One Northern Morning (A Novella) (Southern Nights Novella Series #2) (2 page)

I walk into the communications building and find room 202. I stop short when I see the last face I ever expected to see sitting in the third row playing on her phone. Her hair is pulled up into a tight bun with a few tiny red streaks standing out against the deep dark brown. She’s wearing cutoff shorts, a black T-shirt, and white Converse. The sight of her actually makes my heart palpitate. It still stings when I think about the day we broke up.
“Let’s call this what it is . . . quits.”

I never quit.

I walk up and quietly slide into the desk next to her. “Well, well, well . . .” Laney looks up with just her eyes when she recognizes my voice. I think she’s just as thrown as I am. “What is an architect major doing in an eight thirty
A.M.
sports broadcasting class? On a Friday, no less?”

She huffs and puffs as she cocks her head to look at me. “I needed a one credit class, and this the only one I could fit into my schedule.”

“Uh-huh. Sure it wasn’t because you just wanted to see me?” I purposely tease her.

“I can assure you, it wasn’t. If I wanted to see you, all I’d have to do is pick up the school newspaper, or go to their website, or turn on ESPN.”

“None of those things compares to being seen in the flesh.” I smile brazenly.

“Nope, you’re right about that.” She points to my neck.

“What?” I place my hand on the skin.

“Bite mark.”

“Oh.” I chuckle.

“Same old Kam,” she remarks as the professor writes his name on the whiteboard in front of us. He’s very young, maybe mid-thirties, but dressed like a twenty-something frat boy—plaid polo, cargo shorts, and flip-flops. This class is going to be cake.

I sneak glances at Laney as we go over the syllabus. She looks older, more mature, but some attributes are still exactly the same—long silky legs, a plump, pouty mouth, and a perky rack. She’s still sexy as hell and as tempting as sin.

I try not to think about how her exotic perfume affects me as the professor glosses over each bullet point. It seems like he’s more eager for this class to be over than the students are.

At the forty-five minute mark, he calls it.

“Next week, have chapters one through three read and prepare to participate. Dismissed.”

I walk next to Laney as we slowly exit the room. “Partners for the final project?” I ask her.

She shrugs, considering. “Sure, why not. We can just report on you.”

“An interview?” I beam.

“I know how much you like to hear yourself talk,” she digs lightly.

“Wear a skirt for the Q&A. I like legs, too,” I banter back.

“Kam!” She smacks me on the stomach just as a guy with glasses and both hands gripping the straps of his backpack walks up to us. He doesn’t look happy.

“Hey.” He snakes his arm around Laney’s waist possessively and stares me down.
Is this guy for real?

“Hey.” She smiles up at him. “Steve, this is Kam.”

“Yeah, I know who he is. Mr. Big Shot Quarterback,” he says, standoffish. He has an accent sort of like Laney’s. He’s definitely not from around here. “Ready to get out of here, Lay?”

“Lay?” I curl my lip. That’s the worst nickname ever.

Steve glares. I just eye him up like the dufus he is. Is she seriously with this guy?

“See you next week, Kam.” Laney sighs melodramatically.

I lean forward, encroaching on her personal space just to fuck with
Steve.
“Later, Lemon,” I rasp, winking arrogantly, then walk away.

F
ucking. Kam.

He would stroll into the only, one credit BS class I have ever taken. If it wasn’t for a four-credit independent study I took last semester, my credits wouldn’t be all messed up, and I wouldn’t have had to sign up for
sports broadcasting
on
Friday freaking morning
. Now, I get to spend the next three months with Kam and his inflated ego—
and his gorgeous eyes and sexy mouth and arsenal of Southern charm.

“Laney?” Steve says my name flatly.

“Huh?” I look up from my coffee cup.

“Daydreaming about your ex?”

“What?” I respond defensively. “Of course not.”
Liar!

“Did you know he was in that class?”

“I had no idea. Although, now that I think about it, Kam
is
a communications major.”

“Appropriate, seeing how he didn’t have a problem communicating with you.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Kam. He’s never had a problem communicating with women.”

