Page 23 of No More Bad Boys
Still dwelling on the mental image of that wetsuit—and the intriguing tattoo underneath—I’m not really sure I heard what he said. “What?”
“I take it you weren’t impressed. What’s your major at Tech?”
I shake my head in confusion, trying to follow the quick shift in topic. “I’m double-majoring actually—in Mechanical and Industrial engineering.”
He nods sagely. “Ah, just as I suspected.”
“What?”
“You’re way too smart for me,” he says with a deep laugh.
I laugh, too, uncomfortable with his suggestion that he is in any wayfor me. “You’resmart.”
“No. I’m quick on my feet. There’s a difference. I got totally mediocre grades—and that was just journalism school.”
A breeze blows a lock of shiny auburn hair over his forehead, and he lifts a hand to rake it back.
Suddenly, I have a suspicion that turns the beer in my stomach into ice.
Kenley, who’d always had a thing for redheads before Larson, mentioned having a former boyfriend named Blake—another journalism major at University of Georgia.
It’s a common enough name in the South, but still…
I work to keep my question from sounding like an enemy interrogation, but the response he gives will be critical.
“Where did you go to J-school?”
“Oh, I uh… graduated from Kennesaw State.”
Blake looks almost embarrassed at the admission, but I’m beyond relieved. If thiswasKenley’s Blake, I’d have to stand up and walk away no matter how adorable he looks in his after-work unbuttoned style.
Now that I’m no longer worried about being a consolation prize to Kenley’s first choice again, I’m curious about Blake’s reaction to my simple question. Kennesaw is a smaller state school, but it has a good reputation.
So I’m not sure why he would act strangely about it.
He seemed… evasive.
I don’t like evasive. After a lifetime of my mom’s casual and sometimes damaging lies, I crave complete and utter honesty.
“So… you didn’t like it there?”
Blake hesitates, starts to speak and stops, then starts again.
“It was fine. It turned out to be… the best place for me.”
Clearly, this is not his favorite topic. Though I’m still curious about his hesitance, I decide to drop it and ask about another aspect of his past.
“Play any sports in school?” He has the build of an athlete for sure.
His eyes study mine, boring into me as if trying to discern some purpose for my asking beyond mere curiosity.
His face is tight when he finally answers.
“Yeah. I played baseball in high school and a couple years in college, but I injured my elbow and had to quit.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. That had to suck.”
“Yeah. It did. I lost my scholarship.” He stops there.
