Stone Creek by Davis, Lainey (reading diary .TXT) 📕

Talon snaps his fingers and blurts, "Shit! That's where I know you from! You're the stat girl."

I do not turn to look at him, but Matt raises his eyebrows at Talon's interruption. Talon continues, "She, Serena, she's in the stat booth for the SCU football team. She's the only girl up there."

Matt smiles and looks back at me. "Is that right?"

I start to wish I could fall into a hole in the floor, but I answer, "Well, it was just an internship. I actually prefer biostatistics, so I won't be going back next year…"

Matt nods and takes over the sports statistics discussion again. The rest of the class goes by in a blur and at the end, I quickly gather my things. My intention is to leave as quickly as possible and avoid talking to either Talon or Matt, but of course Talon's massive body is blocking my exit route. "Why didn't you say anything?" he asks me as he lumbers out of his seat.

"What, you mean when I was spilling nacho cheese on myself at your apartment?"

"No, I mean…later. Is that what you were going to tell me?"

I shrug. "Talon, I know this might surprise you, but keeping stats for the football team was just an internship for me. It's not, like, an important part of my life." He's finally on his feet and I make a move to push past him, but he puts a hand on my shoulder again.

I feel that same heat, that electric charge that spreads through my body like water in the desert. He says, "We still need to pick a time to meet up. For our research project."

Of course, his schedule is impossible even in the off-season, but I agree to meet him around 4 in the football building, between his physical therapy and his weight training sessions. He finally lets me walk past, and I head to my next class, relieved to be away from the elective I thought would be my favorite college experience.

CHAPTER SEVEN

I'm no stranger to the football building. I've spent a lot of time in here talking about Otter strategy based on game stats. Not that anyone ever asked my input on strategy. Sometimes I was allowed to talk about trends during the meetings, but it was mostly the good ole' boys talking about the gridiron.

I have not, however, been into the player areas. When I come in, I see Darla at the reception desk and she greets me warmly. "Didn't think we'd see you back here, Serena!"

"I'm here for something different this time," I tell her. "I'm supposed to meet Talon Kelly to work on a class project. Can you tell me which way the physical therapy room is?"

Darla gives me a look that suggests she knows things are never just book business with Talon. I flush, but sputter, "He's my research partner for a statistics elective." She laughs and points down the hall.

As I walk closer to the PT room, I hear someone groaning. No. It's more like a roar. I stop a few feet from the door, because I can see that it's Talon. He is shirtless, wearing just a pair of Otter-green mesh shorts. He has a smaller knee brace on than the one he wears to class, and the trainer is urging him through a series of squats. His body is impeccable. His ab muscles have ab muscles, it seems like, and I can't draw my eyes away from his chest.

The shorts sit low on his hips, right below the V of his lower abs. As I move my eyes upwards, I see the bulging muscles of his arms…and then he roars again. The trainer has him moving in between a series of orange cones now, and Talon's face is so fierce, so determined. I can't tell if he's in pain or just working hard to finish the series of exercises.

I was in the booth when he blew his ACL last semester. The Otters were going for 2 after a late touchdown, and Talon got slammed by the other team's cornerback when he tried to run the ball. I had to bite my tongue about the whole thing. I mean, of course you never know for sure what's going to happen in a game, but I'd read the stats on that cornerback from Kentucky. I sure wouldn't have pushed the odds and run the ball against him.

Now, Talon is surrounded by an entire crew of people. He's got teammates in there cheering for him. He's got an entourage of physical therapists and assistant coaches shouting, "Come on, Claw! Dig in!" As I watch them I realize more than ever that I don't belong here. I walk back down the hall to sit in some armchairs while I wait for Talon to come out.

A few minutes later, I hear the parade of Talon and his crew. He starts shaking hands and they dissipate, but he catches my eye and limps over. "Hey, look! No more crutches!"

I want to point out that he also has no books, no pen, no paper, but I settle for, "No shirt, either, I see."

He sinks into the armchair next to me and leans back, hands behind his head. "You like what you see?" He moves his muscles so his pecs dance up and down, like some sleazy lifeguard from Baywatch or something.

"Gross, Talon. Come on."

"All right, all right. I mean, I have to go lift right from here, so if I do put a shirt on, that's just another shirt the maintenance people have to wash. Do you really want me making more work for the maintenance crew? Hm?"

I roll my eyes at him. "How about, 'Serena, I really appreciate you working with my super tight schedule and putting up with my funk so we