He looks around the room. “Where’s the super computer and all the intel you’ve got on me?”
I laugh. “Why do you keep asking?”
“You seem to know too much.”
“Maybe I just know your type.”
He turns toward me. “What’s my type?” he asks, crossing his arms.
It’s a dangerous game we’re playing here. Typifying people is not something I do…out loud. “Well, you party a lot and drink.”
“Okay, we both knew that already.”
“You’re a jock.”
“I play football,” he corrects.
“So, you’re a jock.”
“It depends on what you take the word jock to mean.”
“What does it mean to you?” I ask.
He looks pensive for a few seconds. “Urban Dictionary says that a jock beats people up, is stupid, arrogant, rude, oh and only hangs out with other jocks.”
“You knew that off the top of your head?” I ask, shocked at his ability to recall information.
“I’ve been called a jock too many times. I needed to make sure I liked what it meant.”
“And do you?”
“Not the urban dictionary meaning of it.”
“So, you’re saying you don’t only hang out with your football friends?”
Leaning his forearms on his knees, he leans in. “Emma?”
“Yes?”
“Do you play football?”
I laugh. “No.”
“Am I hanging out with you?”
“It doesn’t count,” I chuckle.
“Why the hell not?” he asks, sitting back in his seat.
“Because I’m your tutor!”
He looks arounds the room. “Are you tutoring me right now?”
“No.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay fine, I’ll give you that one.”
“Have you gotten into any fights?”
“Nope.”
My mouth hangs open in disbelief. “Why don’t I believe that?”
“Because you don’t think highly of me,” he says and I laugh out loud. “I’ve broken up a few. I haven’t technically initiated a fight.”
Hmm. I press further. “What do you mean technically?”
“Let’s just say I haven’t gotten into a fight in a very long time. And let’s not get into the rest of the definition. I’m clearly not stupid or rude.”
“What about arrogant?”
He thinks about my question. “Only on the football field,” he says with a smile.
I lift my hands in surrender. “Okay, fine. Under that definition, you’re not a jock. I had you all wrong.”
“Damn right,” he says with a satisfied look in his eyes.
I consider my next words to him. They could be dangerous, too close to flirting, but I say them anyway. “How would you profile me?”
He stands up and walks around the room, seemingly searching for clues that’ll tell him about me. I watch his every move, waiting to see what he’ll do next. He sits back down and takes me in from head to toe, again. I’m about to put my glasses back on, but Zack stops me. The moment he touches me, goosebumps spread up my arm.
“You play with your glasses a lot.”
“Force of habit,” I tell him. I usually fiddle with them when I’m nervous, and I’m even more nervous now that I know he’s noticed.
He grabs my glasses from the top of my head, inspecting them before setting them down on my desk. “You’re hard to profile.”
“Why is that?”
“I thought I had you pegged with your first email. I thought you were an uptight smartass who didn’t want to deal with what she assumed was a dumb jock.” I’m about to argue with his characterization, but he continues. “Then, you replied to my assholery by calling me out, so I thought you had backbone.”
“Okay…”
“My impression of you changed again when you sent me a very dry response.”
“That’s because—” I start but don’t finish my sentence. I don’t want to tell him why I stopped myself from responding to his email. I don’t want to tell him even then he made me feel too comfortable.
“When I met you, I was surprised to find I already knew you—” Does he remember? “—from seeing you around the House and such. As you know, I think you’re very smart. You get nervous easily and it shows with the way you play with your glasses and your cheeks redden.”
It’s official; I definitely should’ve kept my question to myself.
“You surprised me even today. I one hundred percent expected you to shut me down when I asked to come over.”
“I was going to,” I tell him.
“But you didn’t. And I walked into your room to find you wearing a cute outfit—” He thinks this is cute? “—and Fifty Shades in your bookcase.” Mortification hits me again. Although I’m not usually embarrassed by what I read, I don’t want Zack to know.
“So, what do you think of me overall?”
“I think I can’t profile you, Emma Lynn. You keep throwing me off every day.”
ZACK
She keeps me on my toes. I’ve seen her before, but I’ve known her for less than a week. Yet here I am in her room, telling her what I think as she hangs on my every word.
She’s different. Maybe it’s her football aversion coupled with the fact that she doesn’t care I’m a football player. If anything, I bet she wished she could tutor someone who has nothing to do with the game her father has turned her against.
I hope I’m not wrong, but I feel like she isn’t the kind of girl who’s here to see who she can use to punch her ticket to wealth.
“You’re basically saying you know nothing?”
“Exactly,” I tell her with a smile. I know what makes her tick and what annoys her, but I don’t know how to make her smile.
“So we went through this whole thing for nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say it was for nothing. I know a lot about you.”
“And it’s only been a week,” she says, and the way she says it tells me she thinks she’s revealed too much of herself to me already.
