Faking It with the Jock

Still wearing clothes? Rowan, can't you handle it?

I said it straight into my mic. No shame at all.

And those aren't gray sweatpants. I'm not looking.

On screen, the guy stopped mid-motion.

He stood. Walked out of frame.

Under thirty seconds later, he came back.

In gray sweatpants.

Rowan leaned into the camera. "Now do you want to look?"

My heart clenched. My brain shut down for a full three seconds.

My eyes slid to the corner of the screen.

The mic icon was lit. Green.

I was in class.

My mic was on.

The green light was still blinking.

The whole school heard it.

ROWAN

I'd waited a whole semester.

Finally caught you.

Chapter 1

I pinned Rowan's video to my main screen.

Rowan Vance wasn't in my section.

Everyone on campus knew his face. Nobody messed with him.

We just happened to take the same PE elective.

Over Zoom, he couldn't do much.

The instructor made the guys do push-ups.

White long-sleeve, black joggers. Every time he dropped down, the shirt rode up over a lean stretch of waist. The tendons in his neck pulled tight.

Steady. Fast. Like it cost him nothing.

I have a condition. Can't-look-at-hot-guys syndrome. In two years I'd never once looked him in the eye.

Things were different now.

"Still wearing clothes? Rowan, can't you handle it?"

Looking wasn't enough. I had commentary.

"Tsk. Those aren't gray sweatpants. I'm not looking."

Then he stopped.

Stood up. Left the frame.

"Hey, don't go, what am I supposed to look at now..."

When he came back, he'd changed into gray sweatpants. Flat dark eyes, aimed at the lens. Aimed at me.

"Now do you want to look?"

My brain went out for three full seconds.

Then I found it. My mic. Live.

My face went up in flames.

My hands shook so hard it took two tries to mute.

I opened my phone.

Bex Whitlock had been blowing it up for a while.

Bex: [GIRL. DANGER. MUTE.]

Bex: [you did NOT just say that with a hot mic!!]

She'd called, too.

My phone was on silent.

I heard none of it.

In the course group chat, everybody was busy answering the question Rowan had asked.

Chat: [YES!!!]

Chat: [everybody who wants to look, +1 in the chat. I'll start. 1111111]

So many people in that call. No way he'd clocked which one of us said it.

Besides, he and I didn't even know each other.

I let out a breath.

Fearless. That's me.

I texted Bex: [am I a legend or what. he has NO idea it was me]

The next second.

A red dot.

My smile went stiff.

Unknown number.

[it's Rowan Vance.]

ROWAN

I went straight to the course group chat and found her.

Added her.

Delaney Pierce.

So that's her name.

The contact photo was a golden retriever puppy.

Nothing like the guy who walked around like he owned the place.

I saved the number like it might bite me.

He typed back fast.

Rowan: [why'd you go quiet]

Me: [wrong number.]

Rowan: [still lying?]

Instant backpedal.

Me: [I want to look! I love looking! So much!]

I glanced up at my screen.

Straight into Rowan's eyes, still fixed on the lens.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

The phone buzzed in my hand.

Rowan: [since you have a problem with me wearing clothes, why don't you come over and find out whether I can handle it?]

Chapter 2

Bex was still blowing up my phone.

Bex: [YOU ABSOLUTE LEGEND!!]

Bex: [gray sweatpants are the GOAT. you took one for the team. a hero. respect.]

I didn't have time for her. I had Rowan to survive.

Me: [I think I'll pass on the house visit.]

Rowan: [want me to come get you?]

Me: [it was a joke.]

Rowan: [you're the first person who ever said I couldn't handle it.]

You could tell. The guy hated losing.

Then it occurred to me.

There was an entire internet between us. He couldn't actually do a thing to me.

So I got brave.

Me: [you know I'd never actually come over. you asked anyway. if that's not "can't handle it," what is it?]

Rowan: [...]

Me: [smirk meme]

Nothing came back. Not for the rest of class.

Easy. Behind a screen, I don't get scared.

The next second, the phone went off in my hand.

Rowan was requesting a video call.

I nearly dropped it.

Was he going to yell at me?

Yes. I was scared. Face to face, I'm nothing.

Rowan: [not picking up?]

Rowan: [wait till we're back on campus.]

After that, I babysat my mic in every class I had. Checked it twice, three times, before I so much as breathed.

Six days.

A lifetime. No. One semester.

I could sit through one semester.

It's fine. It's fine.

Seven days later.

The school sent out the return-to-campus notice.

Seven days until I'd be standing on the same court as him.

What kind of school sends a notice that cold. Was it greed? Was it evil?

Rowan had only ever seen my face on a screen.

