Dirty Curve

“Okay, one more time.” Meyer hops off the cement wall and comes closer. “The basic system that makes up the human body include …?”

“A list longer than Neo’s sexual history.”

She laughs and Neo flips me off from the dugout.

We’ve been taking our study sessions to the field the last couple days because my times been limited and cutting her out of it is something I don’t want to do. That, and if I fail, I’m fucked.

This is the last section test before the midterm and can bump or bust my grade. If I tank it, I have to get a ninety or higher on the midterm and that sounds damn near impossible.

Neo was out here running drills when we got here yesterday, and then popped up again today for some quick sprints, but he’s already swapping out his cleats for the ridiculous Crocs he swears by.

I throw another one into the netting, nodding my chin at Neo as he says goodbye.

“Bye, Meyer,” he singsongs, giving her his best grin and earning one back.

I spin, pretending to throw a ball at his ass and his hands fly up, an embarrassed laugh following.

My lips curve into a smirk.

Asshole.

“Come on, name the first three, at least.”

“I’m never going to remember these.” I turn back to the netting.

“Yes, you can. You said you study stats, right?”

My eyes fly to hers, narrowing, and a hint of a grin finds her lush lips.

I want to bite them.

“You’re onto something, Tutor Girl. I watch twenty-minutes of game film a day.”

She pops both brows. “And we study for two hours almost every single day. You got this. Name the first three.”

Squaring my shoulders, I send the ball flying, and it smacks the little square made of red tape perfectly. I bend to pick up another, frowning when I find the bucket empty, but then Meyer steps up. She’s got a paper in one hand, a ball in the other.

She tosses it up, catching it on its way back down without taking her eyes off me, a small smirk on her lips. “Name three and it’s yours.”

I turn my body so I’m fully facing hers and she squares her shoulders in triumph, as if I couldn’t simply walk my ass over to the net and refill the bucket with the thirty balls waiting there, like I have once already.

She tips her pretty little head as she tosses the thing in the air, but I’m quick, and dart my hand out to catch it.

Meyer jerks forward with a little growl, playfully shoving at my chest, but before she can pull back, I grip her hand with my own.

I expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t. She stares at the contact, so I lace my fingers with hers, and she allows it, coming closer when I give a little tug.

Her eyes find mine and stay there.

They stay there until she whips her other hand out, snagging the ball from mine.

My shoulders fall and she tugs free, a triumphant smile spreading across her lips.

“So easily distracted, Mr. Cruz.”

“Girl, I’m telling you, you could breathe near me and I’d be fucking distracted.”

She blushes, squashing her lips to the side to fight away her grin. “Unless you’re on the field, right?”

I open my mouth, but all that comes out is a laugh. “There’s one way to find out …”

She rolls her eyes and a few minutes later, we’re packing up our things.

Later that night, I’m lying in bed, and I can’t stop thinking about her, but it’s not that same frustrated feeling like before. At least not tonight.

I saw the way she smiled at me today, it was different. I’m not sure in what way, but it was. So, tonight, I’m gonna sleep good, ‘cause I know without a fucking doubt that Tutor Girl is going to bed thinking about me, too.

Chuckling, I flip onto my stomach, close my eyes, and fall asleep.

Meyer

Bianca lets herself in, a bag hanging from each hand. “Okay, I’ve got two subs, one ham, one turkey, both split right down the middle and every candy the mini mart had to offer.”

“Any chance you brought a bottle of, god, anything?”

“Shut up, are you done breastfeeding?!” She practically beams.

I laugh, but my shoulders fall, and my intuitive best friend drops the bags where she stands, hopping up onto the bed in the next second.

She crosses her legs, so her knees are touching mine. “Talk to me.”

“I have a problem.”

Worry frames her eyes, and she nods. “Okay, what kind of problem?”

I squinch my nose. “A tall, tan, tasty-looking one…”

Bianca blinks, and then she blinks again. And then she laughs, falling back onto her back and reaching out to yank me with her.

“Oh my god, you little bitch, you scared me!” She buries her face in my shoulder, popping up onto her elbow just as fast with a widespread grin. “I take it he’s not a rotten apple?”

“He’s not a rotten apple.” I chew on my inner lip. “He’s … a Sour Patch Kid, mixed with those white, mystery Skittles.”

We look to each other and laugh.

“Okay, this I have to hear.” She flips onto her stomach, waiting for more.

“He’s exactly what meets the eye on the outside: gorgeous, charming, and magnetic. Athletic. But it’s … it’s like there’s this hard shell of expectation he has to fill because his exterior packaging says it’s the one he belongs in, like the epitome of stereotypes.”

“That’s shitty but makes sense.”

“Yeah.” I nod. “But the filling inside the shell isn’t made up of the same things.” I pause, thinking of his cocky ways, and fight a smile. “Okay, some of that’s on the inside too, but it’s the honest parts. He is cocky, but that’s because he’s good at what he does and he’s unapologetic about it. It’s oddly endearing.” I chuckle. “And he is charming, but it comes from how he communicates. He’s direct, straightforward, and unafraid to let on to what he’s thinking.” My palm falls to my stomach when an airy sensation begins to swirl. “It’s strange though, because you’d think someone who is all those things would be able to brush off what others say, and it seems like he does as far as the school papers and campus jerks go, but I can tell when I’ve insulted him.”

“Hold up, what?” She pushes up onto her butt, frowning at me. “You don’t insult anyone. Not even people you should.” She pops a brow. “So, what the hell are you talking about?”

I throw my arm over my face with a low groan. “I know, I don’t know, but I swear I do. I can sense it. Doubt he’d ever admit it, but I know he gets his feelings hurt sometimes, and his defense mechanism is to pretend he doesn’t, and that’s when his inner Sour Patch comes out. It’s like he feels categorized or snubbed or something and so he pops off, acting the way he thinks he’s being treated.”

“Meyer.” I look to her. “If he feels ‘snubbed’ … that means he likes you and he just wants you to like him back. Right now, it seems like he’s not so sure.”

I swallow. “Yeah. I know.”

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.