by Harper James
“Oh?” Finn asks. “You look unimpressed. Classics isn’t as impressive as mathematics?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You thought it.”
“You have no idea what I thought,” I answer, just before realizing we’ve grown loud enough that a few nearby patrons are staring.
I take a deep breath and open the notebook in front of me, then open my mouth to begin the lesson, finally.
“Motherfucker,” Finn mutters under his breath. My eyes dart up, and I see him looking at the diner door.
His gaze hardens and his jaw stiffens, shoulders tensing now.
Seeing his enormous body become something of a coiled wire, ready to explode, is strangely fascinating. Sexy, even. The power of Finn is always on display, even when he’s hardly moving.
I follow his gaze to see what’s got him so riled up.
Three guys, all Finn’s size, are walking into the diner.
I recognize the lead one from posters and banners that are plastered all over the campus. It’s Stewart Adams, the current Harton hero, quarterback extraordinaire. He’s flanked by two other guys.
Adams sees Finn and immediately gets a big grin on his face, and he mutters something two his buddies. They start laughing and snickering.
“Finny Finn,” Adams calls out, as the three of them approach our table.
“Hey Adams,” Finn says, voice collected, almost like he’s giving an interview.
“What’s all that shit on your table?” one of Adams’s lapdogs says, staring at the tutoring supplies spread out in front of me.
“Looks like he’s studying, boys,” Adams says. “Funny, I heard through the rumor mill that you don’t have the brains for the QB position. And now we have proof.”
I expect Finn to be outraged by this accusation, but instead he just grunts. “I’ll leave the gossiping to the armchair quarterbacks,” he says. “I do my talking on the field. Probably why I made starting quarterback my sophomore year, right?” He grins, and for once, the arrogance in it delights me— mainly because of how it clearly prods at Adams.
Adams only became starting quarterback this season, when the great Jacob Everett finally graduated and went pro. And now that Finn is here, there’s certain to be competition between the two and Adams evidently doesn’t like it at all.
“Is math all you tutor?” one of the freshmen asks, letting his eyes wander up and down my body. It’s such an intentional expression— one that’s purpose isn’t to actually check me out, but to make me aware that he’s able to check me out whether I like it or not.
I smile as pleasantly as I can muster. “Did you need some help? A lot of you guys struggle with measuring past four inches.”
It takes him a minute, and takes the other freshman player an additional minute, to recognize the insult I’d just lobbed at his dick. Finn, however, spots it immediately, and grins at me broadly.
Stewart Adams isn’t amused. He rolls his eyes at me while the freshmen scowl. “Baby, I’ve got ten inches I’d introduce you to if I thought you were worth the fuck.”
The comment doesn’t offend me nearly as much as the freshman player’s stare did— I’m prepared to give him a withering look, then turn back to my food and wait out their presence. What I’m not prepared for is a crack loud as a gunshot ringing through the air— the sound of a fist hitting a jaw.
There’s a clattering, and a flash of bodies, and it takes me far to long to figure out what’s happening. It’s Finn— he swung at Adams, who ducked just in time, and the crack I heard was the sound of Finn’s fist finding one of the freshmen’s jaws instead. The player bunches backward, clutching his face, and Adams steps forward in the same instant. He lunges at Finn, who steps into the fight; I can’t tell whose fists are whose as they crash out of the booth, scattering plates and papers and drinks across the tile floor. People are shouting, phones swing out to capture the entire thing on video, everyone at the bar evacuates their seats to stay away from the action.
This isn’t really how tutoring sessions are supposed to go.
Adams and Finn pull away from one another for a moment; both have busted lips, and Adams’ shirt is torn at the collar. The freshman Finn didn’t hit joins forces with Adams; they advanced on Finn, who is SMILING. Like this is hilarious, like it’s all a big joke.
I realize why when Adams lunges at him again. Finn steps to the side, grabs Adams’ shirt, then shoves him backward and into the freshman. They both fall into a heap; Adams is back up instantly, tackling Finn at the waist. Finn, however, twists around, gets another punch into Adams’ ribs, then knees him in the instep.
It’s clear that Finn has been in a fight— in a number of fights— before, it’s clear. It’s also clear that Adams is the type who will fight until the bitter end, despite the fact that by this point, both freshmen have abandoned him, nursing their wounds in the background. This is going to get bloody and dark and way too serious before it ends—
“The cops are here!” someone shouts, and heads dart up. The Atlanta police are indeed pulling up, lights on. I see the waitress who’d served us earlier waving them in, her phone pressed tightly to her ear.
Adams changes— I mean, changes, instantly. He goes from arrogant asshole jock to polite schoolboy like a movie werewolf becoming human when clouds pass in front of the moon.
When the cops speed walk into the diner, he’s several paces away from Finn, whose face hasn’t changed at all— it’s still cocky and fight-hungry and locked on Adams in a way that makes me nervous he might keep throwing punches right here in front of the cops.
Finn glances back at me briefly as the officers approach him. They divide all four of the football players, but it doesn’t take long before it’s revealed that Finn was the one who initiated the physical part of the altercation.