ROWAN

Last semester. A packed campus shuttle.

I stepped on something.

Looked down. A girl was standing next to me, barely up to my shoulder.

"Sorry."

"It's okay. That didn't hurt."

Soft little voice. Looked sweet.

Head down like that, I caught her screen.

I wasn't planning to read anybody's texts.

Then I saw my own name.

[I hit the jackpot. Rowan Vance is standing right next to me.]

[my forehead is two inches off this man's chest.]

[I'm going to hell. I'm having thoughts.]

[when he apologized I did the babygirl voice. on purpose. I'm not okay.]

So the sweet little voice was a performance. There was a whole other person in there and I hadn't heard her yet.

That morning I caught my own reflection in the window.

Stopped.

Why was my mouth doing that.

Every Tuesday and Friday morning after that, I saw her on that shuttle.

She liked to sneak looks at me.

When I caught her, she'd whip out her phone and pretend to type. Thumbs flying. God knows what about.

I was waiting.

Waiting for her to crack and talk to me first.

She never did.

The campus shut down before she got around to it.

I should have said something. Asked for her number. Anything.

Four months of that.

I changed my hair anyway.

I even made Bex verify the results.

She put a hand over her heart. "Relax. I almost didn't recognize you, and I know your face. Rowan? Zero chance. I guarantee it."

Seventh day.

PE.

I walked toward the courts with my stomach in a knot.

A bunch of guys were already playing.

I stopped in the doorway.

Scanned the court like a criminal casing a bank.

Then. Footsteps behind me. A ball hitting concrete.

"You're in my way."

I turned.

Straight into Rowan Vance's stupidly cocky face.

Deep auburn-red hair, a ball spinning on one hand, the bone of his wrist pale in the sun. Every inch of him daring somebody to try it.

I stood there holding my own funeral.

His eyes went over me once. Barely.

Then he walked past with his boys.

I blinked.

Then I smirked.

Ha.

The hair worked.

He didn't recognize me.

So I filled my lungs with clean air and strolled onto that court like I paid the light bill. Said hi to people with my whole chest.

Somebody brought up the hot mic thing.

I raised a hand. "Ladies and gentlemen. I'm retired. We don't speak of it."

That's when my phone lit up.

Rowan: [where are you]

WHAT is your problem.

He's not actually going to prove it to me. Is he.

Or is this the payback.

I looked across the court at him and typed.

Me: [so, funny thing, I'm not in class today. called out sick.]

Behind me, somebody read off a name.

"Delaney Pierce."

My hand shot up. "Here!"

I am so. Completely. Screwed.

Chapter 3

He'd played me.

He crossed the distance in two long strides and stopped in front of me.

"Delaney Pierce." A short, amused breath. "You didn't actually think pushing your bangs back and shrinking your neck into your collar would work on me."

Don't panic. Don't fold.

I straightened up and stood tall.

And discovered that tall got me to the middle of his chest.

Nobody yells at a girl who's smiling. Allegedly.

So I tipped my chin back and gave him the friendliest, sunniest thing I had. "Yep. It's me. Rowan Vance, you've got great eyes."

His lids lowered. He wasn't buying any of it. "Always have."

Infuriating. So much for that.

"So you called out sick."

"Ha. That was a joke." Then, because I never know when to stop, "Last time was a joke too. Just a little joke."

Then I met his eyes.

And my voice got smaller and smaller.

A short breath through his nose. "That's your version of little? Looked pretty big from where I was standing."

The whistle blew for lineup.

I have never loved a sound more.

The guys drifted to the back two rows on instinct.

At his height, Rowan belonged in the last row.

I was two steps from the safety of the front when fate closed a hand around my throat.

He caught the hood of my sweatshirt and lifted me in front of him like a kitten by the scruff.

"Where do you think you're going, Shorty."

Shor... Shorty.

I swallowed it. "To line up. At the front."

He said, lazily, "You'll stand right here. You don't go anywhere."

I'm pretty sure that qualified as a threat from organized crime.

Warm-ups were a disaster. My arms wouldn't work.

There was a weight on the back of my neck the entire time. Something watching.

During hamstring stretches I turned my head, just a little, to check.

He caught me.

The corner of his mouth pulled up, slow, like he'd found a new hobby.

I whipped my head back around.

When warm-ups ended and free period started, I let out the longest breath of my life.

"What's the sigh for?"

I didn't get to answer.

Rowan made a soft, dawning sound. Then he raised his voice so it carried.

"Oh, I get it. You're disappointed I kept my clothes on."

Every head on that half of the court turned at once. Eyes went wide all the way down the line.

He walked off, grinning.

That's when I understood.

He didn't want anything from me. He just wanted me to die, publicly, on this court.

