Their faith isn’t exactly misguided. He’s won it for them for the last two years. Even I remember those victories, the way the campus went wild, talk of Drew and his crew on everyone’s tongue. I fled the campus for the safety of my apartment. Not that it did much good; the whole state had been awash in football fever.
As if he knows that I have this slight need to look at him, his eyes find me as he ambles along. Those eyes, golden brown beneath straight, dark brows. Their focus is complete, hard. As if he can reach right down into me and pull my heart out.
God, everything just bottoms out inside of me. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. I can’t let him see, can’t let him know that one look from him has me dry-mouthed and struggling for breath.
I don’t look away—that would be too easy. Instead, I hold his gaze for three seconds, counting them out in my head as his loose-limbed stride brings him closer. 6’4” if he’s an inch, the guy knows how to move his body. Effortless. I’m sure he’s never stumbled, bumped into a desk with his ass as he threads through the rows to get to his seat. No, not Battle Baylor.
Ridiculous name.
Apparently, a name earned because he never gives up. Thanks to the seemingly endless parade of students and professors who like to wax on about the football team, I now know far too much about Baylor’s talent.
I probably sound like a snob. Maybe I am. Don't get me wrong, this is the South, I know how important football is to people. Down here, dog mascots are interred in their own mausoleum, tailgating is an art form, and women dress for games as if they’re going to church. And in a way, they are. The Church of College Football. However, my personal association with football begins and ends with my daddy shooing me out of the way whenever I stepped in front of the TV screen on Sundays. And Monday, and Thursday. Is there a day that football isn’t on?
And my only personal experience with jocks was in high school. Complete ignorance of my existence comes to mind. Except that one time when a group of them managed to surround me in the hall and took turns pinching my “phat” ass. I spent a week in detention for kneeing one of them in the balls, a punishment I still find less than fair, especially since none of them had to go.
I don’t understand football players. I don’t understand the need to have your body bashed by some other guy while you throw a ball around. I like musicians. Wiry guys with long hair and haunted eyes. Eyes that make you want to search their depths. Not eyes that tell you something. Not eyes that say, I know who I am and I like it, and I know who you are—I see you, and you cannot hide.
Baylor is getting closer. Close enough to see the way his thighs flex and shift beneath his faded jeans with every step. Close enough to see the flat slab of his belly, apparent even though his t-shirt is loose around his waist and tight across his chest. That shirt, Army green with white lettering asking, How many licks does it take? Instantly, I want to know. I imagine wrapping my fingers around him and applying myself to the test.
Okay, that’s enough. I let my eyes drop, deliberately. You’re not bothering me in any way. See? I have appraised you and moved on. Looking over my class notes is more interesting. By far.
He slides into the desk next to mine, and his long legs stretch out into the aisle. I feel his gaze on me, watching, waiting for an acknowledgment.
He’s sat next to me since that first disastrous day of class. And because I am as much of a lemming as everyone else when it comes to picking my seat, I remain where I am. It would be one thing if this were a large lecture hall, built to hold three hundred students. No one would notice a shift in seating. But those rooms are reserved for freshman classes. Like a cattle round up, they pack in starry-eyed eighteen year-olds and see who guts it out.
But this is History of Philosophy 401. A specialized class filled with mostly juniors, seniors, and a few grad students, all of whom are either majoring in history or padding their final semesters with advanced classes.