Stars (Penmore #1) by Malorie Verdant Page A

I am feeling the furthest thing from afraid. I’m suddenly really turned on.
    “Yeah, I like what all the girls on campus like,” I say, not thinking about the hot beverage at all.
    “Good to know,” he responds with what I think is a little bit of humor. Grayson then grabs my hand, just like he did during sociology, and kisses my palm. He whispers, “Bye, Stars. I’ll see you next week.”

PARKER
    Four Weeks Later
    Want to join me for pudding?
    Grayson was texting me.
    He must have stolen my phone during class or during our coffee dates on Fridays.
    I can’t help but smile at the realization. Then laugh at the fact that this was the fifth time he had asked me to go eat pudding in less than a week. I had no idea he was so obsessed. He had put his name in my phone as My Secret Admirer . The irony was ridiculous.
    Thankfully, I was getting ready to go to work, my third game-day job, so I collected my thoughts before replying. In doing so, I realized that if he was texting me I was bound to be distracted all shift, just like during sociology. I already knew I was most likely going to fail that class. For the past four weeks, I have gone to every lesson, sat beside Grayson and been unable to focus on a single thing Professor Gibbons had said. I couldn’t tell you a single topic we were meant to have learned this semester. I could, however, tell you how it felt to hear your name, or assigned nickname, whispered by Grayson Waters in a crowded room as if you were the only person in it.
    Fucking. Fantastic.
    Each. And. Every. Time.
    The sexual tension was becoming almost unbearable. I could scarcely remember why I wasn’t throwing myself at him in my favorite lecture hall now that he finally seemed to notice I exist and wasn’t growling at me to leave.
    He also started asking me to call him Gray. I almost fell off my seat. Grayson Waters wants me to use his nickname.
    I was so grateful that sociology was just a fun elective I picked which had nothing to do with my major.
    Shouldn’t you be on the field warming up or something?
    There. I replied.
    Completely natural and not filled with giddy girly comments that reveal how excited I am that he’s texting me.
    Look at me winning at life.
    Just about to go on the field. Thought I would test myself, see if I can figure out if you’re going to the game or not.
    Did you pass or fail?
    I think I failed. Can’t work out if you’re going to be here cheering me on or not.
    I’m getting ready for work.
    I thought you didn’t start work until 5pm tonight?
    I haven’t told him where I work yet, but I did let slip that I had finally gotten weekend shifts at work that usually start at 5pm.
    Stupid. Stupid girl.
    Yeah, I like to get ready early.
    I don’t tell him I get ready early so I can spend the following six hours reading. I have learned in the past that if I read first and get ready second then I will most likely be late. It’s not always a foolproof plan, but it definitely reduces my chances of making Marissa angry with me.
    Stars, I think more than 2 hours is a bit much. The game starts at noon. You’ll be out by 2.30. Plus, we have away games the next two weeks. This might be the only chance you get to see me play this month.
    He may have let it slip last class that he had yet to see me in the stands marveling at his athletic superiority. I didn’t bother correcting him. I didn’t tell him that, just like in high school, I went to every single game by myself. Always hiding in the back, never frequent enough to make any friends and I was gone before someone might notice me. I also didn’t tell him I was getting a lot of pressure from both my roommate and favorite work colleague to go with them to watch him. To make sure I sit in the front row and let myself be seen. But no matter what Keeley and Nate say about how they think Gray will want to see me, cheering him on, I keep making silly excuses to avoid watching the games like everyone else.
    I never admit that I’m