“Oh, sorry. Guess you’ll want your hand back now,” I mutter, finally releasing his hand. Mine is cold and somehow seems smaller, foreign. I’ve never understood the phrase ‘know it like the back of my hand.’ I don’t know my hands, couldn’t pick them out of a lineup if they were attached to my wrists. Who stares at the backs of their hands anyway?
“That’s how most people introduce themselves. Just for future reference.” His voice rings in my ears, drawing me back to reality. His smug little smirk is back. It melts my insides while simultaneously making me want to smack it off his beautiful face.
“So, Elizabeth, is there something I can do for you?”
“I think there’s something we can do for each other.” I try to sound confident as I play the part I’ve written for myself. I launch into my speech. I’ve rehearsed it a million times, but with his blues piercing through me it’s hard to remember. The tension around us is stifling. If he feels it, it doesn’t show. His forearms resting on the table and one side of his mouth hitched up, he seems calm and collected.
“I need a tutor,” I spit out.
“I think the campus has a program for that sort of thing,” he adds helpfully.
“Not that kind of tutor.”
He’s staring at me, one eyebrow raised.
“I have money but am lacking in certain life experiences. You, on the other hand, have a wealth of knowledge in those certain life skills.” The words tumble out of my mouth in one long breath. The confused expression deepens on his face. I almost miss that smirk.
“Life skills?” His voice is playful and curious. I take that as a good sign and press on.
“I don’t really know how to interact with people very well,” I confess, already off script.
Damn it.
His inquisitive eyes are throwing me off. There’s something about him that makes me want to confess my deepest secrets even though being near him makes my whole body tense harder than if I was standing on the tracks in front of a runaway freight train.
“Could’ve fooled me,” he retorts.
This guy’s got jokes.
I want to smack him again.
“Ass.” The word slips out, under my breath, before it registers that I’ve said it. I’ve never called someone an ass to their face before. Out of all the times in my life I could speak up, now is the one I pick? With Austin Jacobs! Kill me now. My eyes shoot to his, trying to determine if he heard me.
He did.
Hello, smirk, my old friend. He stifles a chuckle. Suffice to say this isn’t going how I planned.
I’m ready to get this over with and start word-vomiting, butchering the rest of my intricately thought-out speech.
“Look, I’ve heard your football scholarship only covers tuition. Not housing, food or books. And you have to work nights at some awful job that can’t pay much more than minimum wage.” My words wipe the smirk right off his face faster than any slap could. His eyebrows furrow and his mouth drops open. I’ve spooked him a bit, but I keep going anyway.
“You make, what, a grand a month? I’m offering you five times that. I’ll give you five thousand dollars for a month of tutoring me three nights a week.”
He tilts his head, his expression changing from concern to reserved interest at the mention of money. He’s eyeing me with suspicion, tapping his pen on his still-open notebook. He’s thinking about it.
“Tutoring you? In what, exactly?”
I’m relieved he seems to be more curious than creeped out for the moment.
“Teaching me some social skills.”
“Like what? Exactly.” He isn’t going to let me be vague. Subtle innuendo isn’t going to work.
“Like flirting, touching, kissing. Like sex.”
Confusion morphs into something else as his eyes go wide. I’m expecting shock or maybe repulsion. What I see is amusement.
“Did you just proposition me?” His voice is full of teasing. Of all the ways he could react, this is far from the worst. It stings a bit, regardless. He’s laughing at me.
“I’m not propositioning you.” I hear the defensive indignation in my voice. “I’m offering you a business proposal. I am not paying you for sex. I am paying you to be my tutor.” Even to me that sounds pedantic. “I’m dealing with unfamiliar material and I’d be willing to pay you for your expertise.”
“Okay, where are the cameras?” he asks, glancing around the room. “This is campus hidden camera or something, right? Someone is going to pop out and…” The dead serious look on my face tells him it’s not. “This has to be a joke. A prank. Who put you up to it? Drew?”
