Dirty Curve

“Aw, shit. What are you doing here, Cruz?” Neo shouts the second I walk into the gym.

Dropping my bag, I lift a brow and start peeling off clothes so I can slip into my workout gear. “Just put your sister on a bus back home. She said I need to work on my breathing, so here I am.”

Xavier shakes his head, but Neo hops off the cable so fast I’m surprised his ass doesn’t trip over his own feet.

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Then get off mine.”

We look to each other at the same exact time, both of us grinning.

Echo sits up on the leg press, trailing my every step, while the others go back to their midmorning workout routines. I opt to hop on a treadmill to get my heart pumping strongly. Echo does exactly what I knew he would and makes his way to the one beside me.

He cuts a quick look around before flicking his eyes my way. “What’s goin’ on, you get out early or somethin’?”

“Never made it to class.” I meet his narrowed gaze. “That little tutor of mine? She didn’t show up with my shit today.”

His head tugs back. “For real?”

I nod, pressing the arrow button to increase the speed on this thing. “I wasn’t early, but I was on time, and she wasn’t there. I went to the tutoring center and everything, but couldn’t track her ass down, so I had to call Coach.”

Echo whistles beside me. “You tell him she was doing your work for you?”

“I told him she had it.” I shrug. “So, I guess I left it up for interpretation.”

He scoffs and matches my pace. “You’re a dick, gettin’ some poor chick in trouble. You should have just sat down with her and knocked it out.”

“Yeah, I’m gettin’ that now.” I frown ahead.

“Did you even ask her to do your shit for you or did you tell her to?”

“Same shit, man. It’s her job to make sure I pass, and I won’t pass without my work.” I chuckle, but Echo doesn’t follow, so I turn off my treadmill and face him.

Of course, he does the same.

The creases between his eyes are enough to know he’s in an off mood again today, some shit he’s not ready to talk about eating him up.

He likes to take it out on me, and I like to let him because if it ain’t me, it’s someone else, and if it’s someone else, well, then we end up in a two-on-two brawl. He can hold his own, but he’s my boy, so he’ll never have to. Not when I’m around.

“That was a dick move.” He glares.

“Don’t act innocent. You’re as much of an asshole as I am.”

“I know, but fuck man, we’ll qualify for the draft after this season. Don’t fuck us both by dropping the ball in class.”

“It’s being handled, and as far as the draft, we’re fuckin’ golden.” I step closer, widening my eyes. “We got years of this shit ahead of us, on the same team, if these scouts know what’s good for them. Dynamic fucking duo, bro. It’s me and you.” I nod, my grin growing, but he’s not biting on my chill pill and pops off again.

“That’s the shit I’m talking about, Cruz.” He shakes his head, stuck in his. “Anything can happen today, tomorrow—nothing’s for fucking certain. Nothing. It’s time to get shit straight and at least pretend baseball might not be around forever.” He backs away, grabs his shit and heads for the exit, but not before he adds, “The season is all we have right now, so don’t fuck it up.”

The second he walks out the door, I subconsciously rub at my elbow.

He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.

Baseball’s all there is.

All that matters.

I’m Tobias motherfucking Cruz, the best goddamn pitcher college ball has ever seen. I hold the record for consecutive strikes thrown at this level, and last season I became the first to ever pitch back-to-back no-hitters in a college championship game.

I’ll be traveling across the country this time next year without a thing holding me back, living it up like a damn god.

I will make it because failing isn’t an option.

Fuck school.

And fuck the little tutor who blew me off like she could.

I’ll do what I’m supposed to do without her help because, like I said, failing isn’t an option.

I managed to keep my head in the game, my dick wrapped in the finest of rubber, and my grades up to par the last two-and-a-half years.

What’s one more semester to get me to the draft? I never planned on staying past my junior year anyway.

I’ve got this.

I won’t fucking fail.

q

“You’re failing.” Coach Reid glares.

Fuck.

“I wouldn’t say I’m failing.” I grin. “I might be behind by a week or two, but Coach—”

“You’re sitting Friday’s game.”

A laugh flies from me, but when Coach keeps a straight face, I tip my head to the side and take another step into his office.

“Come again, Coach? Shower must have gotten water in my ears or something, ‘cause no way I heard you right.” I shake my head, adding to my own bullshit and sending the remnant droplets from my hair flying all over.

He leans forward, unfazed. “It’s been two weeks and you haven’t met with that tutor of yours yet. Why?”

“Haven’t needed to.”

He nods. “Interesting, because I got an email from your professor that says you never made up the assignments you missed. You know, the ones that I promised him you would when I covered for your ass two weeks ago?”

“I’m playing on Friday, Coach.”

He lifts his chin, clicking and unclicking his pen. “Your grade’s at a sixty-six percent, you have to have at least a seventy to hit the field. You know this. My team, my standards.”

It’s my team we both know this, but I’ll play along.

There’s no fucking way he’d sit me, but he’s in the mood to wear his authoritative hat today, so I ask rather than plainly state the fact we’re both aware of.

“You’d sit me, Coach?”

He hesitates a second, then narrows his eyes. “Get the shit done, son, and get it in so you can be on that field.”

“It’s Wednesday.”

“I’m aware.”

“That only gives me tonight to do it, and tomorrow to turn ‘em in.”

“That’s right.” He nods. “Don’t worry. I’ve made it clear your professors are to grade everything immediately and make the necessary updates. All you gotta do is get the work in by noon.”

“You said professors.”

“I did.” He glares. “Says here not only are you struggling in anatomy, but you’re failing history and you bombed your English essay.”

“Don’t plan on becoming a teacher.”