“Just as long as he doesn’t try to communicate too closely, we won’t have any issues.”

I actually laugh. Steve’s green-eyed monster doesn’t rear its ugly head often. But don’t let the glasses and bookworm exterior fool you. He definitely has a hothead side. It’s sort of what I like about him. He’s intelligent, good-looking, and just alpha enough without going overboard. He’s also from New York, which is part of the reason why we work so well. We understand each other. Speak the same language. Being with him feels like a little piece of home in the middle of Alabama.

After Kam and I split, we didn’t speak for almost a year. But it’s sort of difficult to avoid the son of your father’s very serious girlfriend, especially when he’s sitting across the dining room table during the holidays. Breaking up with Kam was the hardest thing I ever had to do, but nearly four years later, I know it was the right decision. He’s in such high demand. Everyone wants a piece of him. He’s constantly traveling with the team, or doing interviews, or charity appearances, or being invited to elite parties . . . The list goes on and on. There’s no time, in my opinion, for a serious relationship or commitment of any kind. Kam needed his freedom, and I loved him enough to give it to him. I needed someone I could have a solid foundation with, and Steve gives me that.

“Stop. You sound jealous and insecure.” I roll my eyes. Kam and I are older news than Jennifer and Brad.

“I call it intuitive.” He corrects me, as he takes a sip of his latte. “You know his reputation.”

“I know Kam’s reputation all too well. But I think I’m immune from his prowling. Been there, done that. If you know what I mean.”

Steve grimaces. “Did you have to provide a visual?”

“I think you were just looking for an excuse to picture me naked.”

“Naked with
me
maybe.”

“I can make that happen, you know,” I purr, slumped casually in my chair.

Steve smiles wickedly. “Well, what the hell are we waiting for?”

“To finish our coffee?” I respond coquettishly.

I
push through one more set of Fire Hydrants.

Squeezing the dumbbell to my hamstring behind my knee, I raise it up as high as it can go. I pause for a few seconds in that position, and then lower my knee back down. Wondering why a quarterback is doing leg lifts? Because it takes more than a strong arm to throw with precision and accuracy. It’s an entire body synchronicity, from legs to torso to chest. Fire Hydrants strengthen my outer hips, which also aids in
precision
and
accuracy
for
other
physical activities, if you know what I mean.

A guy’s gotta blow off
steam
, somehow.

My phone rings on my last rep. I lower my knee to steady myself and answer on the third ring. “Yo.”

“How’s my number one?” It’s Sam, my agent, and he sounds overly enthusiastic.

“Keeping in shape.” I wipe the sweat off my face with a hand towel and take a swig of Gatorade.

“That’s what I like to hear. That’s what
NFL scouts
like to hear.”

“Is there a reason for this phone call? Or do you just miss me?” I mess with him. Sam has been my agent since my freshman year. He’s one of the best in the business and practically poached me from every other agent who showed the slightest bit of interest after I won the conference finals. He’s become as much of a friend as he is a pain in the ass. He has a big, flashy LA personality, and the talk to go with it. They don’t call him Sam the Magic Man for nothing.

“I’ve heard rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?” I take another swig of Gatorade.

“You’re going to be the first pick, first round, at the draft.”

I nearly spit out the blue liquid. “What?”

“Yup. Seattle wants you, bad. They know you’re going to get snatched up quick with New York, Denver, and North Carolina all in desperate need of a quarterback.”

“But Seattle has the best starting quarterback in the league. Why would they go for me?”

“Because they want to keep it that way. You’re a threat, Kam. You’re destined to be a great, and everyone knows it. Their mentality is keep your friends close and your enemies closer, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” I answer slowly, contemplating what going to Seattle could mean for my career. Not much playing time my first year.

“I’ll keep you posted on details. This stays hush hush.”

“Understood.”

“Good. Later, all-star.” Click.

The draft is in two months. Two short months and everything I ever worked for, fought for, will finally come to fruition.

The BIG DREAM may finally come true.

I walk up to class to find Laney and Steve talking by the door. I take it upon myself to interrupt their conversation by squirming between them to get into the room. Why? Because I can.