I shake my head and reply in complete seriousness, “I don’t know a Drew. And I thought jokes were supposed to be funny.”
“Holy shit. You’re serious?”
His amusement is fading now. Apprehension rises in his expression. I’ve made him feel awkward. I think that might be my secret superpower.
Captain Awkward.
“Yes.”
“You’re going to pay me to have sex with you?”
“To teach me how to have sex.” I continue to emphasize that point, unsure if the semantics matter to anyone but me.
“By actually having sex…” He isn’t asking a question—he’s throwing the bullshit flag.
“A certain amount of physical intimacy will be expected, yes.”
He covers his face with his hands, shakes his head slowly and lets out a sigh. I can’t tell if he’s considering my offer or wondering how fast he can get a restraining order.
“I know this is an unusual proposition, but I think it could benefit both of us.”
Almost immediately I’m aware of my mistake. His eyes lock on mine. They’re filled with smugness.
“Bad word choice. Not a proposition. A business proposal.”
“You can’t be serious. Five thousand dollars?”
I can almost see the wheels turning in his head.
He’s considering it.
My stomach flips. I’m not sure if this is terror or excitement.
“Five thousand dollars. Three nights a week for a month. I think we could really help each other out.”
He traces his gaze up my body before coming to rest on my face. He’s staring into my eyes, judging my commitment. For a brief moment I think I’ve got him, that this idea isn’t crazy.
Then, the bubble bursts.
“This is getting a little too weird for me. I think you’ve watched Pretty Woman a few too many times,” he says as he stands and packs up his books. He won’t look at me.
“Is that a no?” I hate the amount of hurt I hear in my own voice.
“That’s going to be a hard no. It was nice to meet you, Elizabeth.” He reaches out his hand.
I don’t take it. I scribble my number on the page of a notebook he hasn’t put away yet.
“In case you change your mind.” I slap the notebook into his open hand and watch him turn and walk away.
Well, that was a crushing defeat.
At least I got the last word. After I watch him leave, I take a few minutes to slam my head on the table, muttering to myself about how stupid I am. Once I’m satisfied with my self-inflicted punishment and before I gather too many stares, I make my way out of the library and back home to sulk in private at my humiliation.
* * * *
I’ve donned my give-up-on-love sweatpants, put on my favorite Disney movie and hunkered down on my couch for a quality pity party. I’m half a carton of ice cream into my wallowing when my phone rings. I don’t bother to check the number before I answer it.
“Did you get me fired?” a vaguely familiar manly voice calls out across the line. No hello. No how are you.
“I think you have the wrong number,” I tell the guy as I am about to hang up.
“No, I don’t, Elizabeth. Answer my question. Did you get me fired?” His voice has taken a sharper tone than it had this afternoon, but I recognize it. My brain clicks the pieces into place and I sit up, almost fallin
g off the couch.
“Austin,” I screech into the phone. My heart is racing, knowing he’s on the other end of the line.
“Elizabeth.” He sounds annoyed, but more than that he sounds exhausted. “I really need this job.”
“I didn’t get you fired,” I answer flatly.
“So it’s a coincidence I got fired a few hours after you proposition me?” His voice isn’t playful or teasing. It’s angry and confrontational. I know I didn’t do anything wrong and yet I’m combative.
“Yes. I wouldn’t know how to get you fired even if I wanted to,” I answer honestly, and yes, maybe I’m a little snooty.
“You certainly seemed to know a lot about me this afternoon.”
I cringe, knowing I give off a quasi-stalker vibe.
“No more than anyone else with access to the Internet could find out. Maybe you should change your Facebook privacy settings and delete your Instagram account,” I answer. Sure, I propositioned him a few hours ago, but I’m not malicious or manipulative. I don’t want to trap him into going along with my crazy idea. There’s a long pause while we both stubbornly refuse to say more. I don’t know what to say, but for some reason I’m glad he hasn’t hung up yet.
