The last week of September brings with it the start of the football season on campus, and the frenzied anticipation of both the hockey and basketball seasons which are soon to come. While CU is known for its Greek life, I'd say the real thing that brings the massive student body together most of the time, is sports.

More specifically, our sports teams. The football team used to be the hot shots on campus, then my brother's class was recruited to the basketball team and that changed. The hockey team has always been pretty popular, but really any athlete on campus gets treated like royalty.

            Maybe it's because of this popularity, or because of my brother and his friends, but either way I know almost every athlete by name. Which is what leads me to feel surprised when I see Dawson Bamford strolling through the doors of the campus legal office this morning.

            Today is the third day of my internship, and so far, my duties have primarily consisted of making copies, sending a few simple emails, and taking scripted phone calls for the attorney, Rex Attwood, who works pro-bono for the student body. He's a nice man, probably in his late fifties, with greying hair, a large variety of fishing memorabilia hung around the squat office, and an orange tabby cat named Freckles who hides in the bookshelves of the conference rooms most days.

            The cat goes everywhere with Mr. Attwood, something that he'd told me was a condition upon being hired to do legal work for CU. It'd taken a lot of paperwork and some "fibbing" about emotional support as he'd put it, but eventually Freckles ended up getting clearance to be at work with him, and pretty much in any building on campus.

            One of my duties is also feeding Freckles his lunch, which hadn't gone all too well the past few days because Freckles does not like new people. He'd either hid from me or whacked at me with his paw if I got too close. But regardless, I am determined to win the cat over this year. One way or another.

            "Baby Harris!" Dawson cheers when he sees me, his wide stature and tall frame filling most of my view as he comes to stand in front of the reception desk.

            "Hi Dawson," I reply, rolling my eyes at the nickname. This is why I try to associate with my brother as little as possible on campus. I am not a baby.

            "I didn't know you worked here," Dawson grins, leaning forward on the desk, his large hands nearly knocking over a stapler in the process which I catch just in time. "Big Harris did always say you want to be a lawyer though."

"Hi Dawson," I reply, rolling my eyes at the nickname. This is why I try to associate with my brother as little as possible on campus. I am not a baby.

            "I didn't know you worked here," Dawson grins, leaning forward on the desk, his large hands nearly knocking over a stapler in the process which I catch just in time. "Big Harris did always say you want to be a lawyer though."

           "Um," I pause, placing the stapler next to me and shuffling a few papers. "Yeah, yep, I do want to be a lawyer, so here I am. It's just an internship, but good experience for now."

            "I bet you'll be a menace in the court room," he compliments. "The same way your bother is an absolute menace on our court."

            Dawson Bamford is a sophomore on the team right now, he'd been recruited from some prep school in New York, and he is every bit the Upper East side type you'd presume him to be. Just one look at him and you can tell he comes from the luxury of his oil-mining ancestry.

He's tall, classically handsome—with blonde hair, blue eyes, and a winning smile. He's also covered in muscle like most athletes are. Combined, he has all the appearances of a male model—and he is all too aware of that. He's a peacock through and through, constantly preening and pruning himself whenever he catches a glimpse of himself in a reflective surface. To put it simply, he's never met a mirror he didn't like. Ryder often referred to him as the teams Narcissus. But what he has in beauty, he seems to usually lack in brains.

            From what Ryder's told me he's a nice dude but can come across a bit thick. Especially when it comes to women, he can't seem to get it right. The most memorable story I remember hearing is about how he fucked some rival opponent's girlfriend while Dawson had a girlfriend of his own, and then got his ass beat both by his opponent and his now ex-girlfriend's older brothers. To this day, Dawson still maintains his innocence in that whole fiasco too—another clue as to just how in love with himself he is.

I don't think much has changed with women for him, though he's apparently sworn off relationships, a character arc everyone could see coming from a mile away. In terms of fuckboy's, I'd say there's Ryder, then there's Wyatt, and right at the top, the king them all as a sophomore no less, is Dawson Bamford.

