4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

"Why . . . do we always . . . voluntarily subject ourselves . . . to this madness?" I pant as I sprint to the end my treadmill run. I then crank down the machine's speed to a walk while trying to catch my breath.

Savannah steps off the treadmill that's next to mine and mops her forehead with a towel. "I'm not . . . entirely sure. I suppose the appropriate response . . . would be that . . . as pre-med students . . . we want to be examples of . . . good, healthy habits." She takes a drink from her water bottle. "However, I think the more . . . honest response is that we figure . . . exercise is a way to offset all the . . . autumn desserts we love."

"I can't argue . . . with that." I get off my machine, grab my own water bottle, and take a huge swig.

Savannah tosses her towel into the dirty-linens bin, I pick up my bag, and we start making our way across the gym toward the exit. This sprawling gym is located within the university's Student Activities Building, which is so massive that I'm surprised it doesn't have its own zip code. In addition to the gym, this building houses a swimming pool, pickleball courts, rooms where yoga and other instructor-taught classes are held, basketball courts, a track, a bowling alley, an arcade, a movie theater, and a food court that serves about every type of food and beverage known to mankind.

Upon exiting the gym, we head straight down a long hallway to a set of double doors. Savannah scans her student ID card across the digital reader that's adjacent to the doors, causing them to unlock and slowly swing out toward us. We cross the threshold to enter the women's locker room.

"So are you planning to finish that essay for English class this evening?" Savannah asks as we reach our lockers. "I think I'm―"

Savannah's phone pings from inside her bag. She fishes out the phone and falls silent as she checks her new text.

"Is everything okay?" I open my locker and grab my old blue sweatshirt.

"Yes. They're just looking for someone to cover this evening's shift at the Coffee Loft." Savannah's eyes dart to the clock on the wall. "I think I'll take it. I need to hurry home to change, though."

"Sounds good." I throw on my sweatshirt over my tank top. "In that case, I'll stay on campus to study outside while the afternoon sun is still shining. Later, after we both get home, how about we heat up those leftovers that are in the fridge?"

"That sounds perfect." Savannah hoists her gym bag onto her shoulder. "Oh, you mentioned earlier that you don't have your student ID card with you. Do you want to take mine?"

"Thanks, but I'll be all right without it. I'm not going anywhere else on campus where it's needed." I tug the elastic from my hair, letting my locks fall messily past my shoulders.

"Okay." Savannah smiles and moves for the door. "See you later."

Savannah leaves. I take a last drink from my water bottle before putting it in my bag. As I turn to depart, my eyes fall upon my reflection in a mirror, and I almost laugh. I don't know how some women manage to look beautiful after a workout. I always appear like I was hit by a hurricane, and today is no exception: flushed face, messy hair, baggy sweatshirt, oversized shorts, and non-brand-name socks and sneakers. Though my outfit isn't glamorous, however, it'll do for an impromptu outdoor study session.

I leave the locker room and retrace my steps along the hallway. When I reach the other end, instead of continuing forward into the gym, I turn right, push open another heavy door, and enter a much longer corridor. The wall at my left is made up of floor-to-ceiling windows that provide a gorgeous view of the autumn foliage outside. To my right, almost the entire length of the wall is adorned with professional headshots of the university's intercollegiate athletes. Despite the countless times I have walked this corridor, I've never paid attention to the photos . . . until now.

Almost before I realize it, I've stopped by the section of the wall where the photos of the men's basketball players are hanging inside a display case. When I spot Joel's picture, a heated pulsation erupts in my chest. Joel's eyes are captivating. His slight smile conveys confidence without cockiness. He simply exudes athleticism and sexiness, and I can almost hear his deep voice and the rich, intoxicating way he laughs.