“You plan on finishing the season on the field or the bench?” he counters. “You know, once you get below a certain point, my hands are tied.”

I run my tongue along the backs of my teeth.

Fuck!

All right, it’s good. I’m good. I have two days, that’s what he said.

I blow out a deep breath, nodding. “I’ll get it done, but maybe next time start with that, huh?” I chuckle.

“I like messing with you, it keeps your fire burning.” He sits back with a grin. “You got it all, son. Keep this last bit of school straight, your life will be set, and I’ll officially have a legend grown straight from my program.”

I nod and knock my knuckles on his desk.

What most people don’t know is Coach Reid saved my ass the same way I saved his. He was getting screwed left and right. While most of the sports here at Avix continued to boom, his baseball program was failing. They cut funding due to lack of progression and failed seasons, but every couple years, he would do the work himself, track down a solid stud on the field, and within a season, some big-time school would smell the success, come in and swoop the bastard away. Coach Reid was getting ready to lose his job, just like I was getting ready to lose my last chance.

My senior year of high school, my parents dropped a bomb; they decided they wouldn’t allow me to use the college savings they set up for me a decade earlier if I went as an athlete. They knew that was all I wanted, and my grades wouldn’t get me a scholarship, so that was how they intended to trap me into a life they wanted for me.

I started getting into pointless fights when I was always more of a defend the weaker kind of guy, got myself kicked off my high school team, ruining their chances of a winning season. Everything in my life had fallen apart. The schools that showed interest in me cut me from their prospects list, and to top it off, I was on the brink of expulsion, at risk of failing my senior year.

That’s when Coach Reid showed up.

He offered me a branch no one else was willing to give me, not even my parents, and I grabbed onto that bitch at the root.

He had my back when everyone in my life had turned theirs, my parents included, and he’s been here for me ever since, even when I didn’t deserve him to be.

It makes me sick to think about it, but I made mistakes here at Avix, too, some the same as back home. Instead of sending me on my way, he sat me down, letting me know he understands, reminding me nobody changes overnight, and to keep working.

No matter what it was, he was there to bail me out, literally on one occasion of drunken celebration.

The school paper really had a heyday with that one.

They always do when it comes to the negative parts of who I am.

Bottom line, I’d do anything for the man in front of me, just like he would for me.

“I won’t let you down, Coach.” I nod. “I got this for the both of us.”

“No doubt in my mind, son.” His smile is easy, but brief, as he brings us to the next step. “Suck it up and call the tutor. Get both these grades above seventy by Friday, and above eighty by Boston.”

“I can do that.”

“Yes, you can. Use the damn girl, that’s why she’s there. Take up every fucking minute she’s got if you have to. That’s what she’s paid for.”

“What if she doesn’t have the time?”

“You’re my top athlete, she’s the school’s top tutor.”

“What kind of qualifications does such a title entail?” I joke.

Coach chuckles. “She has a premier passing rate and is the most requested, smart-ass. The girls had a continuous waiting list a mile long. It took a lot to get her over here, but she’s exclusive to athletes now. Her job is making sure they get and stay where they need to be.”

“Sounds good, Coach.” I nod.

“Listen, every session she has with you, she makes three times what she does with any other student.” He pins me with a pointed expression. “Don’t ever tell her you’re aware of this but know it’s something she can’t refuse.”

My brows pull in slightly, but Coach dismisses me as he answers his phone, so I head back to the locker room to finish getting dressed, thinking about what he’s just said.

So, Tutor Girl gets paid the big bucks to help me out?

It’s no wonder she didn’t do my work. She knows I have to call eventually, and when I do, she’ll be making a grip off our time together.

Grabbing my phone off the shelf, I plant my ass on the bench and send her a text.

Me: Hola, Tutor Girl. I require your services. Tonight. A good two hours of it.

I grin at my choice of words and consider adding a money sign, but Coach said not to tell her I know, so I’ll be a good boy and just wait for her to respond.

And then I wait a little bit more.

I pull up TikTok, scroll through a couple videos I was tagged in from last night’s game, and then go back to the message thread. I can see she’s read it now; it’s got a little thing at the bottom that tells me so, yet still, she doesn’t respond.

I take a screenshot of the “seen” and circle it in red, even add a little smirk face next to it and send it her way.

I grab my bag from my locker and toss it over my shoulder right as the power ranger theme song peeps, letting me know a message has come through.

I grin, making her wait until I’m outside to open it up and read it.

That grin of mine disappears the second my eyes land on my screen.

Tutor Girl: Please contact the student resource center if you’d like to schedule an appointment for tutoring. An email with my office hours will follow this message.

Oh, she wants to play pinky up, huh?

Yeah … no.

I text her again.

Me: This kind sir shall call his trusty coach and share thy screenshot.

I chuckle to myself and send another.

Me: I believe he’s asked you to “service” me when needed.

Grinning, I make my way toward the library. She just needed a little push and now that I brought her boss into it, she’ll remember that helping me puts more dough in her pocket.

The three little lines show up at the bottom, disappearing twice before a message finally pops up.

Tutor girl: What time did you have in mind? I’ll see what I can do.

Me: Now.

Tutor girl: I need at least 40 minutes.

Forty minutes, she says.

With a grin, I shake my head. Guess she has to get primped for our little session.

Stuffing my phone in my pocket, I nod to myself, feeling a little lighter, knowing I’ve done the first part of what Coach has asked of me.

I make my way into the library, and what do you know, table number two is free, so I take a seat and wait.

Still in college and others are already making money off my name.

I smile to myself.

Yeah, going pro is going to be the shit.