Dirty Curve

That much is obvious too. At first, it was in his eyes when he’d look at me, now, it’s in his touch, and he always finds a way to touch me. A brush of his arm or hand, a grab of the wrist. Or like today, when he threaded his fingers into mine and pulled me a little closer.

Today, I let him.

Today, I forgot how complicated the situation truly is.

“But you do ...” Bianca pulls me back into the conversation, her eyes narrowing. “You like him, right? That’s the tall, tanned, tasty-looking problem here?”

I do.

But I can’t, shouldn’t.

It’s selfish and wrong and a disaster waiting to happen.

I could never be honest with him, not now.

Bianca senses my thoughts, and a knowing, saddened smile spreads across her lips. “M—”

Tears fill my eyes and I look to the ceiling, willing them to go away.

The situation is complicated, more so than she even knows, but I think it’s time to tell her the truth. The whole truth.

So I do.

But by the end, there is no revelation, no resolve because it changes nothing.

I can’t simply cut the cord, walk away before it gets worse, because I’m contracted to spend six-to-eight hours a week with the man, ten when exams are close.

So basically, I’m screwed.

I’m no fool, I know it’s going to get worse, deeper, just like I know it’s up to me to keep the barrier between us in place. It won’t be easy, but it’s more than necessary.

I can’t fall for Tobias Cruz, a little voice in the back of my head whispers, but a wiser, louder one replies with, you already have.

CHAPTER 14

Tobias

I roll my shoulder clockwise, and then counterclockwise, stretching through the slight ache before pulling some Tiger Balm from my bag.

Meyer looks up from the packet she printed out at the tutoring center this morning, watching as I dig two of my fingers into the little container. “What is that?” she wonders.

“Ever heard of Icy Hot?”

She nods.

“Kind of like that. It’s an all-natural pain reliever, calms my joints.”

“Does your shoulder hurt a lot?”

“My legs, my arms, shoulders.” I chuckle when her brows shoot up. “It’s nothing past normal. I don’t really give my muscles a break much, but this helps.”

She stares as I glide the thick Vaseline-like ointment over my right bicep and shoulder, and my lips twitch when her lips part the tiniest bit. I’m thinking she realized it too, because she then darts her eyes to the paper again. “Um, okay, that’s the last of the questions for anatomy. I highlighted the ones you need to add to your flash cards before the next session.”

I nod, accepting the paper when she hands it to me and push to my feet.

“You know, you’re really good at what you do.”

Her eyes fly to mine, and the surprise in her expression tells me she didn’t expect such a compliment from me.

“I’m serious, you’ve got a knack for what you do.”

A hint of pink colors her cheeks and she looks down. “Thank you.”

“Is that what you want to do?” I ask her, suddenly curious. “Be a teacher, college professor maybe?”

A hesitant laugh escapes her, and she stands, beginning to pack her bag as I do. “I do, yeah. I think people would reach a little higher, believe in themselves more if more people care to help them understand. I’d like to do that for someone.”

“You do that now.”

Again, her gaze flashes to mine, small creases forming along her forehead, as if she’s confused, but she shouldn’t be.

“You do.”

“I don’t know about that, but ...”

I step closer to her. “You do. You work hard. You care and it shows.”

She stares at me a long moment, and then she forces a small shrug. “Nah, I just want to have the summer and holidays off work,” she mocks herself.

I laugh and hers follows.

Glancing over at the mound, I turn back to her. “You want to learn how to throw a curve?”

“What?” she chuckles.

“Let me show you.”

She crosses her arms, her lips pinching to one side. “You want to show me how to execute your secret weapon?”

“Ah, so you do know a little about my game.”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s playful. “I’d have to be blind, deaf, and basically never step foot on campus not to.”

“Or you low-key stalk me.”

She laughs, shouldering past me with a lively glint in her brown eyes, and she doesn’t stop until she’s on the mound. “Okay, Playboy. School me.”

With a smirk too deep to hide, I grab the ball from the dirt and head her way, keenly aware that our mandated time together ended exactly seventeen minutes ago.

And the girl’s still here.

q

Meyer might know how to hit, but the girl can’t throw a ball for shit.

Grinning, I hop to my feet and jog the five steps up and over to pick up the ball where it fell.