On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

“Nothing is guaranteed,” I said, remembering the last words my dad said to me before he passed away.

“Nothing is guaranteed except for you being drafted into the NFL within the top five, and me being drafted within the top ten.”

I shook my head and knew Kyle more than understood what my father told me, but I couldn't argue with him on his prediction. Even if the two of us gave halfway decent performances this year, our performances from the past three seasons were warranting interest from the NFL teams and our names were mentioned in ESPN's "Best College Player" rankings every week.

“Do you know a girl here named Charlotte?” I asked, changing the subject.

“I know plenty of girls here named Charlotte. You’re going to have to be way more specific than that.”

“She’s a senior, has hazel eyes, and a smart-ass mouth.”

“Does she have red hair or black hair?”

“Neither. It’s dark brown.”

“Wait.” He turned around to face me. “Is the Charlotte you’re talking about sexy as hell?”

“Yes.”

“Ugh. Yeah.” He groaned. “I know that Charlotte. What about her?”

“I—” I held back. I didn’t want to say too much yet, and I didn’t want to admit that I was struggling to keep her off my mind. “I have peer tutoring sessions with her this year for my literature classes.”

“Well, just so you know, that’s all you’ll be getting with her.” He shook his head. “My friend Mike from Carnegie Mellon told me about her a while ago. She’s on my personal blacklist, so you might as well blacklist her, too.”

“You’ve dated her before?”

“Hell, no.” He looked offended. “Look. My friend Mike walked her home from a frat party super late one night last year, and then she invited him up to her room. So, quite naturally, he thought that meant they were about to fuck, right?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Yes, necessarily.” He crossed his arms. “Can you please find a way to be my so-called best friend named Grayson or just pretend to be him today?”

I laughed. “I can try.”

“Anyway, so she invites him up to her room, but instead of taking her clothes off, she makes some coffee. Then she takes him down to her dorm’s lounge where she proceeds to tell him about her favorite books. Her favorite books. Until five in the morning.”

“That’s why she’s blacklisted?

“I’m not even done yet,” he continued. “When she finally walks him out to the exit around seven in the morning—with not even a hint of an ‘I’ll show my appreciation to you for walking me home later’ line, he asks for her phone number. You know, to kind of maybe seal the deal for next time, but she says no. Then she says he’s more than welcome to join her at some type of art gallery on Sunday.”

“Did your friend ever meet her at the art gallery?”

“Are you shitting me?” He rolled his eyes. “No. He never talked to her again and he told me about her so I wouldn’t waste my time. Now, I’m telling you, so you’ll never waste yours.”

“Thank you for your story-time.”

“You’re more than welcome.” He took a long swig of water. “I also heard she has a boyfriend who she’s super loyal to at another college, so sexy as hell or not, she’s not worth anyone’s time here.”

Maybe she does have a boyfriend. That would explain her attitude toward me.

“Anyway,” Kyle said, “Speaking of girls who are worth my time, let me finally tell you about the three girls from the bonfire.”

I halfway listened as he gave me a play by play of his sex-filled weekend, as he gave me excessive details I could’ve done without. I was far more interested in unraveling the mystery of Charlotte and how the hell she’d flown under my radar for so long.

All I knew for sure was that I’d never been more attracted to someone after only a few encounters in my life, and her being my tutor for this semester was going to be a serious problem.

GRAYSON: THEN

Seven years ago

Pittsburgh

THE NIGHT OF KYLE’S birthday, I pulled up to the designated house on the North Shore, hoping his claim about it being a “tame” event this year was true.

I walked into the house and abandoned all hope in five seconds.

There were inflatable hot tubs set up in every corner of the living room, a beer keg competition was taking place in the kitchen, and the smell of marijuana and sour liquor was hanging in the air.

“Grayson!” Kyle called out to me from the staircase as two girls grinded against him. “Grayson, come over! Come over!”

I helped a girl steady herself onto the couch and walked over. “Yes, Kyle?”

“It’s my birthday tonight!” His eyes were tight, a tell-tale sign that he was going to pass out any minute now. “It’s my fucking birthday and ... I’m going to get good sex and cake, on my cock, on my birthday. Just watch.”