He reminds me of a golden retriever puppy—adorable, inexplicably loveable, but will also piss all over your living room carpet because they just can't help themselves. And even though that carpet was your favorite thing in the whole world, you still can't manage to get rid of the puppy.

That's Dawson. 

"Anyways," he drawls. "I'm here to meet with Mr. Attwood."

"Right," I turn back to the work computer, scanning the schedule and sure enough I see 'Mr. Bamford' typed into the 11:30 am slot. However, there is just one little issue.

"It says here you were scheduled for 11:30." I tell him and he nods, grinning.

"Yep." He pops the 'p' in yep, completely unphased.

"It's noon." I state plainly and Dawson deadpans.

"What? Noon?" he says, tone mocking. "I had no clue. Don't even know how to tell time matter of fact. But please don't tell anyone, it's hella embarrassing."

"What did you have a man servant to tell the time for you back on the Upper East Side?" I reply coyly and he chuckles.

"Good one Baby Harris," he says. "But uh, yeah, no I know it's noon. Figured it'd be all right though."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at this dudes' presumptions.

What a spoiled brat. I think to myself, but unfortunately that killer smile of his comes out to play and for some irrational reason, I take pity on him.

"He just stepped out for lunch," I say slowly. "But he's free when he gets back, so I could get you in—"

"Awesome," he cheers. "I'll wait then."

I open my mouth to protest but before I can he's grabbed one of the lounge chairs to the side of the reception desk and has lugged it across the room with one easy tug. He positions it beside the desk, drops his black Balenciaga backpack and then takes a seat, folding his hands over his chest as he eyes me now.

"You wouldn't happen to have any snacks back there, would you?" He asks, and I feel a bit dumbfounded at his question.

"Snacks?" I repeat and he nods eagerly.

"Yeah, Coach put us through the ringer this morning during weight training and I've only had a protein smoothie, some hard-boiled eggs, a breakfast burrito, and some cake donut thing a girl brought me before class earlier," he lists off, completely unaware of just how much food that actually is. But he is an athlete and a growing man-boy. Though based off his time keeping skills, there should be extra emphasis on the boy. "So, yeah, haven't eaten much and I'm starving."

"No, no snacks," I say begrudgingly, unwilling to share that the only thing I'd eaten today had been a measly piece of gluten-free toast, curtesy of Lukas, and an espresso shot. Though the espresso shot doesn't count in all actuality.

"Damn," Dawson makes a face, and I can see the wheels spinning in his head before the light bulb goes off and he whips out his phone. "I'll Uber Eat's us something, whatcha in the mood for?"

"Not really hungry," I shake my head, turning back to the email I'd been crafting before he walked in. It's another generic response, something about contract dates and making sure the recipient reads them carefully.

"Come on Baby Harris," he insists. "How about a little something from Snarf Burger? My treat. It is lunch time after all."

My stomach rumbles as if on cue, the thought of a bacon-guac burger and fries causing my mouth to water in anticipation. As if he can sense it, he grins at me, blue eyes twinkling mischievously.

"That's what I thought," he clicks a few things on his phone. "What kind-of burger?"

"Bacon-guac." I resign, turning again from the email. I suppose I do have all afternoon to work on it, being that it's my only project for the day besides feeding Freckles. That's when I get an idea. "And actually, since you're here, you might as well help me out with a project."

"OooOoo," Dawson hums, smirking as he clicks a few more things, and then places the order, letting me know that he got us two sides of fries, and a couple milkshakes as well. It will arrive in about 20 minutes, which is the perfect amount of time to get Dawson to feed the cat for me.

"So," he sets his phone down after confirming the pick-up spot. "How may I assist the lady this fine afternoon?"

"Well," I stand, waving him along with me to the small side table with a drawer that contains all the items for Freckles mid-day meal. "Mr. Attwood has this tabby cat, named Freckles, who gets a meal at noon. So, if you're up for it, you just have to go put his bowl in the conference room."

"Awe fuckin dope," Dawson grins, clapping his hands together. "I love animals."

