Dirty Curve

“I don’t know how you guys get up before the roosters every day.” Vivian drops into the booth across from us, having spotted Echo and me when she drug her hungover ass through the doors.

“Cruz is the only fucker up before the sun, and I hate to break it to you girl, but it’s almost eleven.” Echo looks up from his textbook, teasing her.

She stares at the barista, making her drink with stars in her eyes. “And somehow it still feels too early.”

“That’s ‘cause you have no routine.” I shrug. “Get up at the same time every day and after a while, it’ll be nothing.”

She rolls her head my way, last night’s makeup smeared beneath her eyes. “You’re like my dad. He’s been retired for like ten years and he still gets up at the ass crack of dawn every day, makes his coffee, watches the news, listens to birds, and for what? To play old westerns or reruns of CSI?”

I laugh, bringing my protein shake to my lips. “Sounds like the good life.”

She scoffs. “Yeah, except for when you’re trying to sneak back in the house at four in the morning and he’s sitting on your bed.”

My head snaps her way and I grin, but the chick behind the counter calls out her name and she hops up, flipping us a peace sign as she grabs her coffee. Out the door she goes.

The second she’s gone; I turn to Echo. “See, told you she’s chill.”

“You know she’s fucking Neo now, right?”

“You know I don’t give two fucks, right?” I grin.

Echo chuckles, pushing to his feet. “Let’s get out of here, man, I need to run into the student center for some graph sheets.”

We head over to the center, but before we reach it, a familiar ball of hair catches my eye.

Tutor Girl and my boy Coop’s ex-girl, Bianca, are walking up the steps to the math building, laughing about something on their phones.

I grin.

She has friends and is capable of smiling without hiding it like normal people do. Who knew?

I chuckle when Bianca squeezes her cheeks and plants one where her hand just was before shimmying into the building.

Quickly breaking away from Echo, I jog up the steps to where Meyer holds back.

She’s leaning against the rock wall, so I sneak up behind her.

“What up, Tutor Girl, I see you’re still alive and breathing.”

Her upper body spins to face me and she pulls her phone into her chest.

“Didn’t know you knew Bianca.” I grin at the large stone building. “Your next class in here?”

“Tobias, hey,” she says in a hushed rush, putting on a tight, fake smile for the assholes who slip by us. “What … can I do for you?”

“Wow, it’s like that?” I cross my arms, scowling down at her. “All business, huh?”

Her brows pull in and she quickly glances around.

Again, with this hideaway shit?

Fuck that.

I put on a smirk. I’m talking full blown, gonna get me some smirk, and take a small step forward, internally laughing as her features grow tense.

Her head pulls back slightly, her eyes tightening in suspicion, and rightfully so.

“Come on, baby,” I purr, laying it on thick and a bit louder than necessary. “Just last night you were calling me Daddy, and now today I’m already back to Tobias?” I tsk, taking another step until her back meets the wall. She tries to get away, but there’s no escape.

“Stop,” she hisses, turning to avoid sharing the same air as me.

Too bad for her, I crouch to meet her height.

“I believe your words were don’t stop.”

“Oh my god,” she whispers, dropping her chin to her chest as the others around us pretend not to be circling, hoping to catch some dirt flying.

“I think I need a redo, Tutor Girl.” I run the back of my pointer finger down her arm, but that fucker freezes right where it’s at, on the soft underside just above her elbow.

Meyer’s eyes briefly close at my touch, and my brows snap together. Again, with that little mouth part small gasp she tends to give, but hold on …

I look where my touch rests.

Are those … goose bumps?

No fucking way.

I prepare to do it again, tugging my head back slightly so I can catch every little move she might just make, but before I get the chance, she rolls her shoulder back and my hand falls to my side.

“Go.” She shakes her head, refusing to look at me.

She wants to brush me off, as if she’s not responding to my touch when she so clearly is.

I don’t get it and I don’t know what to do with her blatant disregard for me as a person, so I do what I’m used to. What I know.

What everyone expects.

I play with her some more.

“Yeah, a redo’s what I need …” I keep going, step more into her, and speak even louder. “Maybe I didn’t quite leave my mark, huh?”

Her eyes squeeze shut, quickly flicking open and narrowing in on me. There’s a heaviness behind them that has me slowly easing up.

Unsure of what’s happened and why she’s caging up even more, I’m about to call a truce. Despite what she’s likely convinced herself of, I’m not trying to hurt her. I’m just playing with her.

But Tutor Girl does what not a lot of girls can. She surprises me.

Meyer pushes off the wall, the little ball on her head bouncing with the sudden jolt and erases the space I gave back to her. She lines her body up with mine, a sudden hint of anger tightening her features.

“Don’t worry, Daddy,” she says with conviction and a dash of sultry taunting, but I got a feeling that’s for show. “I couldn’t forget our night together if I tried.”

She shoves past. Gone is the flirty sexiness her posture and voice held for a whole five seconds and in its place is a resolute chick ready to dish it.

Tutor Girl whips around, and volcanic eyes sear mine. “And believe me, I’ve tried.”

At that, the people around can no longer pretend they weren’t eavesdropping, and laughter quickly follows.

I smirk and shrug it off, because who the fuck is she and what the fuck was that?

A fake performance I basically pulled from her.

I try not to stare as she storms across the yard, those hips swaying in wrath, that ass, that I can’t see but can picture just fucking fine, taunting me as she heads who the hell knows where, but I can’t help it. My attention’s fucking glued to her.

