Changing Forever (3 page)

A
S
I
MAKE
MY
WAY
ACROSS
CAMPUS
, I relax into the last few minutes of freedom before classes begin again. It’s the last of sanity before the stress of school compounds on top of the football practices I’ve had for weeks now. There’s a certain calm I feel when I’m on campus, but not on the football field or sitting in a big lecture hall listening to hours of worthless information.

Being at school also means I’m not at home, and any place is better than there. This is a different world, away from everything.

I’m always expected to be at the top of my game when I have the football in my hand. There are talents we are born with and others we learn, and for me, football is a little bit of both. My dad used to take me out in the backyard a couple times a week to throw his old pigskin around. I picked up everything he showed me quickly, and after a while, I could throw better than he could. Every time, no matter what I did, it was a perfect spiral.

Sometimes I wish I could hide from my talent. I wish I could blend in with every other college guy and not have all the weight on my shoulders. But this is what God gave me, and hopefully some day I’ll make
enough money to take care of my mom and younger sisters. I have to be at my best for the next couple years to have my shot in the pros.

I just need to hold on a little longer.

I need to stay focused.

It’s just so fucking hard … I always have to be the hero, but when it bleeds into an expectation of perfection, it becomes too much. Some days I just can’t fucking take it anymore, and I want to disappear, to blend in. Some days, I don’t want to be Drake Chambers.

As I open the door to enter the lecture hall for Speech 101, I take a deep breath. It’s another semester. Another class I’ll have to drag my feet through.
Three more years
, I tell myself.

I pick a chair toward the back of the room and throw my bag on the floor before relaxing into my seat. With any luck, the professor will hand us our syllabus and send us on our way.

“Please take a seat and pull out a notebook and pencil,” the professor says from the podium. I keep my eyes on her just long enough to note that she’s not the typical buttoned-up scholar. She’s younger with long, red hair, dressed in a knee-length black dress and sandals. If nothing else, I can spend my Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings eye-fucking that toned body of hers. “I know it’s our first class, but I have a project I’d like everyone to work on. If you thought this was going to be easy, or we’d just sit here and discuss the syllabus for an hour, you might want to reevaluate your schedule.”

Okay, her fucking attitude is going to kill it for me. Shaking my head, I reach into my bag and pull out what she asked. Too bad this class is a requirement for graduation, and I can’t afford not to graduate.

“My assistant is going around with a handout for everyone. When you get it, turn to page two and read about the group project. It will be twenty-five percent of your grade this semester.” She pauses, checking to make
sure she has everyone’s attention. “One last thing. I’ll let you choose your partner, but please avoid working with someone you already know. You’ll get more out of it this way.”

Great. I hate projects, and even more than that, I hate group projects. It’s hard to find the time to get together with people when I have workouts, practices, and games. Maybe I’ll find a hot chick and convince her to carry my weight. I’ve done it before, and I can do it again.

Noticing the guy two seats down eyeing me like his next big hunt, I stand and head in the opposite direction. He’s not going to be down with the game I’m about to play. As I walk past the upperclassman, who Professor McGill calls her assistant, I grab a handout from his hand and glance around the room.

I need to find the one … the girl who’s going to help me pass this class. It’s obvious from the way a couple blondes from across the room watch me that they know who I am. Those are the ones I avoid; they’ll just expect something I’m not willing to give them. I learned last year that there are too many girls who want to be
the one who tames the wild quarterback
. The only problem is, I’m not the wild guy they all think I am.

I don’t date because I don’t have time. I can count the number of girls I’ve had sex with on one hand. I always make sure I end things before they go too far emotionally. There’s just way too much going on in my life with football, a part-time job, and family drama to add a relationship into the mix.

When I hear some of the other guys on the team talk about their conquests, I feel like a saint. One of my wide receivers has a different girl every weekend, literally. I’ve seen him get in too many situations where last weekend’s girl bumps into him while he’s with his latest. He hasn’t quite figured out how easily some of these girls get attached, and I’m waiting for it to come back and bite him in the ass.

After walking almost the whole way up the center aisle, I start to doubt my plan. The pickings are slim, and if I can’t find someone, I won’t have any choice other than to drop this class and try again next semester. I don’t have time to deal with this shit right now.

“Hey,” I hear a soft, sweet voice say from behind me. When I don’t turn around right away, she continues, a little unsure this time. “Umm, excuse me.”

Glancing over my shoulder, I get my first look at her. She’s definitely cute … in a sweet, innocent sort of way with her long, chocolate brown hair and large brown eyes. I bet those eyes have gotten her out of trouble a time or two. She also happens to be the same girl who ran into me while I was tossing around the ball with the guys Saturday. The one who can catch a ball and throw a perfect spiral. She didn’t seem to know who I was then … or she didn’t care.

“Can I help you?” I ask, turning myself the rest of the way around.

Her eyes widen with her own realization as she tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear, allowing me to focus on the contrast between her creamy skin and dark locks. I don’t stop there, lowering my gaze to her long, bare legs. I noticed them right away the other day, and I thank God she chose cutoff shorts again today.

“I was wondering if you have a partner yet. I was reading through the syllabus, and I guess everyone else got a head start.”

