing to hand out A’s just for being a top recruit here on campus, I’m sure there are other student athletes who do get by because of it.

Once again, it’s slammed home just how wrong I was about him.

Angling my body towards his, I finally whisper, “I won’t tell anyone about it.”  Even though it goes against everything I believe in, I don’t want to break my word to him.  “I promise.”

His eyes hold mine for a long moment before finally sliding away.  “I probably shouldn’t have said anything to you.  I’m not looking to jam anyone up.”

“I know…  But it’s not right.”

Nodding, he acknowledges my words.  Yanking off his ball cap, he plows his long fingers through his dark hair before pulling it back over his head so his face is somewhat shielded from view.

Our extra-large pizza arrives as we sit in silence.  Once we both take a slice, the mood at our table slowly begins to lighten.  Not really caring that Roan is sitting across from me, I take a huge bite.  My eyes flutter shut as the perfect mixture of crust, sweet yet zesty sauce along with pepperoni, mushrooms, and sausage slams into my taste buds.  I think a little moan of appreciation slips out of my mouth.

God, but I’ve missed this!

Needless to say, the food in Paris was definitely a culinary experience.  There’s absolutely no doubt about it.  Fresh baked pain au chocolat (croissants filled with dark chocolate) in the morning along with un café noisette (an espresso with a little cream), croquet monsieur (a grilled ham and gruyere cheese with a fried or poached egg on top) for lunch, crepes which they sell right out on the street, and escargot.  Some people may not like them, but I love escargot and there was a tiny cafe a few blocks from school where I would go all the time.

So, yeah… I ate well while I was away.  It’s fairly amazing I didn’t pack on a ton of weight.  But then again, when you’re in Paris, you’re hopping on the metro and walking almost everywhere.

But this pizza… I’ve really missed it.  I can’t help but shove another huge bite into my mouth before savoring all the wonderful flavors.

Like a total glutton, I all but gobble up the first slice within a matter of minutes.  I hate to say it, but I’m not even aware of Roan sitting across from me.  I’m in a little place called pizza nirvana. Just as I’m reaching for a second piece, my eyes collide with his.  He’s just sitting there staring at me with a look of astonishment on his face.

When I quirk a brow, he finally says, “I’ve never seen anyone polish off a slice like that and I eat with three hundred pound dudes who play football.”

Unable to help myself, I start chuckling.  I’m not a shy eater.  Never have been.  I have a fast metabolism that Lexie regularly talks smack about because I can eat practically anything and never gain an ounce while she merely looks at cake and gains five pounds.  Although, I think that’s a lie, because that girl can polish off cake like nobody’s business.  Especially chocolate.  But I also know it’s all the hours I spend in the studio that helps to burn the calories and keep me slim.  And yeah, I’m not going to lie- it probably has a lot to do with genetics as well.