“Ask me in a few more weeks and I may have a more straight forward answer for you.”
She gets up from her seat to throw her plastic container into the bag. She signals to me, asking if I’m done with mine, and when I nod she extends her hand. I get up from my seat and, instead of giving her the container, which is clearly what she wants, I take hold of her hand. I don’t know why I do it, but I couldn’t fight the desire to feel her skin on mine.
A shock runs through me the moment we touch. Confused, I let go of her hand, unable to miss the confusion in her eyes.
“Thank you for the food,” I tell her, dropping my trash into the bag. From my pocket, I pull out a fifty-dollar bill. I shouldn’t be spending this much money, but I’m not about to let her pay for my food.
“You don’t need to give me money.”
“You paid for me. I’m just paying you back.”
She looks down at my hand. “That’s way more than the food cost.”
“You also gave me a place to eat. Consider it a tip.”
“I won’t take anything more than a twenty. That’s what I paid,” she argues.
“Fine,” I tell her, changing the bill out.
“This covers both our meals, so next time, I pay.”
“Emma Lynn, are you saying we’ll be making a habit of eating in your dorm room?” I ask and the moment the words leave my mouth, I wish I could take them back.
She blushes. “Maybe. But only if we get some actual studying done. You’ve gotta ace that exam.”
“Deal.” I stand in front of her, weighing my options. I could give in to the urge I’ve had from the moment she opened her door and kiss her, or I could walk away and save myself from ruining things. She’s my tutor. I need to pass biology, play football, help my parents.
There isn’t room for anything else. “Thank you so much for having me.”<
br />
I see a little bit of disappointment in her eyes, but she recovers quickly. “Of course. Make sure you email me about Sunday. I’ll be here all weekend; just let me know when works for you.”
“You’re still not giving me your phone number?” I ask, hoping to end the night on a good note.
“That would be unprofessional.”
In what world? “And where does having me over well past 10 PM fall on the professional scale?”
My words earn me a full chuckle and I revel in the sound. “Let’s not talk about it. Then, we can pretend it didn’t happen.”
“You got it,” I tell her, walking out the door.
Except she’s wrong.
I won’t forget tonight because it’s the first time I’ve been able to sit down with a girl and just eat, talk and laugh. I learned about her without having to divulge too much about me.
I choose to walk down the stairs instead of taking the elevator and recall every moment spent in that room. Emma Lynn doesn’t seem like the kind of girl I’d forget.
20
ZACK
Last night, I slept like a baby. I rolled around briefly, thoughts I shouldn’t have had creeping in, but aside from that, it was the best sleep I’ve gotten in ages. She was right. Waking up without a hangover is nice.
I gotta go to work today again, which sucks, but I’m going home tomorrow. Maybe when I’m there, Mom and Dad will actually talk to me about what’s going on instead of just pretending everything’s fine.
Going through the motions, I get ready for work. I grab my phone, wallet and jacket then head downstairs.
Colton greets me the moment I step into the kitchen. “What’s up?”
“Nothing much. You?”
“Same. Picking up Mia in a few.”
“Y’all spending Christmas together?” I ask, even though I already know the answer is yes.
Colton smiles. “Yes, sir.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Are you going home for Christmas?”
“I am. I’ll be heading there tomorrow morning. I’ll be back here on Christmas Day though.”
“How come you’re not staying the whole time?”
“I’ve gotta work Sunday night and the whole tutoring thing.”
He nods. I learned long ago there was no use lying to Colton. Somehow, the bastard always finds out what’s going on.
“How’s that going?”
I think about last night. I was so close to Emma, so close to giving in and kissing her. I clear my throat. “It’s good.”
Colton pins me with a look that says he knows there’s more to that story. “Really?” he asks, his brow rising.
“Yup. We met up on Saturday.” And yesterday. Although that technically wasn’t a tutoring session, so there’s no need to bring it up.
“And they’re meeting you on Christmas Day?”
“Yeah, she said she didn’t have any other plans.”
“She, huh?” he says with a smirk.
Jackass.
“Yup.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Do you need a ride to work?”
I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Don’t you have to be at Mia’s?”
“I do, but I’ve got time.”
“Are you sure?” He nods. “Okay, great. I’d love a ride then.” Getting a ride means avoiding the long cold walk to the bus stop.
“Okay. We’re leaving in five,” he says, getting up from his chair and walking toward the living room.
“Got it!” I finish my coffee in record time before Colton and I walk out to his car.
“Tell me about your tutor,” he says, catching me off guard as I pop open the passenger door.
“She’s pretty.” Dammit! “Err, pretty smart,” I correct, although not quickly enough.
“Pretty…smart?” he says slowly with a knowing look in his eyes.
I buckle myself in, letting out a calming breath. “Yeah, she’s a genius, basically. I think I learned more about biology on a Saturday morning with her than I did the whole semester with Professor Stein.”