“I can probably get you another job. A real one, I mean,” I finally offer, knowing I could get him a job as a night janitor or something in one of my father’s buildings if I asked. It would be an awkward phone call—I’ve never asked my father for a favor before, so I’d have to face some questions—but if it stopped this churning in the pit of my stomach it would be worth it.
“And why would you do that?”
“Because you said you needed one.” I let my tone add the implied duh.
“Seems counterproductive for you, given our last conversation.”
“I don’t want to be some guy’s last resort!” I let out an aggravated sigh, pissed at myself for oversharing. “Do you want the job or not?” I snap at him. I’m annoyed and frustrated. And excited.
“Which one?” The teasing in his voice assures me he has that stupid smirk on his face. Picturing it makes my blood boil and my knees weak.
So, that’s weird.
“Either.”
There’s a long pause again. He’s thinking about what to say, what road to take.
“Tell me why.” His voice is cajoling. For a minute, I have to physically shut my mouth to resist the urge to confess things to him. It’s a strange feeling.
“Why what, Austin?” I ask, exasperated.
“Why do you need to pay someone to be with you, Elizabeth?” There isn’t any disgust or accusation in his voice.
The question makes me self-conscious.
“I don’t need to. I’m choosing to. There’s a difference. I could find some random guy tonight if I wanted to.” I know that’s not true, but I say it without any doubt in an attempt to shut him up.
His voice is deeper. There’s a new roughness to it as he says, “I’m sure you could.” It makes my heart beat a bit faster, something I didn’t think was possible at this point. “So, why are you choosing to pay someone?” He is gentle but insistent. He isn’t going to let this go. I finally give in to the inexplicable desire to confess to him. I do it with a huff so at least he knows my words are unwillingly given.
“Because…” How do you tell a stranger all the insecurities your own inadequacies have created over a lifetime? “It’s hard to explain.”
“Try. I’ve got all night. Lost my job, remember?”
I laugh in spite of myself.
“Umm…have you ever been skiing?”
“No.”
“Ugh. Okay. Well, I have. My parents took me on a ski trip when I was eleven. And, what you have to understand about me is, I’m kind of stubborn.”
“You? I never would have guessed.”
“Ass.”
Somehow his teasing doesn’t make me feel foolish. It makes me feel equal.
“I prefer to figure things out on my own. My parents told me the basics, then I strapped on a pair of skis and headed for the bunny slopes.” I stop. I’m not sure if he’s paying attention to my rambling story.
“How did you do?” He’s listening. The thought makes my chest grow warm. It makes me feel powerful. Important. Special.
Weird.
“Horrible. I couldn’t figure out how to keep my feet under me. I was awkward and uncoordinated. Some things never change.”
He laughs at my self-deprecation. I swell with a bit of confidence and continue my story.
“When my parents found me, sulking in front of the fire, I told them I never wanted to ski again. Snow was now my mortal enemy. My mother spent the night lecturing me, trying to convince me to try again.” My words trail off at the pinch in my heart from the memory of my mother.
“And did it work? Did you try again?” Austin’s voice is tender in my ear.
He’s really listening. I settle back into the couch cushions, relaxing a little for the first time since I picked up the phone. I pull the blanket off the back and curl up under it, getting cozy and comfortable.
“It worked. Her guilt trips always worked. But the next day was worse. The only thing I got better at was falling. I was bruised, so every fall was that much more painful.” I hear Austin’s soft laugh again and close my eyes to focus on the sound.
“On the third day, my parents realized I needed professional help. They hired a ski instructor who spent the entire day teaching me one-on-one. Wedge like a pizza to stop. Straight like French fries to go fast. Keep your knees bent and your weight centered. I made it down the mountain without falling less than three hours later.” I finish my story and let silence dominate the phone line. I want to know if he gets it. Does he understand me?
“And you think sex is going to be like skiing?”
“Basically. I’ve crashed and burned the few times I’ve tried anything…physical.” The embarrassing memories of past dates ending with genial buddy back-slaps overtake me. “Usually I’m good at figuring things out, but not with this. I can’t read the Kama Sutra and teach myself how to do it. No pun intended.” My voice is light despite my mortifying confession.