“Look, boys,” one of the officers says, shaking his head. “I’m a Harton grad. I’m not interested in anyone getting into trouble this season. I’m also not interested in anyone getting hurt and being unable to play. But this sort of shit just isn’t going to fly, got it?”
Of course, of course the cop knows they’re football players. And of course that’s going to mean they get special, “I don’t want to arrest” you treatment. I’m simultaneously annoyed and relieved for Finn.
Adams holds up his hands. “I said something that must have offended my teammate here, officer. I’m uninterested in presses charges, though. I don’t want to do anything that might jeopardize the team’s success.”
“That the way it happened?” the officer asks, turning to Finn.
Finn stays silent, though not stonily so— he looks, as per usual, mildly entertained by the entire situation. While Adams is doing everything he can to appear like the perfect citizen to the cops, Finn still looks like someone who’s delighted he had the opportunity to hit someone.
“That the way it happened?” the officer presses.
“I’d rather not say, sir,” Finn says, politely but shortly.
“What’d he say that made you so angry?” the officer asks patiently.
“I’d rather not say, sir,” Finn says, then looks to Adams and his friends. “Just some flaring tempers, sir. We’re fine now.”
Meanwhile, I’m not being asked a thing, of course, because I’m nobody and nothing around here.
The officer is clearly annoyed at Finn’s unwillingness to give him information, but looks to Adams and his friends all the same. “Everyone good now?”
“Yes, sir. We apologize for the disruption,” Adams says, speaking a bit louder so the other patrons can hear. Most of the restaurant is desperately pretending like they aren’t listening, picking at their meals or sipping drinks, but it’s so quiet in here that it’s almost a hilariously bad attempt.
The officer’s eyes slide to me.
“You involved in this, ma’am? Anything you want to tell me?” he asks cautiously. I’m surprised he’s actually asking me a question and suddenly I feel like a white-hot spotlight
has been trained on me. I suspect it’s because I’ve never in my entire life been questioned by the police, but it’s making my jaw tremble.
“One of them made some comments,” I say, trying to coax my voice steady, “about me. Finn was just…uh…defending my…uh…honor. Or something.”
I see Adams make a disgusted sort of expression.
The officer nods. “Well, no matter what was said, a brawl isn’t the way to settle it. Save that energy for the football field. Boys, I think you’d all better leave.”
“Yes, sir,” Adams says, and immediately starts for the door. His lackeys follow behind him. Finn, however, steps back toward me.
“It looks like you two have shaken that young lady up enough for the afternoon,” the officer says, stopping him. “You have your own way home, miss?”
I nod silently.
“Good— go on, son. Hit the road,” the officer finishes, jerking his thumb to the door.
Finn frowns, and for a moment, I think he’s going to say something stupid to the officer— namely, that he’s going to tell the officer to mind his own business, which is the sentence being broadcast across Finn’s face.
And the truth is, I don’t want him to leave yet. But I also don’t want Finn to get in anymore trouble.
“I’m fine,” I tell Finn, and the words seem to be exactly what he needs to hear— he nods a little, then throws some cash on the table to cover our bill before slinging his hands into his pockets and walking out the door.
The waitresses give the officers free to-go cups of coffee, bacon returns to sizzling on the grill, and I’m left to single-handed retrieve my notebooks and supplies from the floor.
“They’re fighting again!” shouts a red-headed girl who’s standing at the window of the diner and looking outside.
The officers bolt, abandoning their coffees; the other patrons rush to press themselves to the windows to see.
I duck out the restaurant’s back door, by the bathrooms. I don’t want to even know what’s happening right now.
Finn Thorne is trouble. A lot of trouble, and he’s obviously going to be a nightmare to tutor.
That is, if he even manages to last the week without being thrown out of Harton for good.
But even as I think this, I have to admit this much to myself: I can’t think of anyone else I know who’d have gotten into a fistfight for me. Stupid and reckless and ridiculous as that was?
It was also kind of amazing.
Chapter 3
“Anyway, so I’m pretty sure they all got arrested,” I say, recapping the story to my sister an hour later. My sister, Mandy, is also my roommate, which is both a good and bad thing. Good because there’s no one else who can possibly understand what it’s like to be our mother’s daughter, and bad because it means there’s no chance in hell of me hiding something from her.
She knew the moment I walked into our apartment, that something was going on.
“Wow. Jocks are so stupid,” Mandy says, rolling her eyes.
“Hey. Your boyfriend is a jock,” I remind her.
“My boyfriend’s on the rowing team. That’s different,” she argues, the snobbery evident in her tone of voice.
Of course, rowing is such an intellectual pursuit, I think, resisting the urge to roll my eyes.
My sister stares at her phone, where she’s got the news story on the whole ordeal pulled up. “Also, it looks like only one person got arrested. Finn Thorne, right?”
“That’s him— but seriously? No one else? There were three other guys involved,” I say, leaning across our IKEA couch to see her screen. Finn’s mug shot stares up at me. He still looks cocky, like this is more of a photo shoot than a booking.
“I think Adams’ father is a lawyer. Or something,” Mandy says, shrugging. “He’s practically untouchable in this town.”