The man doesn't kill you. He kills your reputation.

Soon enough, his boys pulled him into a game.

I'll admit it. He is unfair to look at with a ball in his hands.

Bex talked me out of aerobics. Into basketball.

"You get to watch Rowan Vance and his stupidly hot friends play ball. Up close. Every single week. And you feel nothing?"

The one time I follow my heart, and this is what it costs me.

I grabbed a ball and went off to practice the layup test with Bex, quietly, in a corner, like a normal person.

Except I dribbled too hard, and the ball got away from me.

And then that basketball grew eyes.

It flew across the court and hit Rowan Vance, who was standing behind the three-point line, directly in the ass.

Smack. Perfect shot.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no.

One of his boys doubled over. "Ohhh. Right in the moneymaker."

Rowan turned his head. His eyes came around like a searchlight.

"Who the hell hit me?"

Chapter 4

I whipped around too, fast, and scanned the crowd behind me. "Who the hell hit him?"

Nobody's smarter than me.

My mouth was already curling into a smirk.

And then.

Several cold hands lifted.

All of them pointing at me.

"It was her."

My heart broke into pieces on the floor. Whatever happened to solidarity.

Rowan looked at me.

"You're getting braver by the day."

Help. I have never once been brave.

"Rowan, no, listen, I can explain, I swear that was an accident." Then, with enormous concern, "Does it hurt?"

He said, "A lot."

"Want me to rub it?"

I heard it the second it left my mouth. There was no getting it back.

Rowan's eyes narrowed. "So now you want to use your hands."

"No. I don't."

The explanation had all the power of a wet napkin.

He laughed, the way people laugh when they've run out of other options. "How badly do you want to get your hands on me?"

I'm never living this down.

ROWAN

This shuttle again.

I rode it every week last semester.

Today she won't even lift her head.

Our campus is not normal-sized.

It's big enough that some classes are on the other side of it.

Which means the shuttle.

I got on early that morning. So many empty seats. Bliss.

Back row, by the window. Earbuds in.

I watched the scenery slide backward until I felt like the lead in a sad music video.

The sad music video lasted about ninety seconds.

Because Rowan Vance got on.

Pale gray bomber jacket, jeans over those legs, red hair shoved back and coming loose, a few strands falling over his forehead.

Impossible not to look at.

It's not like I'd never run into him before.

Before, we had nothing to do with each other. Back then I admired his ridiculous face quietly, like everybody else.

Now my first instinct was to look at the floor.

The basketball incident was still fresh. What I wanted, more than anything, was to be transparent.

You can't see me. You can't see me.

A pair of long legs stopped beside me.

Rowan sat down in the empty seat next to mine.

An entire bus of empty seats, and he picked this one.

His jeans creased where his knee bent. Sunlight moved on his fingers.

The shuttle pulled out. I didn't look up.

Continuing to play dead.

He didn't say anything either. So after a while, when I was reasonably sure he hadn't noticed me, I lifted my head to sneak a look.

He was slouched back against the seat, watching me with something not quite a smile, wearing the face of a man who knew exactly how long it would take.

"You've been staring at my legs a while."

Okay.

Yes. Fine. I have a small appetite for this man's body.

But I'm not deranged.

I met it head-on. "Your jeans look good. So I looked twice. It isn't a crime."

Rowan went still for a beat.

Got him.

I turned to the window and let myself smirk.

The next second, his voice came drifting over, thoroughly entertained.

"Delaney Pierce liked me in gray sweatpants. Now she can't leave the jeans alone either."

"...Noted."

Students got on at every stop the whole way there. All of them headed for the big lecture hall.

So getting off was a crush.

Rowan took his time, walking behind me, unbothered.

Someone shoved from the front, and I went tipping backward.

Chapter 5

I landed flat against Rowan Vance's chest, which turned out to be about as soft as a wall.

My forehead hit cotton. Whatever he said next, I heard it through his ribs.

He steadied my shoulder. "Stand up straight."

I got off that shuttle, threw a "thanks" over my shoulder, and ran.

Powerwalked toward the lecture hall like my life depended on losing him.

It didn't matter how fast I went.

Rowan stayed level with me the entire way, strolling, hands loose, thoroughly relaxed. "Are we racing?"

Damn it. Why are his legs like that.

One of his steps was two and a half of mine.

I have never resented my own legs more.

Then I discovered his classroom was directly next to mine.

A girl was waiting at his door in a tight leather mini skirt, dressed like she had somewhere better to be.

She went to meet him and reached up to brush something off his shoulder. Easy. Practiced.

"Rowan. I saved you a seat."

Then she turned her head and looked me over. Top to bottom.