Not that I've been thinking about Joel since our tutoring session two days ago. I absolutely have not been thinking about him. I haven't been thinking about his good looks, his intelligence, the way he intervened when Kaden was bothering me, his sense of humor, how he bought me a drink, or how he's making me wonder if―

A loud noise at my left causes me to jump and spin toward it. My eyes get gigantic when I see that a big interior door at the distant end of the corridor is getting opened from the other side. I've never ventured as far as that door, and I've certainly never gone beyond it, but like all the other students on campus, I know precisely where it leads: it's one of two doors in this hallway that leads into the part of the building that's reserved for the university's intercollegiate athletes. The doors are flanked by security cameras, and they can only be opened from this side by special ID cards that the athletes are issued. In other words, the realm of the intercollegiate athletes is a total no-go zone for mere mortals like me. From what I've heard, though, the mystical realm provides the intercollegiate athletes with their own practice gyms, locker rooms, meeting halls, weight rooms, theaters for watching game reels, physical therapists and trainers, and whatever else the university deems is worthy for the school's beloved athletes.

The door is pushed open farther, and three muscular guys who are dressed in tank tops and shorts stroll out into the corridor while laughing and talking amongst themselves. Though they're a long distance away, I can tell that their tank tops, which are darkened with sweat, are marked with the logo of the men's basketball team.

My body jolts.

The basketball team's practice must have just gotten over . . . and I'm standing in front of the players' pictures.

I need to get out of here.

I'm about to resume scurrying toward the exit, which is up ahead on the left, but then I realize that Kaden is among the trio of players who are strolling in this direction. If I go for the exit, I'll have to pass Kaden first, and the last thing I want to do is interact with him again. I quickly glance over my shoulder at the door that leads back into the hallway where the gym for regular students is located. However, that door requires a student ID card to open it from this side, and I don't have my card.

I think I'm trapped.

Another noise echoes through the air, and I hurriedly face forward again. My heart rate ticks up even higher when I notice that the second door leading into the intercollegiate-athlete part of the building―the door that's on the right just beyond the photo displays―is now being opened. A few gals whose shirts let me know they're on the volleyball team step out. The door starts swinging shut behind them as they saunter past where I'm standing. My eyes begin leaping between the closing door and Kaden, who's drawing nearer and will surely spot me soon.

I'm not supposed to venture past that door.

But I don't want Kaden to see me.

I make a maniacal lunge for the door, slipping past it before it finishes closing. As I stumble to a halt, I hear the door's lock re-engage behind me, and then all is still. I exhale with relief. One unwanted encounter with Kaden avoided. All I need to do is wait a minute, and then I'll go back out into the corridor and continue on to the exit.

My eyes drift around where I'm standing. I'm at an L-shaped junction where two hallways meet, and it doesn't take long for me to decide that the rumors about this part of the building weren't exaggerated. This area looks like a professional athletic center, a high-end spa, a five-star hotel, and the headquarters of world-dominating company all rolled into one. I wonder what happens to non-athletes who are caught trespassing here. I wouldn't be surprised if it involves jail time. Or the FBI. Or being forced to launder the football team's uniforms for a semester as penance.

I should clear out.

I turn to open the door, but a loud beep alerts me that someone on the other side has used a badge to trigger the door to unlock. My heart jumps into my throat. I'm about to be discovered and sentenced to uniform-washing purgatory.

Instantly, every ounce of rational thought vaporizes from my mind. I whirl around and sprint down one of the hallways. When I reach a glass door, I tear it open and bolt into the room beyond.

"Oomph!" a man exclaims as I crash into him.

"Ack!" I rebound off the man's rock-hard body.

I collect my footing and whip up my head. And I'm fairly certain the world stops spinning.

I just collided into Joel Lambert.

And Joel isn't wearing a shirt.

No shirt.

Just athletic shorts, socks, and sneakers.

No. Shirt.

