I suck a sharp breath into my lungs and nod my head shamefully. It’s even worse than I thought. Not only do I suck at school, now football is at stake. I knew I was struggling, but I didn’t think I was doing so badly that I was putting my football career at risk. Fuck me. My father will kill me. Literally, kill me if he finds out.
“I’ll do better.”
“And how are you gonna do that?” he questions, his head tilted to the side, disbelief reflecting in his dark gaze. “You have a plan, do ya?”
I smirk. “No, but something tells me you do–”
“Damn right, I do. See, you’re not dumb, Wilder, you just need a little push in the right direction. I set you up with a tutor. Best on campus. Got a 4.0 average. I’m not saying that’s where you need to be at, but please, just make a passing grade. I need you on the team, boy.”
“Got it, Coach.”
“Here.” He hands me a sticky note. Library, room 202, Five o’clock. “Be there, Wilder,” he warns. “I mean business, don’t push me, boy. I’ll push back, and we both know you won’t like that. You can do this, you just need a little help, and there isn’t anything wrong with admitting that.”
“I’ll be there, and I’ll get my grades up. I promise,” I tell him, ’cause what the fuck else am I going to do? Tugging my phone out of my shorts, I check the time as I leave the coach’s office. I’ve got thirty minutes before I have to be at the library. There isn’t any point in driving home, so I drop my bag off at my car and grab my math books instead. That’s where I have the most issues anyway. I hate numbers. Nothing ever makes sense in my head.
Walking aimlessly with my books in my hand, I think about what my dad would say if he were to find out I’m failing a class. I can already see his fist coming toward my face. Not that he would really care about that per se. He would only care about me being benched, unable to play his beloved football.
My football career means everything to him. Much more than it does to me. Yes, it’s nice to be good at it, and believe me, I’m fucking good at it, but I’m just not as passionate about it as my father is. In fact, as the years have passed, my love for the sport has diminished every day. I’m living someone else’s dream, and I’m getting tired of it. I want to do what I want, live for what I want, and football just isn’t it.
I’m so inside my own head that I completely lose track of time. When I check my phone, I realize it’s already five.
Shit. I’m late.
I half sprint to the library. When I get there, I’m ten minutes late. My lungs burn and my muscles ache. I’m tired as fuck and would much rather be at home, but still, here I am. I made a promise to Coach, and I won’t let him down. Taking two steps at a time, I walk up the grand staircase to the second floor and easily find room 202. I’ve been up here before, but studying wasn’t what I was doing.
Opening the door, I get ready to deliver a quick apology to whatever nerd I’m about to meet. My lips part and my mouth opens, but instead of words, nothing comes out. It’s like someone has shoved cotton in my mouth.
On the other side of that door is the girl who made me the laughing stock of my friends. I’m a joke now. Every time someone sees me, they burst into laughter, remembering how I got a beer poured on my head at a party and turned down by a girl that they now call ice queen.
Blair Jensen.
She lifts her head, tossing mousy brown hair over her shoulder, and her big blue eyes flick to mine. I know the instant recognition takes place because her delicate facial features go from annoyed to angry as soon as she realizes who she is supposed to tutor.
“We meet again. Told you, you’d regret dumping a beer on my head.” I force a dimpled grin onto my face. She looks even more beautiful today than she did that night.
“Fancy seeing you here, nerdy virgin,” I teased.
“You’re late.” She points out the obvious, gritting her teeth, letting me know that my pet name for her is irritating.
Using her index finger, she pushes her black-rimmed glasses up her button nose. I stare, studying her for a long moment. The first time we met was outside, in the dimly lit backyard of the frat house. I could barely see her face, but I could make out the outline of her body just fine, and that’s what initially drew me in. She was hiding something beneath that thick sweatshirt. It was nothing special, nothing like the dresses, skirts, and clothes the other girls wore, and I think that’s what captured my attention and continues to because she’s nothing like what I expected her to be.
The bright overhead lights make it easy for me to drink her in. I can really see her now—see the creamy smooth skin of her blemish-free heart-shaped face.
She isn’t wearing a drop of makeup, she’s pure, clean, radiant. Her pink lips form into the perfect pout without an ounce of effort. Fuck me. Too bad she hates my guts. I’m not one-hundred-percent certain she hates them, but it’s close enough.
Fuck, something inside me wants to reach out to her, grab her and shake her. I wonder if she realizes how attractive she is. My guess is no, but I kind of want to be the guy to show her how beautiful she is. Too bad, she’d rather stab me in the eye with a fork.
“Sorry,” I mumble and head to the other side of the table. I don’t apologize often, but I do today because I really need her help. “Really, I’m sorry. I was on my way over and…”
“No, you’re not,” she snaps, shutting the book in front of her and interrupting me before I can finish what I wanted to say.
“Yes, I really am. I didn’t mean to be late, in fact, I was just outside the library,” I growl.
These last two weeks have been a bitch, and partly because of the dark temptress in front of me. Without looking at me, she starts packing up her stuff, shoving her books in her backpack like she has someplace to be. Panic starts to rise up inside of me. Shit!
Is she leaving?
“What are you doing?” I ask, gripping the edge of the table to center myself.
“I’m leaving,” she huffs, tossing her brown locks over her shoulder.
“But I’m here now. We still have like an hour to study.”
“Good for you, but late is late, and I don’t work with people that don’t take my time seriously,” she scolds, and suddenly, it feels like I’m a child all over again, being reprimanded for something that I did but didn’t do good enough.
“Jesus, do you have to be such a bitch all the time?”
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. I’m many things, but I do my best not to be an asshole. The night we first met, I was simply poking fun, not trying to hurt her feelings, but obviously, I poked deeper than I realized.
She pauses briefly, just long enough to give me a death glare, before tossing her bag over her shoulder. “Maybe next time, you’ll be less of an asshole and get here on time, and then I won’t be such a bitch.”
And with that, she storms out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.
Fuck my life.
I briefly entertain the thought of running after her, girls love that kind of shit. Well, normal girls. Of course, Blair is nothing like the girls I usually deal with. So, I haven’t the faintest clue about how to handle her. If I chase after her, she’d probably call campus police, and then I’d have a whole other can of worms to deal with, and damn it, I do not need any more attention put on me.