I woke to a text message from Mandy. As I squinted at the bright screen of my phone in the dark of my room, I groaned. It wasn’t even that early, but the margaritas yesterday probably didn’t help.

Today will be hot. Wear shorts. Mandy.

Thank you, Mandy, my new best friend.

It was only a half hour until my alarm was set to go off, so I got up and took a long shower. Yesterday I had looked like the worst version of myself; today was not going to be the same. I was going to look fantastic.

The heat and my sweat was going to be murder on my hair no matter what, but still, I took my time with it, drying and styling it, hoping that it would last at least until I saw Nathan. I left it down this time. It gave me grief, but when I got it to behave, it treated me very well.

Even though the weather report said it was going to be about the same temperature as yesterday, I took Mandy’s advice. I thought about what she had been wearing yesterday—a pretty little sundress—and took my lead from that. I looked regretfully at the nice slacks and jacket I had packed, realizing that they were definitely the wrong fashion choice. Looking like a journalist would probably make Nathan even more skittish. I had to look like myself. Like a person he could talk to. Luckily I had brought enough everyday clothes to make it through the interview process.

I didn’t have a sundress, so I pulled a pair of jean shorts from the drawer and paired it with my favorite gray T-shirt and sneakers. The whole thing was casual—not too ratty, but nothing overtly professional that screamed, “I am a reporter here to interview you and get all your deepest darkest secrets and put them out in the world for everyone to read.” He wouldn’t talk to me if he thought I was here looking for a scandal. I had to find a way to make him trust me.

It was more crowded than yesterday, though I spotted a few girls I recognized. I waved and they, reluctantly it seemed, waved back. Maybe they didn’t think I was the worst person ever.

Mandy was already in the stands when I arrived at the field, dressed in another cute sundress, this one green, her hair clearly styled and paired with a nice shade of pink lipstick. Subtle, but cute. Good girl, Mandy, I thought. She wasn’t going to let yesterday’s progress with Chris get derailed. In fact, she was going to take advantage of the situation. I knew I liked her. Girl knew how to take initiative. Smart.

Apparently it had worked and caught Chris’ attention because he was leaning against the railing in his uniform, with Nathan at his side. Both of them were smiling and laughing with Mandy, but only one of them noticed my approach.

Even from across the field, I could see Nathan’s jaw drop. Thank you, Mandy, I thought to myself, as his eyes scanned my body, each inch of my skin heating as his gaze passed over it. Even though my outfit wasn’t anything special, it definitely showed off my long legs, and if I turned around, he’d get a pretty good view of my ass. Served him right, really, for distracting me all of yesterday with his rear. Payback was a bitch, I thought.

His mouth was slack, his eyes round. Now that I had his attention, I just had to hold on to it. As I reached them, I swept my hair back over my shoulder. Slowly. It was one of my favorite moves. A crowd-pleaser if the crowd was full of horny guys, which, let’s face it, was basically every bar, restaurant, or sports stadium in America. The move gave guys a chance to imagine how their hands would feel tangled in my hair and immediately gave them a better view of how deep the V in my V-neck shirt was.

And Nathan got quite the view.

“Morning,” I said, joining the group.

“Rose,” Nathan responded, his voice low. It took me a moment to realize he was referencing our Titanic exchange from the other night.

I glanced over at him, and caught the hint of a smile on his lips before he turned and headed over towards the other players. He had made a joke! That had to be a good sign. Not to mention he had definitely enjoyed the view. As did I, I noted, watching him walk away. He had a great walk. And a great ass. God bless those uniforms.

“Hi Sophie,” Mandy said while glancing at my outfit with an approving smile. She gave me a subtle thumbs up.

“Hey, Hall,” Chris said, before turning a grin in Mandy’s direction. He was clearly just interested in talking to her. I wasn’t offended. “See you afterwards?”

“Yep.” She returned the grin. They both looked happy and goofy and excited. I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous. Mostly glad for them, but hey, I could admit that I was a little jealous as well. I had to remind myself that I wasn’t here for romance or attention, as much as I wished that wasn’t the case.