“It’s because of me that Finn’s in trouble,” I tell her. “He got into that fight because –“
“Because he’s a big dope,” Mandy interrupts. “Fighting is so barbaric.”
“I guess,” I mutter, but the truth is that it wasn’t like that. The way Finn snapped into action when that asshole harassed me wasn’t just the behavior of a dumb caveman.
He was protecting me.
And it felt good to know that he cared enough to do it, no matter what my sister says.
What doesn’t feel good is that if this is making news around campus, my mom is definitely going to hear about it. I curse myself – not for the first time -- for deciding to go to go to the same college my mom works at.
“Well, at least you’ve got a good reason to stop tutoring him. No way will Reams make you work with him after this stunt. That’s assuming he’s able to even stay on the team.”
“I dunno,” I say, shaking my head and taking another bite of cereal (which is a food group no matter what the people at the health center say). “You know how obsessed Reams is with the team. And you know I’m the best math tutor here.”
“It’s not your job to create a winning football team, Kenley,” Mandy reminds me, dropping her phone onto the couch. She sounds an awful lot like our mother, at the moment, which isn’t shocking.
Mandy looks like our mother, has the same interests as our mother, talks like our mother, even dresses like our mother. It doesn’t bother me usually, but when she does stuff like this it makes me feel like I’m living with my mom’s mini-me.
I exhale. “I don’t want this to be on Reams’ mind when I need his recommendation some day.”
Mandy scowls. “You don’t need his approval to be successful,” Mandy says grumpily.
I nod in agreement even though I don’t really see it the same way. And then we turn on Netflix to binge-watch some nineties television.
It’s nearly eleven o’clock I’m headed toward bed, when someone knocks on the door.
Mandy frowns and walks over to it, careful to look through the peephole rather than opening it straight away.
“Who is it?” she calls through the door.
“It’s Finn,” a voice says back. “Kenley?”
My eyes widen and instantly I feel the goose bumps standing out on my skin, just at the sound of his voice. Finn is at my suite.
It’s totally surreal, but I can’t deny that I’m absurdly excited by this turn of events.
Mandy folds her arms at the door. “This is her sister, Mandy. Kenley isn’t available right now,” she says without even turning my way to get my reaction.
“Mandy!” I hiss. “I’m available!”
“It’s late, he’s a tutoring student, and he just got arrested today. You’re not available for anything he needs,” Mandy hisses back.
“I can hear everything you’re saying,” Finn says through the door, sounding exasperated.
“Good, then you’re clear on why she’s not available,” Mandy says back.
“I’m available,” I call out, loud enough that Finn can surely hear me. Mandy narrows her eyes at me, and I shrug. Truthfully, I’m not sure why I’m available, exactly. I guess because when someone got into a fistfight for you, you’re willing to bend some of your own rules about the kinds of men you’ll have in your apartment at night?
Mandy sighs and walks away from the door, giving me a wary look; I step forward and swing it open, remembering at the last minute that Finn is super hot and I, at the moment, am wearing pajama pants with cats on them.
“Hey,” Finn says immediately, his eyes on mine.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He’s gorgeous, and he’s smoldering, and I shouldn’t be thinking any of this right now.
I want to look away, like the weight of his gaze is too much for me, but I’m equally worried that if I look away, he’s going to have the chance to see the cat pants. So I hold his gaze, even though the longer I look, the more strangely wobbly I feel.
“Hi,” I finally say.
“I need to talk to you for a minute,” Finn says. It’s not a question— does he even ask questions, or simply make sta
tements? I glance over my shoulder to see Mandy pretending to put dishes away while she watches our exchange.
“Sure,” I say, and step through the door— whatever we’re going to talk about, I’m not sure I want Mandy to hear it. I know she’s going to harp on Finn later— on his late night visit, his arrest, his being a football “barbarian,” and all the other things that make her nervous about him.
Hell, I didn’t even tell her about the towel incident, but if I did I’m pretty sure she’d go ballistic about the whole thing. Something about me wants to protect Finn from her, to keep her from having ammunition to lob at him.
We step outside and close the door, and I lead him down the stairs. We live in one of the on campus suite apartments— Wells— and because of our mother, managed to get a semi-private two person suite for the price of a four-person.
I know it’s still nothing compared to the luxury apartments the football players live in, but still, it’s nice, and homey, and there’s a fountain in the courtyard. Finn and I walk down to the fountain; he sits on its edge. The fountain seems small with Finn’s hulking body perched on it, and I wonder if he might somehow crack it in two.
I take a spot two feet away from him, trying not to focus on the warm tightness in my lower belly.
“Sorry to hear you got arrested,” I say almost instantly.
Finn shrugs. “It happens.”
“It happens?” I gasp, shocked at his indifference. “You weren’t totally freaked out having your mug shot taken and being handcuffed?”
“I’ve been arrested before. I’ll get arrested again. Where I’m from, everyone’s been arrested a few times,” he says.
“Florida?”
Finn just looks at me. “Lake City. It’s not the best area.”
“Well, I hate to tell you this—you’re not in Lake City anymore.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I get that,” he says. “After they bailed me out, I got a real earful from everyone.” Finn sits forward a little, elbows on his thighs, and looks straight ahead.