The Jock and the Wallflower

The Jock and The Wallflower

T
HE
party was in full swing by the time we arrived at a quarter ’til ten and if it hadn’t been for my best friend, Scarlett Wade, clutching tightly to my hand and forcefully dragging me forward, I would have happily bolted out the door. I really didn’t want to be there. At all. Only a week into my sophomore year, I simply wanted to spend the weekend doing what I had done every weekend throughout my freshman year: I wanted to hang out in my cluttered dorm room with a bag of popcorn and a good book, or maybe an old black and white film. I certainly
didn’t
want to attend the Kappa Psi Delta fraternity’s Back to School Bash—quite honestly, I had to question the sanity of anyone who
did
want to attend any event hosted by a fraternity made up of football jocks, baseball jocks, and basketball jocks. It was Jock Central. And me… well, it was safe to say no one would ever mistake little five-foot-five-inch, one-hundred-forty-five-pound me as anything remotely related to a jock. I had, however, spent my entire high school career with an invisible target posted on my back, inviting any and all jocks and their friends to torment me in whatever ways they deemed amusing.

Scarlett knew this, of course, as she and I had been best friends since fifth grade, and on more than one occasion Scarlett had jumped wildly to my defense when some asshole tried to badger me in her temperamental presence. No one wanted Scarlett pissed with them. She wasn’t a wilting southern belle by any stretch of the imagination, never mind the fact she was only an inch taller than me. Scarlett’s dainty, blue-eyed, blond beauty fooled many tragic fools at first glance, but most quickly learned that Scarlett didn’t tolerate stupidity, arrogance, or bigots and she could and would stare down men twice her delicate size, if and when someone landed on her bad side. I adored her beyond reason. I wasn’t close to my family, but I had Scarlett. I knew I could depend on her come hell or high water, and it was because I did indeed love her that I allowed her to talk me (thoroughly strong-arm me) into attending Kappa Psi Delta’s Back to School Bash. “
Brent’s going to be there and I’d like to maybe show up and flirt a little, to find out if he’s really interested
.” Brent was—of course—a jock, as the Kappa Psi Delta directive apparently mandated, but having talked to the star pitcher on several occasions, I had to admit he seemed like a decent sort. If he hadn’t been, I would have told Scarlett as much. Period. She was certainly strong-willed and capable, but the protective nature of our friendship went both ways, and I looked out for Scarlett’s well-being whenever I could. She had dated a few jackasses in the past, but Brent seemed intelligent, levelheaded, he didn’t come across as painfully arrogant, and I didn’t doubt for a second that he was very much interested in Scarlett. And Scarlett (damn her) knew I was utterly interested in and completely enchanted by Brent’s best friend and Duke’s star right fielder, Avery Beckett.

Yeah, call me a short, skinny little hypocrite; I wasn’t a great fan of jocks in general, but damned if Avery Beckett wasn’t an exception to the rule. But being an exception didn’t matter all that much, considering a) I hadn’t seen or heard anything that suggested Avery was gay or even bisexual, and b) if by some glorious chance Avery was indeed gay or bisexual, there wasn’t a chance he would ever look twice at me. He was a freakin’ Adonis. Six feet tall. Broad shoulders, powerfully long legs, narrow hips; Avery was solid muscle with deliciously bronze skin, brilliant blue eyes, sensual full lips and sun-kissed sandy brown hair. And he was smart. He had shared the same creative writing class as me the previous semester (not that Avery had known I was alive, let alone in the same room with him), and I was blown away each time Avery posed a question or answered a question, and anytime we were required to read an assignment out loud, I found myself captivated by Avery’s smooth voice and equally captivated by his undeniable (and damn sexy) talent with words.

When it came to Avery, I had a serious crush/case of lust/desire to actually know more, but I didn’t fool myself. Avery Beckett hadn’t a clue who I was, he never would, and sadly, despite knowing that, I was willing to hang out at KPD’s alcohol-fueled, jock-infested party because I wanted a chance to ogle him from a distance.

