Dirty Curve

“What, no.” I pin her with a fixed expression. “That’s not at all why I said that. If anything, she’s keeping me from passing out from boredom.”

A short laugh leaves Meyer. “Okay ...”

Fuck. Okay. “Any chance she’ll be okay to sleep in her car seat again today, just for a short twenty-minute drive?”

She tips her head, suspicious.

“I don’t have to be at the field for a few hours.”

“I’m aware.”

“Are you also aware that Poly is in San Luis Obispo?”

“Am I aware of what town I’m in right now? That would be a yes.” She fights a grin. “What’s up with you?”

I hold her gaze, and after a moment, hers widens.

She starts shaking her head, but I’m already nodding mine.

“Tobias, no.”

“Come on.”

“No way.”

“Please, you just said you were hungry, but room service sucks. This is free breakfast.”

“I don’t—”

“I need a reason to leave soon after arriving,” flies from my mouth before I can even fucking think, and now Meyer’s looking at me warily. I shrug. “Help me out, Tutor Girl?”

She chews on her lip, looking to Bailey, and when her eyes come back to mine, I know I’ve got her.

To my parents we go.

God fucking speed.

q

Meyer

As we pull up in front of a quaint little home just a mile up from the ocean, nerves begin to prickle my skin.

This isn’t a good idea. In fact, it’s horrible.

They’re going to get the wrong idea.

I have a child and I’m coming here with their son, a man who’s a few months away from no less than a million-dollar contract, and that’s being insanely humble. If the simple sight of me doesn’t scream gold digger, I don’t know what does.

“Maybe this is a bad idea.” I turn to him, but I’m a little taken aback when I find the same tense expression written along his brows. “Tobias?”

“We could find a diner somewhere instead?” he says, looking from the home to me. “I could tell her that I ran out of time or ...” He sighs, dropping his head back against the seat.

I don’t get the chance to say anything else and our window to pull away is gone as right then the front door opens and a dark-haired woman, maybe late fifties, reveals herself on the other side.

Tobias looks to me, anxiousness drawing creases along his forehead.

As I said, this is likely an awful idea, but it’s not like we’re a couple and this is a big step.

It’s not like there’s a deeper purpose to my coming here with him today.

It just so happens I’m on the road with him, as his tutor, and he’s being kind by including me.

If they know their son, and I’m sure they do, they should see that for what it is.

So, I unbuckle my seat belt, and those creases along Tobias’s forehead grow, but he does the same. And then he shakes them off.

Outside of the truck, I unclip Bailey’s car seat from its base and pull her to the edge of the seat, but Tobias is suddenly there, easing me out of the way. He gently grabs her, reaching over to get the diaper bag as well.

We’re greeted at the door by his mom, who smiles brightly at her son and pulls him into her arms.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Look at you, so big and strong.” She squeezes his arms, and he laughs. Her eyes then fall to the car seat in his hands, and she smiles. “Oh my, my, who might this be?” Her palm falls to her chest.

My eyes dart to Tobias, realizing he didn’t tell her we were coming, but he, too, is looking at Bailey. She’s sound asleep, her pink bow still held in place, a perfect match to her watermelon dress and booties.

“So tiny,” his mom croons before turning to me and waving me over. “She must be yours?”

“She is.” I smile, offering his mom my hand, but she pulls me in for a quick hug. I laugh nervously, and step by her when she ushers us inside, but not before I spot the little sign over the doorbell Tobias had told me about.

The place is bright and welcoming, the walls a soft gray and blinds a blinding white, all open to let in the little bit of sun the day has to offer.

His mom shouts for her husband, and quickly points her smile toward me. “He’s watching the stove.”

Tobias clears his throat. “Mom, this is—”

“His tutor,” I rush, just in case.

His mom looks from me to her son.

“My tutor,” he repeats slowly, and I can feel the weight of his stare, though I ignore it. “Whose name is Meyer, and this little sleepyhead is Bailey, her daughter.”

His mom smiles. “I’m Olivia, and this is my husband, Garro.” She waves a hand toward the gentleman who joins us.

He’s just as handsome as his son, tall with the same strong jawline, but his hair, while as dark as his son’s, is peppered with gray and his eyes a deep brown.