I'm pretty sure my brain proceeds to melt and leak out my ears as I absorb the view of Joel's ruggedly chiseled pecs and abs, which are glistening with perspiration. A microsecond later, I draw in a silent gasp and avert my gaze, acting like the image of Joel's muscular, superhero-esque physique hasn't been emblazoned upon my memory forever. Only then do I realize that I've invaded the gym that houses the practice courts for the men's basketball team. The courts are gleaming under the overhead lights. The air is tinged with the aromas of rubber and sweat. I hear industrial-sized ceiling fans spinning, the echo of gym doors getting opened and closed, and the squeaking of sneakers on the hardwood floors as a few players who are on an adjacent court run agility drills. For one moment, all the sights and sounds take me back to the countless hours I spent in gyms watching my brother play . . . and then my brain returns me to the present . . . and I'm once again acutely aware that I've trespassed upon the basketball players' sacred realm, I nearly decapitated the team's star player, and Joel is standing only a couple of feet away from me in all his shirtless glory while looking like he should be posing on the covers of fitness magazines.

I slowly trace my attention back to Joel, feverishly making sure my eyes don't drift anywhere below his chin. He's peering at me with his brows lifted a little. My face ignites, and my heart rate speeds up even more under his gaze. Up until this moment, I thought maintaining a perfect GPA as a pre-med student was brutally tough; however, it's nothing compared to appearing unfazed right now.

"Hi, Danielle." Joel uses his left arm to casually prop the basketball that he's holding against his left hip. "Are you . . . looking for me?"

Is it possible to die from embarrassment? Because I'm pretty sure I've reached that point. Joel thinks I'm some sort of over-zealous tutor who tracks him down at practice to discuss chemical thermodynamics and enthalpy.

"N-no." I'm speaking fast and barely aware of what I'm saying. "I was hiding from Kaden."

Joel's brows immediately drop down low. "What did he do?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Kaden never even saw me. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply . . ." I trail off and push my hair from my painfully hot face. If Joel would just put on the dang t-shirt that's dangling from the waistband of his shorts, I could think more clearly. Collecting myself, I try again. "What I meant is that I . . . sort of took a wrong turn and wound up in here."

Joel blinks a few times, and then his features relax into a grin. "You managed to get past the security system? By accident?"

I sigh. "It's a long story."

Joel chuckles while his eyes begin sparkling with unmasked amusement. "I can only imagine."

I realize that I'm starting to smile, too.

Earth to Danielle! He might have the finest biceps this side of Jupiter, and he might be smart, kind, and funny, but you absolutely cannot crush on Joel!

Mercifully, reason takes control of my frontal lobe once more. I retreat a step while sputtering:

"Well, um, anyway, I'm sorry to have interrupted your practice. I'll head out."

"You're not interrupting anything. Our shoot-around is over." Joel sets the basketball at his feet, tugs his t-shirt from his waistband, and puts it on.

Thank goodness.

"Oh. I see. Well, um, in that case, I hope you have a good rest of your afternoon." I resume backing up. "I'll, um, see you at our next tutoring session."

I hurriedly turn away from him and make a move for the door.

"Have you ever played basketball?" I hear Joel inquire.

I halt and face him again. "Not really. Not officially, anyway. My older brother, Dylan, and I played all the time in our driveway when were younger. That's it, though."

"You never played on a team?"

I shake my head. "I never saw the appeal of any sport, to be honest. They all just seemed like a bunch of people beating up each other in various ways in order to get a ball into a hoop, across and end-zone line, or over a net." I shrug. "Sports simply aren't my thing."

"Ah. That's right." Joel seems to be studying me more closely. "And athletes aren't your thing, either." He uses the hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead. "Because guys who are athletes are self-absorbed jerks, isn't that it?"

"No, that's not it." I motion around us and show a hint of another smile. "However, you do have your own state-of-the-art practice facility, which is secured better than Fort Knox so peons like me can't set foot on the premises. That alone does suggest a degree of self-importance, don't you think?"

"Perhaps." Joel's eyes stay on mine as he picks up the basketball and rolls it between his hands. "Yet you got in here anyway."

Something about his tone sends sparks of heat shooting through my body.

"Yes," I reply, growing a tad breathless. "I suppose I did."

Joel shows a rather roguish smile, and he suddenly bounce-passes the ball to me. Acting on reflex, I drop my bag and catch it.

"You shoot first," he states.

I stare at him. "What?"

