Snatched

“Hey,” he says, and there’s the tiniest bit of a smile on his face, one that makes my heart beat a little faster. “Back to the grind, mathlete?”

“Yeah,” I say, glancing down at my books and shrugging. “Same old. What about you?”

“My new tutor is the worst. She made a chart where I get gold stars for every time I get a problem right.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“For a kindergartener,” he says, then slings his hands into his pockets. We stare at one another— his eyes strong, confidence, mine flirting away nervously— for a few moments.

“Do you want to sit down?” I ask, unsure what else I can say.

He swings into the seat, leaving one leg skewed out to the side, like he might need to get up and spring. I twirl my pencil between my fingers…what are we supposed to say to one another? We didn’t break up because we hated each other. We broke up because I spied on him. Because I refused to trust him. Not because we didn’t want to be together, not because we don’t still want to be together—

Well. I still want to be with him. I have no idea what he’s feeling— his face is a shield of unreadable confidence, much like the one he wore the last time we were here together. I close my books and look up at him, then cross my fingers in my lap that he’ll be the one to start the conversation.

“I miss you, Kenley,” he says directly.

My fingers uncross. That’s one hell of a conversation starter.

“I miss you too,” I say, voice warbling. “I really am sorry I—“

Finn shakes his head curtly. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Okay.” I go quiet. He inhales, then begins to speak about his father’s presence at that game instead. It’s a welcome break to talking about the two of us— something I can weigh in on, advise on. I roll my eyes when he tells me of Adams’ involvement, and he laughs when I tell him about how one of Mandy’s friends swears Adams wears a cock ring to get his dick to the famed eleven inches, then tugs it off right before sex so no one knows.

“Sounds like him,” Finn says, still chuckling a little. “It won’t be a problem any more, though. My dad, I mean— not Adams’ cock. That’s going to be a problem for a lot of people before he leaves Harton, I suspect.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, frowning.

“I gave him what he wanted. I paid him off,” Finn says grimly.

“Wait, seriously? With what? You aren’t getting money from the school are you?” I ask, almost frantic. Finn, more so than anyone here, knows the danger of accepting money or gifts as a college player.

“No, not at all. I guess I haven’t paid him yet, exactly— it’s more like an IOU. Now that the regular season is over some of the pro agents have started showing up and…signs are good I’ll get an offer. So I told my dad I’d be willing to take care of him when the time comes, if he stays away.”

My eyes widen. “Okay, one, congratulations. Two— what’s going to happen when he decides whatever you’re paying him isn’t enough?”

“I know. But I needed to do something,” Finn says. “Adams was sabotaging the fuck out of me. I can’t concentrate with my dad around.” He shifts on his seat and changes the subject. “Let’s talk about your summer internship. How much Dr. Reams ass have you been kissing lately?”

I smile a little. “A lot. A whole lot. He’s the worst. Although he’s been out of my hair for the last week or so. Maybe he’s written me off entirely?” Finn nods at this, but there’s something of a smirk in the expression. I lift an eyebrow. “Did you talk to him?”

He looks pleased with himself. “I didn’t seek him out to talk to him, but he sent me this big formal email apologizing for you. And I said it was fine, and that you were the best tutor I’d ever had, and that it was mostly my fault. And then I sent him some of those Harton shirts they gave me. It seemed to settle him. That dude’s super fussy, huh?”

“You don’t know the half of it,” I say, then, “Thanks, though.”

“It was the least I could do. You are the best tutor I’ve ever had. And I’m not saying I’m totally over the whole setting me up thing, but…” He runs his hand through his hair. “It was mostly my fault. I should have talked to you. We could have worked it out. But instead I basically did what my dad did, when he and my mom disagreed. I just…left.”

“You’re not at all like your dad,” I assure him.

“Maybe. But this was a little too close for comfort,” he says, and looks down in a rare show of uncertainty.