I’m already on my second cup of coffee and still no sign of Troy Alexander, the star of the Rushmore Rebels football team, who I have to interview for the school newspaper. I almost strangled Blake when he gave me the last-minute assignment. It was only his promise to be my bitch in next week’s LARP event that convinced me to step in for Ludwig, the dude who usually covers the sports section of the paper.
Football and jocks are not in my orbit, so I spent the last twenty minutes learning as much as I could about the Rushmore Rebels’ quarterback. People seem to regard him like a god, and honestly, no one deserves to be treated as such. He has an okay average, winning more games than losing them. This year is different though. He’s a senior, and most of the time, that’s when the players really try to give their all. But Troy seems to have lost his steam, not really going the extra mile when he should. That’s according to the notes I got from Ludwig, of course. I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference if I watched a game, which I haven’t.
Since the jerkface is late, I snoop his social media profiles. I can’t gather much from Facebook unless I’m friends with him, and there’s no chance I’ll send a request, not when his Instagram feed has plenty of photos that paint a picture of who Troy Alexander is. It’s clear the guy has acquired a taste for high-adrenaline sports, from skydiving to mountain climbing. Some are quite intense and dangerous, such as extreme snowboarding. I wonder what his coach has to say about his quarterback’s new hobby.
I swallow the last drops of my coffee, already debating if I should go for a third cup, but when I can’t stop bouncing my legs up and down, I have my answer. I’m already jittery as hell; inhaling more caffeine is definitely a bad idea.
The coffee shop’s doorbell chimes, earning my attention. But it’s not Troy coming in, only a couple of sorority girls wearing their matching pink hoodies with their house’s emblem embroidered on them.
Clenching my teeth, I check the time. Fuck. He’s forty minutes late. It’s safe to assume he stood me up. I lost track of time, or I wouldn’t have waited so long. Great.
I’m busy texting Blake, telling him he owes me big time, when someone drops onto the chair opposite mine. It’s Troy, looking hotter than Hades in casual jeans and a T-shirt. Golden hair, golden skin, and a face that belongs on the cover of a magazine. He’s sex on a stick, something I wasn’t prepared for. His Instagram pictures don’t really do him justice.
“Hi, you must be Ludwig’s replacement. Have you been waiting long?” He smiles as if he didn’t already know the answer to that.
I pick my jaw up from the floor, hoping he didn’t catch me drooling, and frown. “How did you know who I was?”
“You look like the type who works for the paper.” He shrugs, then eyes the two girls who entered the coffee shop earlier, giving them a wolfish grin. They were already ogling him, but Troy’s attention sends them into a fit of giggles.
Really?
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I snap.
Troy faces me again, sporting an innocent expression. “Are you that unaware of the vibe you give off?”
I lean back, crossing my arms over my chest. “Enlighten me.”
His lips curl into a smirk while his eyes dance with glee. “Your T-shirt with the paper’s logo. That’s how I knew.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks. I had completely forgotten I was wearing it.
“But you also have the nerd look about you,” he continues, renewing my irritation with him.
“Nerd look, huh? Could it be my glasses?” I push the frames back up my nose using my middle finger.
Troy quirks an eyebrow. “Probably. Can we please make this a quickie? I have places to be.”
I scoff. “You have some nerve. You’re the one who was forty minutes late!”
He flinches as if my outburst surprised him. “Gee, I’m sorry, okay? I had to deal with a situation. I’m here now, so fire away.”
Flaring my nostrils, I grab my phone. “Is it okay if I record this?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
“So, Troy, when did you decide not to give a fuck about football anymore?”
He doesn’t answer for a couple of beats, narrowing his eyes. “Excuse me?”
“I mean, your performance in the last game was half-assed at best, and you only won because the other