She’s kind. Funny. Sweet. Caring.
And so damn sexy, it drives me crazy that I can’t be with her like that.
Angie Brooks-Young is the forbidden fruit. One I wouldn’t mind sinking my teeth into. If only for one taste.
One taste would be dangerous. Because I’d become addicted to her.
“Keep telling yourself that, Gladiator.” Marcus elbows me in the side. “Text me if you’re coming tonight.”
I nod at him. “See ya, man.”
Heading in the opposite direction, I go to the food court to pick up lunch for Angie and me before meeting her at a quiet park near campus. For a bright and sunny fall day in San Diego, it’s quiet. Maybe because it’s the middle of the week, but Angie is the only one on this side of the park.
Her books are spread out on the table as she writes away in her notebook.
I don’t know why I find her studying so hot, but I do. Maybe it’s the dedication to her work—something I’ve never had, but I like that in her. She’s passionate about learning the way I am about hockey. It’s probably why we get along so well.
“Hey, Troy.” Her head pops up, a smile on her face.
“Hey.” I drop the bag of sandwiches on the table and sit across from her. “I brought us lunch.”
“Thank God. I’m starving.”
“Glad I can help.” I reach into the brown paper bag and hand hers over. “Turkey and avocado on wheat.”
She eyes me with a mix of awe and curiosity. “How do you already know my sandwich order?”
“You get the same thing every time we’ve been together. It’s not hard.”
“Most guys wouldn’t notice things like that.”
“It’s easy to notice things about you, Angie.”
There’s a flicker of something that passes across her face, but it’s gone before I can figure out what it is.
“How was your psych test yesterday?” Angie changes the subject, biting into her sandwich.
“Not too bad. Got a B+.”
“Hey, that’s great!” Angie’s face widens with delight. I like that she checks in with me on all my classes, not just the ones she’s helping me with.
“Pretty sad that a B+ is great for me.”
“Hey, psych is hard. It takes time to learn things.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
“I struggled a lot in middle school. The only reason I got better is because my pops is a math teacher.”
“My dad was friends with the math teacher at our school, so he helped me a lot in high school. Also doubled as the hockey coach.”
“He was?” Shock colors her expression now. “I’m trying to imagine my pops as a hockey coach and I just can’t picture it.”
I laugh. “Yeah, he wasn’t what you would picture a hockey coach to be.”
Angie sets her lunch aside, leaning across the table. “Okay, I know your dad coached high school football. How in the world?—”
“Did I end up playing hockey?” I cut her off.