I climbed into the stands next to Mandy, gratefully taking the bottle of water she handed me. I reminded myself I needed to come more prepared for an afternoon of sitting in the sun.

“Thanks for the tip,” I told Mandy, nodding down at my outfit.

“It’s just a nudge.” She gave me a wink. “I don’t know if I can do much more.”

“You’ve done plenty.” I thought of Nathan’s joke. Maybe we were onto surer footing after all.

* * *

The stands were rowdier then yesterday, with people cheering as the players jogged by during their warm-up. Not that I blamed them; those uniforms made me want to cheer as well. The boys then stretched, a collective display that made my hormones surge. All of them together like that, they were more mouthwatering than an entire bag of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups when I’m on my dot. But for the most part, the practice wasn’t much different than it had been yesterday and after a while, I took out my notebook and started jotting down questions for my interview with Nathan, figuring it would behoove me to be prepared for whenever he allowed me to talk to him. When I had a list I was satisfied with I glanced up at the field, which I had been mostly ignoring, and was surprised to see it empty.

“Where did everyone go?” I asked Mandy, who was scrolling through the pictures she had taken that day.

Mandy looked at her phone. “Oh, it’s Wednesday.” She smiled. “Practice always lets out early on Wednesdays. Nathan has class.”

As if summoned, the guy in question emerged from the dugout. Like yesterday there was already a crowd waiting for him, and he took his time posing for pictures and signing baseballs. I made a note to include that in my article—Nathan Ryder: loves his fans and they love him back.

“Class?” I asked Mandy. Most soon-to-go-pro athletes weren’t big on actually going to class, nor did their schools usually encourage it. As far I knew it was standard practice to give star players easy-to-pass classes that they could skip at their leisure. But once again, it appeared that Nathan Ryder was hell-bent on surprising me.

“You should go with him,” Mandy suggested, giving me a little nudge. “I doubt anyone would mind if you sat in for one lecture.”

“What class is it?” I gathered up my things, eager to get a chance to see a different side of him. One that could potentially help my article.

She just grinned. “Just follow him and find out.”

I didn’t need any additional urging. I grabbed my stuff and practically tumbled out of the stands as Nathan walked by. If he noticed the awkwardness of my dismount, he didn’t say anything, though I was pleased to note that he actually slowed down so that I could catch up with him.

“Hey,” he said, not friendly, but not exactly unfriendly either. Neutral. Which, although it was better than yesterday’s general feel of annoyance, still wasn’t the version of Nathan I was interested in.

“Heard you’re heading to class.”

He gave me a sideways glance. “Guess you’ll be joining me?”

“If you don’t mind.” I gave him my most winning grin. “Bet people would like to read about what you do outside of baseball.”

“I’m sure they would.” There was that skeptical tone again, but I chose to ignore it.

“What class are we going to?” I asked cheerily. He mumbled something that I couldn’t quite understand. “Huh? Pottery?”

“Poetry,” he clarified and his cheeks went pink. My heart unwillingly skipped a beat.

He was taking a poetry class? Oh man, I thought, people were going to eat this up. I was going to eat him up. No, down girl, I told myself. You were doing this for America, not for yourself. But damn. He couldn’t be more charming if he tried. I bit my lip, trying not to grin too obnoxiously at him. It didn’t work.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, ducking his head, face even more red. “Not what you expected from a big dumb jock, is it?”

“I never thought you were dumb,” I told him. Big, well, a girl could only hope, I thought and immediately chastised myself for my never-ending filthy thoughts. “You’re just full of surprises, it seems.”

“That’s me.” His tone was dry.

“What made you want to take a poetry class?” I asked, switching into journalist mode. I wanted to pull out my notepad or my phone to record the conversation, but I figured that would just spook him. I could get everything on record during our official interview—this was just prep work, getting him to open up.

But it didn’t work. “Would you believe me if I told you I’m just taking it for credit?”