A grin spreads across my face as I look up to her hooded eyes. “So you’re the only person left in this class who doesn’t have someone to work with?”

She scans the room, clearing her throat. “I think we’re the only two left.”

“Are you sure this isn’t your way of trying to see me without my shirt again?” I tease. This is how I’ve gotten through the last nine years. There’s nothing I take too seriously outside of family and football.

Her mouth hangs open as she looks from side to side then finds me again. “If all I wanted to do is look at a guy without a shirt, I’d stay home and browse Pinterest. At least the guys on there can’t talk back.” She pauses, a more serious look appearing on her face. “I just assumed you didn’t have a partner since you’re just standing here.”

“Well, you assumed right this time, but don’t make a habit of it. Most people are wrong about me.”

“Do you have a name?” she asks, tucking more hair behind her ear.

She’s not throwing herself at me or pretending she has a low IQ just so I take pity on her. She actually doesn’t have a fucking clue who I am.

“Drake. Drake Chambers.”

Her eyebrows pull in as if she’s thinking really hard. It’s actually kind of cute. “That name sounds familiar.”

“Maybe it’s because Gavin called me Chambers after you ran into me Saturday.”

She winces. “No, that’s not it.”

“You’ll figure it out eventually.”

She nods, her lips pulling up at the corners. “It’s nothing Google can’t fix.”

This girl is quick, and I kind of like sparring with her. It might be the highlight of my fucking day.

“Well, should we get started?” she asks as she wraps her arms tightly around her notebook. Her expression is hard to read. It’s like we’re in the middle of a poker game or business deal.

“It sounds like I don’t have much of a choice.” I let her lead the way, watching the way her shorts mold to her body as she walks. Her body curves in all the right places, and she’s toned where it counts. Not bad. Not bad at all.

We grab two seats near the front of the room, neither of us speaking at first. She’s reading her syllabus, or should I say, pretending to read it. I catch her eyes lifting from the paper a few times, watching me in the same way she watched me the other day. If she thinks she’s being sneaky, she’s wrong.

“You never told me your name,” I say, resting my arm across the top of my chair.

“I usually don’t share with strangers.”

Sitting up, I lean in close to her. “I think we’re moving past being strangers. What’s your name?”

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, glancing up at the clock that hangs above the door. It’s good to know I can affect her in some way. “Emery.”

“Emery? That’s different.”

Ignoring my remark, she picks up her pencil again, working hard to keep her eyes off me. “Let’s get to work. We don’t have that much time left.”

“I’m going to be straight with you, Emery. I’m not going to be able to work on this much outside of class.”

Her eyes widen. “Seriously? You had time to play around with your friends Saturday.”

“Look, you picked me. I can’t do much with my schedule.”

She crosses her arms over her chest as her eyes narrow on me. Maybe I should feel guilty for the way I am, but I don’t. Besides, she’s even hotter when she’s pissed. “We’ll get a better grade if I just do it all myself anyway.”

Her comment should offend me, but she’s probably right. She has perfectionist written all over her. I bet she spends her weekends reading and studying, thinking that if she takes one day off, she’ll fail out of life.

She doesn’t say another word as she starts jotting things down in her notebook. I thought this was what I wanted, to sit back and watch her do all the work, but I have to bite my lip to hide my grimace. If this is what I want, why do I feel so fucking annoyed with myself?

“Emery.” She stops writing but doesn’t look up. Again, that unfamiliar guilty feeling hits me in the face. “Why don’t we exchange numbers, and I’ll try to find time to get together this weekend.”

“Are you sure you can squeeze me in?” she asks as she taps her pencil against her lower lip. Her tone is sharp, and for a second, I consider sticking to my original plan, but maybe she deserves a break.

My high school coach always said I was too cocky. He said it would hold me back, but so far he’s been wrong, and I’m not planning on changing anytime soon. This is who I am. It’s what my life has molded me to be. It’s how I deal with all the other shit.

“I can try to make an exception for you.”

W
HEN
I
GET
BACK
TO
my room after class, Kate is standing in front of the full-length mirror with a black dress in one hand and an emerald one in the other. It’s kind of funny because it’s exactly what I would have done if I had to make a decision on what to wear.

Initially, I thought it would be a little weird getting stuck in a room with a stranger and be expected to get along while living in a tight space, but it’s been pretty easy so far. We’ve found enough similarities in our personalities to bury any differences.

She’s outgoing, and I’m happy to stay locked in our room with a book.

She’s always smiling, and I’m always trying to find a reason to.

But yet, we’re doing okay.

“Are you going somewhere?” I ask, throwing my backpack onto my bed.

“Beau is going to take me out to dinner to celebrate my first day of college.” She smiles shyly, holding the green one directly in front of her. “Which one looks better? It’s so freaking hot outside, and these are the only sundresses I have.”

“Where’s he taking you?” I ask, surveying the dress. She’s so pretty … that dress won’t do her justice.

“Hmm, he mentioned pizza or hot wings, but I’m not sure. Somewhere casual, I guess,” she replies, replacing the green dress with the black. I like this one better, but something is still missing. She needs something that screams summer and reflects her bright personality.