As always, I’m the early bird in the house. I make my way to the kitchen island and whip up a killer banana, peanut butter, and almond milk smoothie–the breakfast of champions. My dietitian is all thumbs up for that one. The kitchen is fairly clean, because Lamar has a bit of an issue with germs, but with six athletic dudes sharing one space, things tend to get cluttered real quick. Notebooks, sports bags, and football gear are strewn all over the damn place, and don't even get me started on the mountain of shoes at the back door.
Once breakfast is demolished, I dig up my kicks out of said shoe pile, grab my ball cap, and pull up a nice playlist on my phone before hitting the pavement for my morning jog.
Per usual, I start with an easy warm-up mile, making my way down to the beach. But when I reach my usual spot on my bench to stretch, I find someone already there. It's Jace, the new frontman from Missy’s band. Turns out he’s in my management class and we kind of hit it off. He's lost in thought, staring out over the ocean like it holds all the answers.
“Hey, good morning,” I greet him cheerfully, pausing my music and making my way around the bench. “Feeling a bit disoriented?”
Jace jumps slightly, his hand instinctively reaching for his chest that’s clad in a dark blue runners shirt. “Whoa, you startled me there, man! Can't just appear out of nowhere like that.”
I let out a chuckle. “I wasn’t trying to be stealthy. I’ve been told before that my jogging sounds like an elephant on crack.”
He gives me a once-over. “Well, I can see why they’d say that. You’re one huge dude.”
I nod, smirking a little. “Thanks, I guess? Not sure if that's a compliment or not.”
That smug grin of his, the same one I've seen in class, returns. “Oh, trust me, it's definitely a compliment.”
Prepared for his playful banter this time, I chuckle and gesture to his hair. “What’s with the headband?”
“What? Not a fan?” He pushes the thin black band a bit further back which keeps the longer hair on top of his head out of his face. “I thought it was very Beckham.”
“Beckham? What’s a Beckham?”
Jace blinks up at me. “Beckham? Like David fucking Beckham. Have you never heard of him? You’re shitting me, right?”
“Who?”
He throws his head back and mutters something under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose.
I can't help but grin, unfazed by his mini-tantrum. “So, you feeling a bit lost? I haven't seen you around here before, and I practically own this spot.”
“Well, actually… yeah. I run a few times a week and slowly am finding my way around here. But today I was like hey, lets try a new route this time! Should be fun! Next thing I know, I’ve been running for an hour, and still no college in sight.” Jace leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and nods towards the ocean. “So I found this bench, got lost in the view, and some lyrics came to mind…” He trails off, grabs his phone from his armband and holds up one finger at me before typing away. “One moment, my lord. Let me just jot this down real fast. I don’t have my notebook with me, so this will have to do.”
I chuckle and shake my head, dismissing the stupid nickname, before sitting down next to him. “You do know that those handy little devices have something called navigation, right?”
He smiles broadly, tucks his phone away again, and leans back. “Yeah, but where's the fun in that? I like figuring out the lay of the land by myself since I'll be here for a couple of years. Getting lost isn't all that bad; I've discovered some great places while wandering aimlessly.”
“Really? Where did you used to wander around aimlessly?” I ask as I flip my hat backwards and try to bask in some morning sun. I love it here in the mornings, when I can take five to soak up the sun in the early morning quiet.
“Is that your way of asking where I’m from?”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t tell me you don’t already know. It seems to be a hot topic around here.”
“Well, I know you’re from Europe. My girl was all over your Instagram account the other night.”
He flinches and gives me an apologetic look. “Ah, well sorry about that, I guess?”
“Why are you sorry?” I ask nonplussed.
“Because most guys don't seem to like it when their girls check me out.” He shrugs and sheepishly glances at me. “I'm from Amsterdam, by the way.”
“Oh, that’s in The Netherlands, right?” He nods slowly, like he’s surprised by my answer. “What? My head gets hit a lot because of football, but I still have some brains left. But that means you're Dutch, right?” I inquire further as I throw my arms over the back of the bench, ignoring his first comment. I know Kaylee wasn’t checking him out, she was just being her nosy self.
His gaze briefly follows the movement of my arms before he responds, “Half Dutch, half Swedish, actually.”
“Oh Sweden? Nice. So do you play hockey?”