She’s not even supposed to be here. No tutoring or classes in the morning, that’s what I was told. That’s what she keeps saying. It’s probably lies.

Meyer stops to adjust her bag, so I pretend not to be staring at her, waiting for her to find a reason to glance back and see if I’m still standing in the doorway where she left me, but she doesn’t.

It’s fucking weird. Irritating.

Downright frustrating.

The girl always looks back, right? And who the hell is she to flip the rule book and the game I was playing with her?

And why the fuck are these douchebags staring in the same direction as me?

This is bullshit.

Twice.

I called Tutor Girl twice today.

Yeah, called, not texted. Who does that? No fucking body, that’s who, but when she didn’t respond or bother to open the four or five messages I sent her—I know, ‘cause there’s no check mark—what was I supposed to do?

I have work to do in anatomy and she needs to help me.

Who cares if it’s a page or two of weak ass vocabulary words. Why should I quiz myself when she can do it for me? It’s her job. She gets paid to help me, more than she does anyone else. So, I called the girl, once when I pulled up at the stadium, and again after my post game shower. She didn’t answer either time.

It’s fucked up.

I’m done with class for the day, and the team met early this morning for film, so I’ve got shit else to do today but homework.

A heavy sigh escapes as I push to my feet and hop off of the picnic table I’ve been sitting on top of for the last forty minutes, the table that happens to be right across from the tutoring center that a certain brown-eyed girl has yet to come in or out of.

Sure, the door says they closed at five, but it’s only seven and I can make out the shape of bodies through the window, none that could even begin to rival hers, but still. She could have been in the back or something.

She’ll call eventually. I think.

Probably not, since she never does what I expect her to do.

Maybe if I think she won’t, she will?

Fuck me, I’m confusing my own damn self.

Annoyed as shit, I head to the only place outside of the field that allows me an escape, the gym.

“Oh man, is that Tobias Cruz I see?!” my boy Noah shouts as I walk into the gym.

Chuckling, I make my way over to where he’s working hand weights and resistance bands.

Noah’s the starting quarterback here at Avix. He’s a fucking god and humble as shit. In the off-season we see each other in here a lot, but when one of us is in season, it’s hit or miss. I haven’t seen the man since before the holidays.

“How you been, bro? Fuck your way through the dance team yet?” I grin.

He shakes his head, an easy smile on his face. “Not quite, Cruz. Not quite.”

See, Noah ain’t like me, so I give him shit when I can.

He doesn’t sleep around or eat up attention, and he gets plenty. Honestly, I don’t think he’s comfortable with any of it, the attention and never-ending skirts who believe they’re entitled to your time since they’re willing to hand over their own.

I wasn’t either, at first, but once I realized any good I did would be spun negatively by the school papers, I went ahead and gave them something else to talk about, the only other thing they chose to print when it came to me.

The Playboy Pitcher living up to his name.

I’m sure Noah gets his, but I’d bet it’s with one chick, a girl who is in the same boat as him, someone focused on school and not interested in the frat boy lifestyle.

He’s a damn good guy.

I take the space beside him.

“You killin’ it out there, starving those scouts.” He grins.

“Hey, I’m trying to keep up with the season you had.” I whistle. “Damn, Noah. Your ass is gonna burn a fat hole in some rich fuckers’ pockets next year, my man. You’re going first round, no question.”

He looks away with a low chuckle but says nothing.

See? Humble as fuck.

Good dude, great student.

Bet Tutor Girl would like someone like him.

I freeze, halfway extended, to pick up a dumbbell.

What the fuck was that?

No, no.

I don’t give a damn who or what she does in her spare time, so long as my work is solid, and I get to play ball.

But! If she is ignoring my calls because she’s with some fuckface, that ain’t cool.

Son of a bitch, I sound like a bitch.

With a groan, I yank my bag off the ground and ignore Noah’s raised brow.

I storm right back out the way I entered, my phone already at my ear, ready to snitch her out like a damn toddler ‘cause yeah, I’ve apparently reached that level of … I don’t know, spite? Annoyance.

Disappointment?

“Hey, kid,” he answers on the first ring.

I glare at the clearing campus. “Coach.”

“Yo, Cruz,” is shouted from my left right as Coach Reid asks, “What’s going on?”

I turn to find Neo and Gavin, nodding my chin.

“We’re picking up X and headed to Trivies. You in?” he calls, his hands cupped around his mouth.

I stop in my tracks.

Huh. It’s a long shot, but it’s a shot.

“Sorry, Coach. Misdialed.” I grin, end the call, and shout back to my boys, “I’m in.”

I head their way.

Let’s see if Tutor Girl’s made a habit out of walking alone in the dark.

A few hours later, and there she is, crossing the dimly lit street.

I want to call out her name, slam her for her reckless choice, and do it again when she rolls those eyes at my rant.

But then she shifts, and the shitty streetlight catches something small on the inside of her jacket. A name badge. She shifts again and I make out the logo on her top, but it’s not a top.

It’s an apron from the burger place down the road.

She was at work.

She’s walking home alone, late as shit at night, from work.

Not for fun and escapades, but because she must have to. Walk and work, I mean.

She wouldn’t do either if she didn’t need to, right?

Wait, she has two jobs?

Instead of doing any of the things I was about to, I step farther into the shadows, follow at a distance from my side of the road and once she’s safe and crossing campus grounds, the security guard rolling along in his golfcart at her side, I head home.

I don’t know why, but I do the same exact thing the very next day.