Oh yeah, I was a loser of the bona-fide variety and less than ten minutes after arriving, I was a loser flying solo. The moment Scarlett caught sight of Brent lingering on the other side of the overly crowded room, she left me with a kiss on the cheek and an order to have fun. “Mingle and hang out. Okay? You don’t have to drink. Just maybe drop your guard and you might have a pretty good time, darlin’.” She was off to flirt with Brent before I could respond to her advice, and watching her quickly disappear into the crowd of dancers and drinkers, I knew I wouldn’t see her again. Scarlett was on a mission: land Brent Logan. And me? I was a pitiful little fish out of water, and I really just wanted to go back to my dorm, where I should have remained in the first place, thank you very much. But I had promised Scarlett I would hang out for a least an hour, and I couldn’t break a promise I made to Scarlett, which meant I had an hour (fifty minutes!) to play Mr. Wallflower.

Swallowing what little pride I had, I worked my way through the crowd, feeling more than a little nauseated by the rather pungent—and overpowering—stench of beer combined with other obviously cheap alcohol. It never failed. Just the smell of beer made me sick. It was a bitter reminder of a past I wanted to forget; a reminder of my father’s drunken rages and a sad reminder of my mother’s tragic inability to defend herself (and me) against verbal insults and flying fists that often left one of us in need of medical attention. Christ, would I ever forget? No, no, I knew there wasn’t any chance that I could or world forget my troubled childhood, but I wished I could escape the countless reminders. Especially now. College was supposedly a carefree time and let’s face it, a person couldn’t get through college without encountering drinkers. I shook my head as I finally found an unoccupied corner, where I leaned against the wall with a heavy sigh born from exhaustion and relief.

I had maybe another forty minutes left before I could run for the hills (or the dorm room in my case), and I couldn’t wait.

My eyes closed for a moment and I willed myself to relax. I struggled to ignore the smell, the sounds, the music that was unbearably loud; I could feel one hell of a headache on the horizon, and I prayed the minutes would pass damn quickly.
Please God!
I was starting to feel just a little claustrophobic standing there, and I cursed myself for it as the sound of loud laughter followed by a sudden squeak snapped my eyes open at the exact moment something icy cold splashed against my chest.

The smell of beer assaulted my already hyperactive senses, and I jumped, unable to shrink away from the cold liquid that plastered my shirt to my chest.

“Oh my God!” I looked up to see a girl standing in front of me, her eyes wide, a look of embarrassed horror on her face. “I’m sorry! I tripped and… God, I ruined your shirt….” She was on the verge of tears, and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her and that had me forcing a smile as I tugged the soaked material away from my chest.

“It’s fine. Really. It’s not a big deal.”

“But your shirt….”

“I was about to leave, so it’s fine. I swear. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?” Her eyes were still wide and I nodded. “I really am sorry. I can pay for the dry cleaning.”

“Believe me, that isn’t necessary.” I smiled at her again. “Like I said, I was just about to head out, so it’s not a problem.” Hell, despite the smell (which was atrocious), I was grateful for the perfect excuse to get out of the party early. When Scarlett asked why I bailed, I could tell her—honestly—that I needed to change before I became tragically ill in a room filled with people I didn’t dare offend with projectile vomit. Cowardly? Yep. Did I care? Nope. Blessed escape was in my sight, and I intended to take it, but before I could excuse myself from the still-apologizing girl, a wonderfully warm and strong hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I looked up to find the object of my unrequited longing standing beside me. Touching me. Smiling easily, naturally, that amazing smile that was radiant and charming; the smile that revealed dimples that were oh-so-sexy. I blinked, certain I was suffering from some unexpected hallucination. I had to be. There wasn’t any possible way Avery Beckett was touching me…
smiling at me
…. I shook my head to try and clear aside the obvious hallucination. Avery didn’t disappear from my sight, but he did turn to flash a smile at the young woman whose drink was currently soaking into my shirt and chilling my goose-fleshed skin.

“It’s cool, Tabby.” Avery’s voice was as rich and warm as I remembered from our class, but hearing it up close, with Avery’s hand resting casually on my shoulder… shivers of delight (and lava-like arousal) traveled down my spine and my digestive organs did a series of rather impressive somersaults. “Go grab yourself another drink. I’ll take Decker upstairs and find one of my shirts for him to change into.” I was dimly aware of the girl—Tabby—looking relieved and departing with a happy smile aimed at Avery, but mostly I was in a state of shock. 1) Avery was touching me, 2) apparently Avery actually knew my name, and 3) Avery intended to take me upstairs and loan me a shirt, and that was just so out of left field I half expected to hear the theme music from
The Twilight Zone
. Had I tumbled down a rabbit hole? Could I be drunk—and delusional—from simply smelling alcohol? That seemed unlikely (since I knew it was impossible), but there wasn’t any obvious explanation for why Avery’s hand moved from my shoulder to catch me by the wrist. With casual confidence, he began tugging gently through the crowd of giddy partygoers toward the stairs which undoubtedly led to the dorm rooms.
What the hell was happening?
Dazed and more than mildly confused, I forced myself to stop moving when we reached the bottom of the stairs. Avery turned around to look back at me, and I drew in a much needed, almost desperate, breath.