"You shoot first," Joel repeats, as though what he's saying makes sense. "Whoever wins the game of HORSE buys drinks the next time we're at the Coffee Loft."

"I still don't understand."

Joel gestures to the hoop. "If you're going to help me understand chemistry better, then I'm going to help you understand basketball better."

"But . . . this isn't even a women's-sized basketball," I sputter.

Joel's grin broadens. "So you know more about basketball than you let on."

I allow my own smile to show. "And you know more about chemistry than anyone else I tutor."

We both pause, and the way Joel is watching me sends my heart wildly pounding. The moment is broken, however, when one of the guys who's on the other side of this astronomically large gym shouts:

"Hey, Lambert! Who's your teammate?"

Joel and I shift in the guy's direction. He's also wearing a team-issued tank top and shorts. He has black hair and dark eyes, and he has a friendly smile on his face.

Joel laughs good-naturedly. "This is Danielle. She's my tutor, and I've just challenged her to a game of HORSE."

"Very cool." The guy looks at me. "Hi, Danielle. I'm Seth Osborne, and I'm putting my money on you beating Joel, all right?"

I snicker. "I appreciate your confidence."

"My pleasure." Seth playfully salutes.

Joel is still laughing as he faces me again. "Okay, the wager is officially on. Since we don't have a women's-sized basketball, I'll shoot left-handed to tack on a disadvantage for myself. So what do you say? One game of HORSE?"

What do I say? I should say that I need to go home to study (this is entirely true). There's no reason to make a fool out of myself by competing against the star player on the men's basketball team. However, there's nothing in Joel's countenance that suggests he's mocking me. To the contrary, as unfathomable as it seems, everything about how Joel is acting is making me believe that he genuinely wants to . . . hang out.

And, I realize, I want to hang out with him, too.

"It has been years since I played HORSE." I take a few tentative steps onto the court. "May I ask for a refresher on the rules?"

"You bet." Joel uses a hand to ruffle his hair. "Since you're going first, you get to shoot from anywhere. If you make it, I have to make the same shot or else I get the first letter in HORSE. If you miss, you get the first letter in HORSE, and then I choose the next shot. Whoever gets all five letters buys drinks the next time we're at the Coffee Loft."

I snort a laugh. "You might as well give me your drink order now."

"I don't know about that." Joel looks right into my eyes. "Something tells me you're a natural at this."

Once again, I'm dangerously on the verge of getting lost in his gaze, so I break eye contact and walk to the center of the key. I face the hoop and adjust the ball in my hands. I'm trying to recall everything Dylan taught me over the years about shooting. Funny enough, I now remember that he also told me I was a basketball natural. He said I was athletic and had a great aptitude for the game; I'm sure he was just being a nice big brother, though.

With clumsy movements, I bend my elbow, dip at the knees, and shoot. The ball clanks against the front of the rim and rockets back toward me. Joel reaches out a hand with lightning-fast reflexes, batting away the ball before it smacks me in the face.

"We'll consider that one a warm-up." Joel jogs to the corner of the court, retrieves the ball, and passes it to me. "Try another one."

I accept the ball and refocus on the basket. All at once, an unexpected flash of determination moves through me. It doesn't last long, but I'm stunned to note that the sensation is actually familiar. It takes me only another second to identify it as the same sensation that used to fill me whenever I watched Dylan compete in his games. Only now do I recognize that the sensation proved I quietly cared about my brother's athletics far more than I understood at the time.

Strange.

I set up to take another shot.

"May I make a suggestion?" Joel asks.

I pause and look his way. "Please do."

Joel walks around behind me. He lightly rests his left hand on my left shoulder, and he places his right hand on my right elbow. He adjusts the way my elbow is positioned while saying in a low voice:

"Holding your elbow closer to your side will keep your shot better lined up."

I don't move. I don't speak. I don't even breathe. Joel's nearness and his touch have lit a terrifying, thrilling blaze in my core. I turn my head a little to look at him. His eyes meet mine. We both fall still. My heart pounds as the blaze inside of me rages hotter.

"I'm sorry," a woman remarks, "am I interrupting?"