Austin laughs again. I’m beginning to love that sound.
“Don’t get me wrong, I know what goes where. In general. I know how, I’ve just never been able to figure out how. Does that make any sense?”
“I think I get it. I can describe how to catch a ball all day, but there’s no substitute for getting on the field and actually putting one in your hands,” Austin adds his analogy. “The best athletes in the world can benefit from a coach who knows what they’re doing. But why hire a stranger? Why not get a boyfriend?”
“A boyfriend, you say? Thanks! I’ve never thought of that.”
He chuckles despite my snark.
“I’ve tried dating, but I always freak out. Guys seem to think I’m frigid instead of inexperienced.”
“Then be honest and upfront with them.”
“Oh sure, that’s easy. Just confess my complete sexual inadequacy to the guy I’m interested in. Hi. I’m Elizabeth. I’m a virgin! Want to grab dinner some time? That’d encourage the creepers and send the few decent guys who’re interested running for the hills. And being inexperienced only gets more embarrassing the older you get. Plus, going to med school? Forget about it. Besides, I have trouble talking to guys about the weather! Tell me, Austin, ever try to get a boyfriend when you can’t even talk to a guy?” My response is flat, not hiding my annoyance.
Does he seriously think it’s that easy?
I’m sure it is for him.
“Can’t say that I have.” He chuckles. I stifle a moan. First that smirk and now this laugh. I’m not sure I’ll survive Austin Jacobs.
“But you’re talking to me.”
“Yeah, and I’m not sure why. It’s definitely weird. But you’re the first.” Judging by the sudden silence cutting through the phone line, I’m not the only one who recognizes the significance of those words. I’m glad
he can’t see the blush burning across my cheeks. I pull the blanket up over my head, making a fort with my knees, just in case.
“It’s an honor.” His voice isn’t sarcastic or teasing. It’s soft and genuine. “I’ll take the job.”
“Which one?” I’m glib to try to hide my excitement.
“The one to be your first.” His voice is low and sultry, with a hint of naughtiness. The sound of it makes my mind wander and my body flush.
“Okay,” is all I can make come out of my mouth.
“Good night, Elizabeth,” he coos into my ear and I melt into the couch cushions.
“Good night, Austin,” I say before I hear him hang up.
I spend the next few hours on the couch staring at the ceiling, remembering the sound of his laugh.
Chapter Three
Austin
My shoulder aches as I toss my gym bag onto the torn passenger seat of my beat-up truck. Hitting the gym this morning before practice really kicked my ass, but I needed to clear up the rest of my night for Elizabeth’s ‘business proposal.’ Meeting three nights a week means I’ll have to shift my workouts to balls-ass early. It’ll be painful, but on the bright side it means no more working nights. Plus, I get to keep my Fridays open.
I’m her tutor, not her boyfriend.
I stretch out each arm, enjoying the slight burn deep in my muscles, before I climb into the driver’s seat. I punch the address Elizabeth gave me into my phone and the GPS tells me it’s twenty minutes away. Fuck. I don’t have time to head back to the house and change. I haven’t showered yet. My cut-off tank top is soaked with sweat and my gym shorts are covered in grass stains, mud and a few small splotches of dried blood. Pretty sure it’s not mine.
Fuck it. A sex tutor is the sweetest job I’ve ever had, but still a job. Nothing special. I throw the truck into drive and head out.
The closer I get to Elizabeth’s place, the nicer the neighborhoods get. Most of the stuff around campus is pretty run-down. The dorms are all cheap mass construction to begin with and college kids aren’t known for being good tenants. The football house I share with a handful of teammates should be condemned. It’s got more bodily fluids on the floorboards than a hospital dumpster, but at least it’s free. Elizabeth doesn’t live in student housing. No, she lives in a brand-new high-rise apartment building. With valet parking. I opt to park on the street a few blocks over. Wouldn’t want to bring the property value down.
So, That Got Weird Page 3