Dirty Curve

She scans over it and quickly looks to me. “There’s two courses on here.”

“Oh! Right.” I bend, snag my bag from the ground and pull out the third, slapping it on top of the other.

She blinks. “Three classes.”

“Three classes.”

Double-checking something on her screen, she says, “I have you down for one. I don’t think I have space for such a heavy workload.”

“That makes no sense, Tutor Girl. We’re here, let’s get the shit done.”

She shakes her head. “I have to work in two-hour increments, each credit is two hours of study time. Each class is four credits, on average, which is eight hours and that translates to—”

“Four sessions a week. I got it. Math’s not my problem area.”

She sits straighter in her seat, and for the first time since she arrived, I see an outline of breast. It appears there may be something hiding under that ugly ass sweater, after all.

“This is serious. If I take you on” —when I grin, she scowls at me— “I’ll have to drop another student and that’s not fair. We’ll just ... we’ll have to work on the class you have the lowest grade in.”

“Not gonna work for me.”

She drops back and I can tell she’s about to argue, so I Aladdin her ass, and say the magic words, forcing her to play Genie.

“Coach’s orders.” That right there sets her straight.

Literally.

Her spine squares as her entire body grows rigid, and all signs of stress vanish from her face. In fact, any sign of life vanishes from her altogether. “He told you I’d tutor you in both?”

My smirk is slow. “He told me to take up every spare minute you had, Tutor Girl. Starting right this second and ending the moment the bell rings on the last day of the semester, metaphorically speaking, of course.”

The girl quickly pushes to her feet, excusing herself for the restrooms.

And she doesn’t invite me to join her.

q

“Okay, time’s up for today.”

I look up from my laptop screen with a frown, quickly glancing at the time on my phone.

It’s 8:03 on the dot, three minutes past her two-hour mark. “But I’m not done.”

She ignores me and begins rushing to pack up her things. “We finished all the overdue anatomy assignments, and two for history. All you have left is a page of section questions for that class and English has no new assignments listed yet. You should be able to finish up at home.”

“That won’t work.”

“Why is that?” she asks, without looking at me. She’s only looked at me a handful of times since we’ve been here. It’s annoying.

“Because it’s due tomorrow.”

“And you have the rest of the evening.”

“I live with another dude who, by now, has guests, so as soon as I get home, all the blood in my brain is gonna drop to my dick, and my shit won’t get done.”

Her cheeks color once again. “Sorry, but I can’t stay.”

“Again, not gonna work—”

“Look.” The chick finally makes the conscious decision to look at me, her brown eyes on the frustrated side. “I understand why you think you make all the decisions, considering most people allow you to, but I have to leave right now. You can stay all you want if going home is distracting. I’ll even review your paper for you sometime tonight if you email it to me, I promise, but I really have to go.”

There’s a plea in her eyes, even if it’s not heard in her practiced tone.

Now I’m curious. “Why the rush?”

Her lips smash together, and she quickly finishes shoving shit into her bag.

What is with this chick?

Here I am, doing what girls wait for me to do and initiating conversation, yet she’s still pretending not to be interested.

Not that I’m interested, but she should be.

Putting my own things away, I tell her, “You need to meet me tomorrow.”

“Fine. Tomorrow at three. Same spot.”

“Nope.” I make sure to pop the P like a dick. “I have to have all this in before noon, or this was pointless. Tomorrow at ten.”

Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head. “I can’t. I can’t be here before twelve thirty.”

“Not my problem, Tutor Girl. Better tell whoever it is you save your mornings for their happy days are on pause until June.” On my feet now, I shrug and step past her, forcing her to turn and follow. I shove open the door, allowing her to walk through it first, but only so I can turn my back on her and call out, “I’m priority number one, remember?”

And then I’m gone.

Tutor Girl thinks she can dictate when we meet?

That’s not going to happen. I’ll make sure of it.

Her morning dude can suck it.

I wonder who it is?

And now I’m wondering why the fuck I’m wondering.

CHAPTER 6

Avix Inquirer:

Spotted, The Playboy Pitcher charging up the steps to the library. We know he’s not grinding the books, so maybe ‘grinding’ something else? I’d bet five fins he’s discovered the dusty, dark corner we call Romp-her Row. Poor Librarians.