Like she was checking an item that didn't belong on the shelf.

I looked back at her.

Small drop in my stomach. Very small.

Then again, this is Rowan Vance. It would be stranger if there weren't a girl at his door.

He didn't answer her.

He looked at me instead, insufferable. "See you in a bit."

Halfway through class my stomach turned on me.

My period. Early.

And today was an easy-A class, so I didn't have the bag with the emergency pad in it.

Of all the luck.

Class let out. I waited until the room emptied, then checked.

My light-wash jeans were a crime scene.

I should never have worn this color.

I texted Bex and asked if she could bring me a pad and a change of pants. She had no class all morning.

She hadn't answered yet when I heard noise from next door. Guys laughing, a tangle of footsteps.

The one in front, the one they were orbiting, was Rowan.

Hands in his pockets, bag hanging off one shoulder, that hair going down the hallway like a lit match.

Our eyes met again. My fault.

I looked away fast.

He walked over to the window instead and called through it, unhurried.

"Shorty. Class is over. Why are you still sitting there?"

I said, flatly, "Don't want to leave."

He lifted his chin at me. "Come on. Food. You coming or not?"

One of the guys beside him made a strangled noise. "Cap's inviting people places now? That's girlfriend behavior."

I could not deal with any of this.

"I'm not leaving. I have homework."

Both of them laughed. The friend shook his head, moved. "A student. In college. Skipping meals for her studies. A legend."

Their footsteps died at the end of the hall.

I breathed out.

Checked my phone.

Bex: [I'M ON THE TOILET. the second I'm done I'm bringing you everything!! HOLD ON!!]

Great.

Outside the window the leaves were green and moving.

I couldn't appreciate any of it. I sat there and stared at nothing.

Then, footsteps.

I turned my head. Rowan had come back, at some point, and was leaning in the doorway.

"Are you in high school? Who has that much homework."

His eyes dropped to my desk.

There was nothing on it. Not a pen. Not a page.

Chapter 6

I didn't have the energy to invent anything else.

So I told him the truth. "There's no homework. I don't feel well. I'm going to sit here for a while. You don't have to worry about it."

"Where does it hurt?"

"My stomach."

"Something you ate?"

"No."

"Then what."

I took a breath and decided to be shameless exactly once in my life.

"Rowan. I want to borrow something from you. I don't know if you'd be okay with..."

"Sure. How much."

"I'm not asking for money." My face went hot. "I meant your jacket. Could I borrow your jacket. I'm... cold."

It had been chilly that morning.

It was now noon, and the sun outside was frankly aggressive. Cold. Sure.

I braced to be laughed at.

Instead a jacket landed on me.

It smelled like soap and the back of his neck. "Take it."

Underneath, he was wearing a white tank top.

He lifted an arm to push his hair back. The line ran all the way up to his shoulder blade.

Under thin white cotton, his chest moved when he breathed.

I stared at the floor.

Don't look.

Don't look.

I had already looked.

His voice came from somewhere above me, completely unbothered.

"Works out. I was burning up anyway."

Outside, the autumn sun sat high and bright on the glass.

I was still holding the collar of his jacket. My knuckles had gone white.

Huh.

Maybe he isn't as bad as I thought.

I put his jacket on.

I'd meant to tie it around my waist.

But Rowan is tall, and on me the thing came down past my knees and covered absolutely everything.

To thank him, I pulled out my student ID and offered it with both hands, generously.

"Here. Swipe it all you want. Two meals on me."

He took the card and tilted it to look.

I stopped him immediately. "As long as you don't look at the photo."

Too late. The card was already above his head.

Up on my toes, I could not reach. I tried anyway.

He looked his fill and then had the nerve to ask, "Is this you as a freshman?"

"Yes."

His thumb stopped on the photo.

Then he looked up. At me. Then back down. Like he was checking something against something.

"Huh," he said, and laughed, low, and didn't explain.

Something in my chest went sideways. I assumed he was laughing at my freshman bangs.

"Okay, I'm leaving now."

"Wait."

Rowan pushed the student ID back into my pocket.

"Idiot. Go eat. I can afford lunch."

I wore his jacket to the dining hall, got food, and took it back to the dorm.

"Laney. Do you have any idea how hard I was pushing on that toilet for you. I cut it short. In pain. And then you tell me never mind. What is that."

I said, sincerely, "Would you like to go back in and finish?"

"It's gone now." Then she noticed the jacket, and her eyes lit up like a slot machine. "Hold on. That's a man's jacket."

"It is."

"It also looks weirdly familiar. Is that Rowan Vance's?"

"Yes. It is."

"Oh my God. You stole Rowan Vance's jacket