the hook-up. {ethma}

chapter 2

ethan dolan

MY MOTHER ONCE told me that the most important moment in my life wouldn't be when I won the National Championship or even the Super Bowl. It would be when I fell in love.

Life, she insisted, is how you live it and who you live it with, not what you do to make a living. Given that she told me this when I was sixteen, I basically rolled my eyes and worked on practicing my pass fakes.

But my mother was insistent.

"You'll see, Ethan. One day, love will creep up and smack you upside the head. Then you'll understand."

My mom, it turns out, was wrong in one regard. Love, when it came for me, did not creep. No, it walked up to me, bold as you please, you know, just in case I wasn't paying attention. It did, however, slap me upside my head.

And while I'd be happy to tell my mom that she was right about that, she's dead. A fact that hurts even more now that I've been struck down. More like shot down. Cut off at the knees. Totally fucked. Whatever you want to call this disaster. Because the object of my affection hates me.

I am man enough to acknowledge that the cluster fuck that is my current love life is entirely my fault. I wasn't prepared for Emma Chamberlain.

I still cringe at the memory of when I first laid eyes on her at the beginning of the semester. Being late for class, I'd rushed to a seat in the back row, and was trying to remain unnoticed. I can't go anywhere on campus without getting attention. And though it sounds like an awesome thing, it gets tiring.

When the roll call reached the back row, a soft voice, rich and thick as maple syrup, slid over me.
"Emma Chamberlain."

Just her name. That was all she'd said. It was like a hot finger stroking down my spine. My head snapped up. And there she was, so fucking pretty that I couldn't think straight. I might as well have been sacked.

Breathless, my head ringing, I could only gape. I'm not going to say it was love at first sight. No, it was more like oh, hell-yes-please, I'll have that. With a helping of right-the-fuck-now on the side.

Thinking maybe I was overtired and simply overreacting to something that wasn't really there, I stared at Emma Chamberlain and tried to make sense of my extreme reaction.

As if feeling my gaze, she'd turned, and fuckking hell... Her eyes were wide, almost cat-like, with the corners tilting up just a bit. At first, those eyes appeared green, but they were really a piercing ocean blue. And so clear. And annoyed. She glared at me. I didn't care. One word was playing a loop in my head: mine.

I don't remember the rest of the class. I watched Emma Chamberlain like a condemned man getting his last view of the setting sun. While she tried to ignore me. Admirably.

The second class ended I shot up, and so did she. We nearly collided in the middle of the aisle. And then it all fell to shit. Because at that moment, I became a bonehead.

I've never been nervous around girls before. To be brutally honest, my life has been fairly insulated. Football, and the fame that goes with it, has wrapped me up in its loving arms and given me everything I've wanted, women included. Unfortunately, it's become crystal clear that, when it comes to my sport, Emma is not one of the converted. Poor thing.

Whatever the case, I was ill-equipped to handle her when she glared up at me, one delicately arched brow lifting imperiously, as if to say, "what the fuck do you want?"

Standing there, I became aware of myself, this big oaf, looming over her, my tongue thick in my mouth, a crazy twitch starting up on my cheek. God help me if she noticed that twitch. So I blurted out what is possibly the stupidest thing I've ever uttered in my life, "Hey, Big Brunette."

Yeah. Shoot me now. What the holy hell had I done? What the fuck did 'Big Brunette' even mean? My mind screamed, Do something, you idiot! Apologize! Retreat! I swear I could practically hear an alarm blaring, a call to activate shields and arm the photon torpedoes.

But no, I just stood there and forced a grin as heat flooded my face and a sweat broke out on my back. Yeah. I was that cool.

Her ocean blue eyes had flashed in outrage.

And then she let me have it.

Needless to say, I hobbled away from that encounter and remain among the walking wounded. Rejection sucks. It sucks so hard that I haven't said a word to her since. Instead, I just sit next to her during every class, silently pining. Pathetic.

Something has to be done about this. And soon. Because I'm losing my damn mind