"Okay," I lean down grabbing the little ceramic bowl from the drawer that reads 'Feed Me Right Meow' in little swirly blue writing, with tiny paw prints riming the bowl. I take a scoop of kibble from the container in the drawer too, filling the bowl before I stand and hand it to Dawson.

"Right in there." I point to the conference room door across the office from us. "I'll just finish up the email I was working on before while you feed him, thank you for doing this also."

"Absolutely no problem," he says, strutting confidently to the door and opening it, he strides through it as I return to my desk. No less than five minutes later I hear a shriek followed by the loud mewling of an angry cat, and a soft thumb before Dawson comes stumbling out of the conference room.

"That cat is a dick," he scoffs, slamming the conference room door before returning to his seat by the desk.

"He's not always the biggest fan of new people," I admit, trying to hide my smile as Dawson narrows his eyes at me.

"You tricked me," he accuses, and I can't help the laugh that bubbles out of me.

"I—well, Freckles has been going after me for the past few days," I tell him. "Honestly, I wasn't in the mood to be swatted again."

"Fair enough," Dawson grins again, chuckling himself.

Our food arrives soon after and Dawson seems to forget the Freckles incident as he digs into his double patty burger with gusto, dipping his fries into his vanilla milkshake at the same time as he shoves food into his mouth. The way that boy eats you'd think he'd just been marooned at sea for months.

When Mr. Attwood returns from his own lunch break, he is surprised to find Dawson there, but agrees to meet with him nonetheless seeing as his calendar was open for the new hour anyways. The rest of my day passes by somewhat uneventfully, and as I stroll out of the building at 5:15, I'm unsure if I should go to the library to study for an upcoming quiz in one of my classes or go home and procrastinate.

It seems the universe has other plans for me though when I feel my phone vibrating in my jacket pocket, and I pull it out to find Wyatt's contact flashing at me on the screen. Curiosity gets the best of me as I answer, part of me excited and another part nervous that something might be wrong. Because why else would he call me?

"Hey," I answer easily, trying to sound casual.

"Have you watched this dumbass movie for our class yet?" His voice answers me, sounding both amused and mildly irritated.

"Which dumbass movie?" I ask, giggling. Surprised to find myself relieved that he really is calling just to chat it would seem. It's relieving because I've missed him. Sure, we see each other in recitation once a week, but it's class. It's not the same as the time we spent together this past summer. 

"The one with the Rob Pattinson and that vampire chick," he explains briefly. "I think we're supposed to watch it before next week, and then do a write up on it."

"You mean Twilight?" I infer. "And what do you mean write up? I thought that wasn't due for a while."

"Nah," he tells me. "I'm looking at the course list right now, says it's due this Friday."

Fuck. I think. Today's Wednesday, it's not like I couldn't whip something together in the next two days, especially since I've already seen all the Twilight movies. But still, I thought I'd had more time to prepare for the bullshitting I'd have to do about the literary value of the Stephanie Meyer's classic novella and its movie adaptations.

"Well, then no," I sigh, pausing in my step as I near the crosswalk that would take me home, but now I get the feeling I should be working on this assignment instead. "I haven't watched yet or even thought about the write up."

"Uh," Wyatt pauses, clearing his throat. "I mean, you wanna watch it? With me, I mean, like we could watch it together."

I stifle another giggle. If I'm not mistaken, he sounded a bit nervous to voice that question.

"Are you asking me to have a Twilight movie marathon Wyatt?"

"Fuck no," he laughs. "I'm not sitting through all those movies. Just the first one."

"I don't know, once you start," I muse. "You might feel compelled to finish, you know, see how the story ends."

"I highly doubt that" he laughs. "But are you in?"

I pause, there's no harm in two classmates working on assignment together, right? I can't see Ryder having an issue with this at all. True, I am choosing to ignore the fact that the last time Wyatt and I were alone together he ravished me from between my legs . . . but that was almost a month ago now. We'd been in class together without an issue, I don't see why working together would be a problem.

"Yeah," I agree finally. "Yeah, might as well, right?"