“Nope,” I told him, trying not to be disappointed in how he was dodging my completely reasonable and very not personal line of questioning. It didn’t bode well for the actual interview I had planned. “Who’s your favorite poet?”

“Bet you were a star pupil in school.” He quickly changed the subject as we reached main campus. “Straight As, teacher’s pet, honor roll, the whole thing.”

“Would you believe me if I said I was a slacker?” I responded as casually as I could. I had started working in high school, which often meant I had less time to do homework and sometimes had to miss class. Even though I had graduated, it had been a close call, and most of my teachers had considered the term an apt description.

“Nope,” he responded quickly. “You seem like someone who was focused on her studies.”

I couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a compliment or an insult, but I could sense an in. Even though I didn’t like revealing this aspect of myself, I knew that since I had made Nathan feel like a fool at the bar, it was now my turn to make myself vulnerable. To return the favor, so to speak, and even the playing field between us.

“I didn’t go to college.” I tried to keep my tone light. It never got easier admitting that to people, and I found that it felt especially vulnerable to do that to Nathan. I had never had the opportunities that he had. I had done my research on him. I knew that even if he hadn’t gotten a full athletic ride to college, his family would have been able to afford to send him anywhere. My mom hadn’t even been able to make it to my high school graduation because of work. Helping me pay for college was never even an option. I tried to remind myself that I was doing well, that I had the job I wanted even without a college degree, but I couldn’t help feeling like I had missed out on something important I really wanted to experience. And there it was again, jealousy. I seemed to be feeling it an awful lot in the past few days and I was not a fan. I was better than that.

“Oh,” he responded.

“Yeah.” I didn’t want to look up. This is when people usually started acting differently towards me. A little bit of pity, a little bit of elitism. I had dealt with it plenty of times at the paper, where most of my co-workers had graduated from some of the best journalism schools in the country. Most of them didn’t think I deserved to be there, especially since I had taken the slot that was usually filled by graduates from their various alma maters. But the editor-in-chief had seen something in me, apparently. Or just wanted me to fuck up so they had a reason to fire me. Either way, I was going to hang onto this job with an iron grip as long as I could. And I wasn’t going to allow Nathan to make me feel the way my shitty co-workers did.

I looked up and made eye contact. “Couldn’t afford it.”

“Oh,” he said again, but he wasn’t looking at me the way that most people did when I told them about my situation. He looked more curious than anything. Either way, he wasn’t looking at me like I was a journalist looking to grill him for intimate facts he didn’t want to share. No. He was looking at me like he had looked at me the other night. And suddenly, I was once again the girl in the bar.

“It’s not a big deal,” I shrugged, hoping that sharing this information was going to be worth it in the end. “I worked instead. Got ahead of my peers, I guess.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave me a slow, assessing look.

“What?” I asked, feeling very exposed in front of him.

“You’re just not what I expected,” he said. “When they told me a journalist from the Register was coming to do an article on me, well, I guess I just thought you would be different.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” I retorted, my hackles rising. I might not have been what he had expected, but I was a damn good journalist and I was going to write a damn good story on him with or without his approval.

“I didn’t say that,” he said as we reached the lecture hall. He sighed. “Look, I know you’re just trying to do your job and all, I just don’t see the point of all this.”

“I’m here to help you,” I assured him, not really understanding how someone could be on the verge of becoming such a huge star and be so reluctant to talk about himself. “There’s a good chance you’ll be a public figure soon and people will want to get to know you. I want them to see your best side.”

“And sitting in on my poetry class is going to help show that?”

“It depends,” I teased. “Are you going to be reciting poetry in there?”

He leaned forward, that wonderful smell of grass invading my senses and for a moment I thought he might kiss me. But instead, he spoke, in a voice that was almost a whisper:

“I will touch you with my mind. Touch you and touch and touch. Until you give.”

My mouth dropped open and placing a finger beneath my chin, Nathan gently closed it.

“e.e. cummings,” he said, turning to open the door to the lecture hall. “You coming?” he asked, the question equally naughty and innocent, and without a word, I followed him in.