“That’s good.” Colton starts the car and pulls out, turning down the stereo so we can still talk. “When’s the exam?”
“Right after we come back from break.”
“How are you feeling about it?”
“Right now? Better than I was last week. I know there’s a lot more to learn, but I’m confident I can do it.”
“What do you need to get on the exam to pass the class?”
I mutter the words under my breath, “A B to be safe.”
“A what?” Colton asks, taking his eyes off the road briefly to look at me.
“B. If I get a B, then I don’t have to retake the class.”
“Shit.”
“Shit is right.”
“You got this though.” His confidence in me sometimes exceeds my confidence in myself.
“That’s what I’m hoping.”
“You really don’t have much of a choice.”
“True that.” I’ve gotta play, so I have to kill it.
“Well, let’s hope your pretty…smart tutor can help you and not distract you.”
“Yup. Only help. No distractions,” I say out loud, but the words are a reminder to myself. I was distracted yesterday. I was distracted by the way her eyes took me in, her laugh and even the way she ate her food.
Everything about Emma is a distraction.
And that isn’t good.
EMMA
Yesterday was a dream. Except it wasn’t. There was a massive guy in my room and I couldn’t stop staring at his red hair, smile, and gold/green eyes.
I get up and look around the room. It feels so different now—emptier. I know part of the reason is that Zoe’s gone, but also because he is.
Grabbing my phone from my nightstand, I look at my notifications. I’m ashamed to admit that my heart hurts when I don’t find what I’m looking for.
After he left yesterday, I almost emailed him, but doing that after he’d just walked out my door would’ve been the wrong move. I mean, what was I going to say?
Thanks for coming over?
I hope you enjoyed the food?
Why didn’t you kiss me?
I wanted to kiss you…
It would look too desperate, so I put my phone away and read for the rest of the night.
He was still on my mind, though. Even as I read a football romance where the star football player falls in love with the nerdy tutor, I wasn’t picturing the hero as the author had described. Nope. I was picturing him and me as the heroine.
How pathetic is that?
I guess I look for books that will have the happily ever after I know I won’t get because, even though the book makes this pairing a good one, I know the same isn’t true for Zack and me.
He won’t remember me after this tutoring gig is up.
I’m startled from my thoughts when my phone buzzes. Looking down, I find I’ve missed a call from my dad. I wonder what he wants now. Is he going to tell me Mom’s back at the house? Is he going to force me to spend Christmas with them? I’d rather stay here and read all day.
I wait for my phone to convert the voicemail into text, reading it because I’d rather do that than force myself to listen to my father’s voice.
Emma Lynn, why the hell do you have a phone if you’re not going to pick it up? I wonder why I pay for the damn thing. I need to know how tutoring’s going. Call me back ASAP.
I roll my eyes at his message. If he doesn’t want to pay for it, he doesn’t have to. It’s not like I use it anyway. All I do is talk to him and Mom on it…and well, Zoe too.
I’m about to call him back when I get a call from my mother.
“Hi, Mom,” I answer, resting back against the wall. Both parents in under five minutes—that can’t be a coincidence.
“Are you ignoring your father?” she asks.
“No.”
“Then why aren’t
you answering his calls?”
“He called me once.”
“So you are ignoring him,” she says, like she’s caught me in a lie.
“No. I was just getting ready to call him back.”
“Why haven’t you?”
“Because you called me.”
“Honey, you know better than to ignore your father.”
He’s done a pretty good job of ignoring me. Why shouldn’t I do the same?
“I wasn’t ignoring him.”
“I’ll hang up now so you can call him back. Call me when you’re done.”
Of course my father would call my mother to complain about me not picking up. He has so many people at his beck and call that he expects the rest of us to just drop whatever we’re doing and answer him.
Begrudgingly, I dial him back. “Emma Lynn?” he says when he answers the phone.
I don’t bother greeting him. “Yes, sir?”
“Why didn’t you pick up?”
I roll my eyes at his question. “I hadn’t realized you called. I was going to—”
“I had to call your mother,” he says, interrupting me.
“—call you back.” I finish.
He mutters something under his breath. “How’s the tutoring going?”
“Fine.”
“What do you mean fine?”
“I mean I’ve met with him once. We went over a few of the things that will be in the exam. I gave him an assignment and we’ll be meeting again soon.”
“How soon?”
Every word he utters makes my skin crawl. “On Sunday, I believe.”
“Okay. How often are you getting together for meetings?” He ignores the fact that I told him I’ll be meeting with his football player on Christmas Day. I guess holidays don’t matter when football is always at the forefront of your mind.
“We’re meeting twice a week, like you said.”
“Maybe you should be meeting more often.”
“I don’t think that would be helpful.”
“I need him to play and that means he needs to pass this exam. I’ll reach out to him and tell him you’ll be meeting daily.”
Bragan Boys (Bragan University Boxset) Page 48