“No. I just laid down. Is something the matter?”
“Yes. I can’t get my pillows to be Carson-shaped enough. It’s a problem.”
He chuckles, and I wish I were there to hear it rumble through his broad chest. “Good. I would hate to find myself one day replaced by pillows.”
I don’t have anything else to say, and I’m just over here smiling, but he can’t see that. And now I feel like an idiot for having called him.
“Does the team have to be at the parade in the morning?”
I hear rustling, and imagine him shifting in his bed.
“No. That’s more of a fraternity and sorority thing. And it’s too early on a game day to convince any of the players to be there.”
“Oh.”
I’d already told Stella I would go. I’m meeting her on campus at 7:30 A.M. so we get a decent spot. I was shocked Stella was actually willing to roll out of bed before nine, but she’s pretty adamant about getting the full college experience. Now that I know he won’t be there, I’m much less excited.
Floats schmoats.
“I know one player who might be convinced to attend, if you were going.”
“Oh really? Is he cute? Is he a receiver? I’ve always kind of had a thing for receivers. Torres seems fun.”
He actually growls on the other end. “Don’t make me come back over there, Cole.”
If only.
“Did I say receiver? I meant quarterback. Silly me, I get all those positions mixed up. Football is just so confusing.”
“Riiiight.”
“Yep. I definitely meant quarterback. There’s this one . . . tall and kinda gorgeous—”
“Kinda?”
I roll my eyes. “Someone is needy tonight.”
“Who tried to make a pillow version of me?”
“Anyway, so, tall and gorgeous quarterback. Is he by chance the one who might make a parade appearance?”
“If he did, where might he find one tall and gorgeous redhead?”
“The brick wall around the quad, on the Fifth Street side, at seven thirty.”
He groans. “So early. You’re lucky I love you.”
The line goes silent. I squeeze my eyes shut, and I’m unsure whether this is the best or worst thing that’s ever happened. I’m unsure whether he means it or if it was just an accident.
He says, “Huh. Guess it was me who slipped up.”
Neither of us speaks for several long moments. With my eyes still tightly closed, I say, “I do feel pretty lucky. I’ll see you in the morning?”
“Yeah. I’ll be there. Good night, Daredevil.”
“Carson?”
“Hmm?” He sounds tired, and I feel a little bad for keeping him up, for making him wake up early, especially when I know how hard he works himself.
“I think you’re pretty lucky, too.”
“Oh, I’ve never doubted that.”
I smile, and my constrained heart feels fit to burst.
We say good night again, and then after a bit more pillow arranging, I manage to fall asleep.
I SHOW UP at the dorm thirty minutes early, and Stella is still drooling on her pillow when I open the door.
I flip on the light, and she groans.
“Turn it off.”
“You’ve only got half an hour until we’re supposed to be down at the quad.”
“Mornings have got to be the love child of Satan and . . . something else really bad that I’m too tired to think of. Leave me alone.”
“Oh no, missy.” I walk over and pull back her covers. “This parade was your idea.”
She whines and makes a grab for the covers. “And I’m known for my terrible ideas. You know this.”
Pulling her pillow over her head, she flops over so that she’s facing away from me.
“Don’t make me do it, Stella.”
Muffled by her pillow, she calls back, “Do what?”
“I’m calling in a stamp.”
Her pillow goes flying, and I only barely manage to duck. Even so, it skims the top of my head.
“You’re using a stamp on this?”
“Yep,” I say, popping the p, and crossing my arms over my chest. “You’ve got to learn to follow through on your commitments.”
“Hello!” She draws a circle around her face. “Commitment-phobe. You know this, too.”
I look at my cell phone. “Twenty-six minutes now. And we need to leave at least five minutes early.”
Scowling, she throws her legs over the edge of the bed, wincing when her toes touch the cold tile floor. “Mornings are the love child of Satan and you.”
“Love you back.”
Despite her grumbling, we manage to leave a couple minutes before seven thirty. With her short hair, she can get ready incredibly fast, unlike me and my monstrous mane.
When we stroll up the sidewalk toward the quad, I spot Carson already there waiting for us.
Stella shoots me a sly grin. “Now I get why you used the stamp. So I take it you had a pleasant surprise at your window last night?”
“That was you?”
She shrugs. “I was merely a facilitator.”
Carson is dressed in jeans and his familiar scuffed boots. He’s wearing his team sweatshirt, and he gives me this sleepy, sweet smile that makes my heart throb. I can see people watching him. By now everyone knows who he is, and they’re wondering why the starting quarterback is standing all alone on the sidewalk. I don’t spare a single care for any of the people watching when I walk up to him and throw my arms around his neck.
He pulls me close, his hands slipping beneath my jacket to press into the small of my back.