"I mean," I can hear the humor in his tone. "We're being good students. Collaboration is basically essential if we want to have a deeper understanding of the story."

"Uh huh, because a deeper understanding of Twilight is what we both need in our lives right now," I joke and then we both laugh.

"Yeah, definitely," he plays along. "So, anyways, yours or mine?"

"Let's go to yours," I say instantly, wanting to avoid my roommates and their inevitable questions when there was nothing to ask questions about. "You have a better set up."

"Alright, you wanna meet there, or do you need me to pick you up?"

"I'm actually on campus right now—"

"Oh, me too," he chuckles. "I'm in Norlin right now."

I almost roll my eyes. Of course, he is, and to think I'd been considering going to the library today of all days. When normally I just procrastinate and study at home in the wee hours of the morning.

"Okay, let's meet out front," I tell him. "I'm 5 minutes away right now, I'll text you when I'm there."

"Perfect." He says easily. "See you soon."

Then we hang up, my mood decidedly improves as I stroll back towards the main center of campus and Norlin Library. When I approach the tall, imposing building a smile stretches across my face when I spot Wyatt, already waiting for me on the stone steps leading up to the entrance.

A pit forms in my stomach, something inside me twisting as I register—not for the first time, of course—how good he looks and how effortless it is for him. His soft brown hair looks a bit shorter, like he'd just got it trimmed, a few thick locks falling on his forehead. He's dressed in dark jeans, a grey hoodie, navy blue backpack slung over one shoulder as he stands to greet me.

"Hey," he smiles, warm brown eyes shimmering in the setting sunlight as I walk up to him. Before I know what's happening his arms are around me, pulling me close to him as the scent of his woodsy cologne surrounds me. I stifle a gasp, responding in kind as I also wrap my arms over his shoulders and hug him back.

"Hi." I murmur, voice small as I allow the strength and familiarity of his hold to envelop me. He chest heaves as he takes a deep breath in and releases, tension in his shoulders relaxing as we hug each other tighter.

There's a pause then, both of us allowing the other to have this moment. Sounds of shoes on pavement, the light chatter of students walking by, and a bird chirping in the distance. All the noise of campus fades around us.

Right now, all know, and feel is him. The soft material of his sweatshirt against my cheek, the way his chin rests on the top of my head, keeping me tucked close. His hands molding to my body through my jacket, squeezing me gently. And the sound of his heart, steady, thrumming beneath my ear as I close my eyes for a moment.

Eventually, I think we both realize we've just been standing here in each other's arms, in silence for I don't even know how long. I open my eyes again as his grip loosens, one hand sliding up to cup the nape of my neck as he pulls my head back. His lips brush the shell of my ear, sending a shiver up my spine.

"You have a good day?" He asks, voice gruff as he clears his throat.

I crane my head back then, my hands sliding down the broad expanse of muscle on his chest as I meet the pools of dark honey in his eyes. His gaze is infinite, so much unsaid there that it makes my heart flip in my chest.

"Yeah," I manage, feeling like I'm in a trance. "Yeah, long and busy, but good."

"Good." He smiles.

"What about you?" I ask. "Good day?"

"It was alright," he shrugs, slowly releasing me as we finally step back from one another. He shrugs his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, another long breath leaving him as his eyes sweep over me from head to toe. "Better now."

"Wyatt," I chide gently, tilting my head and feeling an ache inside me.

Maybe I'd been wrong to think we could hang out outside of class time.

"I know," he chuckles, some of the intensity in his expression fading as he shakes his head. "Trust me, I know."

Then the thick moment, the tension between us, dissipates as we fall into step beside one another. It becomes easy again, the conversation flowing until we reach his car. There he opens the passenger side door for me. I slide in, appreciating the warmth of the leather seats and the smell of a clean, new car as he shuts the door and walks around to the driver's side.

"We should get some movie snacks," I say as he shuts his own door, tossing his backpack into the back seat before turning to me with a smile.

"Sure, what kind of snacks did you have in mind?" He asks, dropping his phone in the cupholder