“Come on. I’m sure I can find something for you to wear. No need to spend the rest of the night in a wet shirt.”

“I don’t… I mean, I… I was leaving….” I winced, because damn, did I sound stupid. “You don’t need to be nice to me because….” His beautiful lips curved into another radiant smile, and I felt something inside me shiver again because that smile was perfect. I figured he could convince me to walk to the moon and back by just flashing that smile and yes, that made me pathetic on at least a dozen levels, but I realized I didn’t care. So I was pathetic? So what? I could live with it, if Avery would just keep smiling at me like that, like maybe he really did see me, Mr. Wallflower, as more than some borderline hermit/nerd/utterly-unjocklike loser.
Christ!
My heart kicked so hard in my chest that I briefly wondered if I was suffering from a heart attack, but once again I simply did not care, as once again Avery tugged gently at my wrist and I began following him up the stairs as if I had done so before and would do so again.

A moment later, I was ushered into a room—
Avery’s room
—and I noticed that it was a single, larger than mine and surprisingly uncluttered and well-organized. Avery had a few sports posters on the walls, a large bed, a desk housing a computer, and a small nightstand. Granted, my eyes lingered on the bed, because it was
Avery Beckett’s bed.
I was in
Avery Beckett’s room,
and I considered pinching myself. “Look, I really don’t need a shirt and like I said to Tabby, I really was ready to leave.” I didn’t turn and look at Avery, but I could hear him rummaging through his closet, undoubtedly looking around for the shirt he had offered. My chest felt tight and for a moment I feared I might faint, but I pulled in another breath as Avery moved to stand casually in front of me. Hopelessly, I looked up at him, into eyes that were so alluring and beautiful I could have lost myself in them and stayed lost in them.

“It’s way too early for you to be leaving.” He flashed another smile and I took a step back, leaning against the wall in what hopefully appeared a casual stance. “You just arrived and you haven’t had a chance to enjoy the party.”

“I don’t… I really don’t like parties all that much.” Yeah, I’m a dork; why not just put a “Loser” sign around my neck?

“That would explain why I’ve never seen you at any of these mind-numbing events before tonight.”

“I’m here with my friend.”
See,
I wanted to say,
I wasn’t a total loser, ’cause I did have a friend and that counted for something
.

“I saw you come in with Scarlett Wade.”

“Yeah. We’ve been friends since grade school.”

“I think she and Brent are hooking up.” Avery took a step forward. “Which means you’re free to spend some time with me.” I blinked at that. I couldn’t help it, because really, why would Avery Beckett want to spend time with me when there was a major party taking place downstairs?

Gathering my bearings as best I could with Avery so close (and gods, but he smelled so very, very good), I prayed to any deity in existence that I wouldn’t make a major fool of myself—at least not any more than I already had. “You don’t have to do that—hang around me because Scarlett’s with Brent. I can go back to my dorm room, and you can enjoy the party and not be stuck babysitting me all night….” I realized I was rambling, which happened whenever I found myself nervous, and in that moment nervous didn’t begin to describe what I felt, standing there in the same room with Avery. I wanted to turn and run.
Why not?
I had already come across as a blithering idiot. Avery likely figured I was completely useless, and certainly, I felt that way as I looked away, not wanting to see the look of amusement in Avery’s eyes. It was official. I would always be some socially awkward loser. Time wouldn’t change that, being away from my father wouldn’t change that; it was enough to depress me, but I didn’t have the chance to fall into that depression before a hand reached out and captured mine. Startled, my eyes shot up to look at Avery, who wasn’t looking at me like I was indeed a loser.
Wow
. I couldn’t claim experience when it came to guys (or kissing, or sex, or anything related to the entire wanting/seduction process), but despite my tragically limited experience, I was fairly certain what I saw in Avery’s eyes was desire.