"That’s Roan King, a senior. He's a football playing god who red shirted his freshman year. But he was such a stud on the field, that he's been a first string wide receiver ever since he was a sophomore." She leans towards me as if she's about to reveal top secret information no one else on campus is privy to. Getting caught up in the moment, I angle my body towards her as if I'm all ears. Which apparently I am.
"Word is he'll be entering the draft in January even though he could play here at Barnett for another year." Her eyes dance with unmitigated excitement as if she has a personal stake in that actually occurring. Then she sighs rather dreamily, "And just look at him, he's totally gorgeous."
My gaze slides to the eye candy currently being discussed. She’s right, he’s definitely gorgeous. But I'd also lay odds he's a cocky douchebag player as well. I mean, come on, he's a football player. Who looks like some kind of freaking Adonis.
"If you're interested," she gives me a look that conveys- and who wouldn't be, "there's a website solely devoted to all things Roan King. And there are some seriously hot pics of him up there to drool over."
Now that my Roan-King-haze has finally started to dissipate and my hormone levels are once again evening out, my brows snap together in total disbelief. "Are you telling me this guy created a website so he can promote himself?" Oh, that's going too far even for a gorgeous football playing god like him. I almost wince at my own unchecked thoughts.
Football playing god?
Did I seriously just think that?
Guilty.
So, so guilty.
She shakes her head. "Of course not. Roan King has a major following here at Barnett. Whoever created the sight allows people to track and post Roan King sightings and gossip. So, if you ever want to know what he's up to, just check out the website. I always look to see where he is throughout the night so maybe I can run into him."
Umm… right.
I think this girl wants to do more than just run into him. What she's describing is borderline stalking. I can't believe she's actually admitting it to a virtual stranger. How embarrassing. Of course, that thought naturally leads me to wonder if she's merely fucking with me because he's not a freaking celebrity.
He's just some college athlete.
Albeit a really hot college athlete.
With my eyes narrowed in skepticism, I ask, "And this is all because he plays football?" I'm actually having a really hard time wrapping my mind around this. And I certainly haven't ruled out the whole- I'm-being-fucked-with scenario either.
Giving me that- do-you-live-under-a-rock look again, she shakes her head, "No, he doesn't just play football, he is football here at Barnett. Like I said before, he's entering the draft in January. And well... just look at him." She flicks her hand in his direction. "He's the hottest guy on campus. Roan King is going places and everyone is interested in where those places are."
With that she swivels in her seat so that she’s fully turned towards the professor. And Roan King.
For the next thirty-five minutes I do my best to focus on what Dr. Paulson is discussing, but I would be lying if I didn't admit that my eyes keep straying across the room to rest on Barnett’s legendary football star. Every time I catch myself staring at those wide shoulders, bulging t-shirt clad biceps, and inky black hair, I have to mentally chastise myself before refocusing my distracted attention. After the seventh time, I'm more than a little irritated with myself for acting like the rest of these silly little twits who are practically drooling all over their desks.
Even though I was here for my freshman year, I don't recall hearing anything about Roan King. Instead of paying attention to Dr. Paulson as she outlines what we'll be learning this semester, I'm too busy racking my brain trying to remember any little tidbit of information about this guy.
But I keep drawing blanks.
Which shouldn't surprise me because I've never really cared for football. I know absolutely zero about it. And furthermore, I have no interest in learning anything about it either. When forced to attend high school homecoming games with Lexie, I distinctly remember being bored off my ass.
My eyes narrow as I continue contemplating him.
I'd hazard a guess to say there's not much going on beneath all that gorgeousness. And if our professor is any indication, he's probably been coasting through the last three years of college on his hotness and football playing skills.
That is if playing football can actually be considered a skill...
Because every time I've been forced to watch a game, the guys on the field don't seem to do anything more than run around throwing some oblong shaped ball to each other. And the game is constantly being stopped which only makes it even more mind numbing. Like they're deliberately trying to torture all the fans that have filled the stands.