Joel calmly pulls his eyes from mine, steps away from me, turns around, and smiles. I silently scramble to catch my breath as I also shift toward the source of the voice. A beautiful, tall gal is strolling our way. She's wearing a fitted blue tank top, which is marked with the logo of the women's basketball team, and black shorts that show off her long, toned legs. Her dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail. Her cheeks are flushed from exercising, yet she could easily walk the runway right now. She's like an athlete-movie star-supermodel combo. And her light-colored eyes are shifting between Joel and me.

"Hey, Felicity," Joel greets her. "Your team is done with your shoot-around, I take it?"

"Yep." Miss Solar System, who's otherwise known as Felicity, gets to Joel's side and shows him an adorable smile. She seems to take a moment before putting her attention on me. "Again, I'm sorry for interrupting whatever the two of you were doing."

"No apologies needed." I act unbothered, but I'm drowning in renewed awareness of my frizzy post-workout hair, my oversized gym clothes, and the fact that I'm holding a basketball without any athletic grace whatsoever. "I stopped by to arrange a study session with Joel, and he was nice enough to let me attempt a basket."

Felicity tips her head to one side as she observes me, her ponytail swishing perfectly as she does so. "Are you a tutor or something?"

"Yes. I'm a tutor on campus."

"How neat." Felicity watches me a second longer before putting her attention on Joel once more. "I came over to let you know that a bunch of us are going out for dinner later, and we're inviting the basketball guys to come along. I'll text you the details once they're sorted out."

Joel is smiling at Felicity in a familiar, suave, relaxed sort of way. "Thanks. I appreciate the invite. I'm not sure if I can make it, but I'll keep an eye out for your text."

I'm trying not to blatantly stare at them, but it's kind of hard not to. Felicity and Joel look like they should be on the red carpet together. It's a harsh reminder that although he might find me amusing to hang out with, Joel would never truly be interested in me. While I know that I shouldn't care or be surprised by this, my heart cinches painfully with what feels a lot like disappointment.

"You need to come, Joel," Felicity goes on, giving him a playful nudge. "Don't lock yourself away studying tonight, all right?"

Joel chuckles. "I'll do my best."

"Great. I'll talk to you soon." Felicity bats her lashes at him before saying to me, "I hope you have a nice evening, too."

I summon a smile. "Thanks."

In a desperate attempt to appear like I know what I'm doing, I bounce-pass the basketball to Joel. However, my pass is low and short, causing the ball to nail him in the foot before he can catch it. My humiliation ratchets up another notch. Felicity gives me a look that's saturated with pity, and then she waves to Joel and exits the gym.

"Hey, Joel!" Seth calls out once she's gone. "Are you ever going to ask out Felicity or what?"

Joel starts dribbling the ball. "You know I'm not interested in dating anyone right now, Seth."

I promptly make myself busy examining my fingernails. Joel isn't interested in dating?

Seth walks our way. "Well, I think you're crazy for your anti-dating stance, but I also admire you for sticking to what you've determined is best for you right now." He gives Joel one of those hearty man-slaps on the back. "Either way, I hope you'll come out with everyone tonight." He turns my direction. "And it was great meeting you, Danielle. Be sure to let me know when you beat this guy at HORSE, okay?"

My smile is growing increasingly strained. "Okay."

Seth rejoins the other players, and they leave the gym. Now it's just Joel and me in this humungous space. Our eyes meet. Things get very quiet.

"I should go, too," I tell him, working to keep my voice steady.

He nods once. "I'll see you at our next tutoring session."

"Yes. I'll see you then."

I walk to the baseline, pick up my bag, and escape the gym. Once I'm alone, the emotions that have been thrashing around inside of me rupture to the surface. Tears sting my eyes. I can't believe that I was ridiculous enough to think Joel was enjoying a chance to spend time with me. He was only being nice since I embarrassed myself by charging into the gym.

I get outside and gulp in the early evening air. I can't think about this anymore. I need to go home. I need to study. It's the only thing I'm good at. It's the one thing I understand.