Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51959 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 260(@200wpm)___ 208(@250wpm)___ 173(@300wpm)
And Tutor Mode Kenley doesn’t have patience for entitled students.
“Usually the sessions are an hour. You should be free till the team meeting at seven, right?” I ask, lifting a paper from my notebook— his training schedule. The athletic director always provides one when I’m tutoring athletes, so I don’t interfere with their training.
“Maybe my plans aren’t so official,” Finn says, lifting his eyebrows, daring me to contradict him.
“If they’re not official, I’d cancel them, since this tutoring session is if you want to stay on the team,” I counter, folding my arms.
Finn isn’t impressed by my threat. “Trust me, they’re not throwing me off the team. Jacob Everett is gone, Stewart Adams is graduating this year— I’m next year’s senior quarterback.”
I shrug. “Well, senior quarterbacks have to pass freshman math.”
Finn narrows his eyes a little, like he was expecting admiration rather than insistence. He takes a large bite of the protein bar and chews as I slide onto one of the kitchen barstools.
“An hour,” Finn says, his brow furrowing as he scratches his strong chin.
“Just an hour. Twice a week,” I say.
He scoffs. “They never made me do this sort of thing in Florida.”
“Which is why you’re now a junior who needs to pass freshman math,” I answer pointedly.
His eyes narrow more, but this whole exchange is putting me at ease. I know I can argue with this guy. I’m a woman in a field dominated by men— I am excellent at taking entitled men down a peg. It’s the whole, “you’re-standing-there-naked-and-grinning-at-me” stuff I’m not so good at.
“Look,” I finally say. “If you can convince Dr. Reams and your advisor and whoever else that this isn’t necessary, then I’m happy to disappear and never darken your doorway again.”
Finn crosses his arms over his chest, and almost curious expression flickering through his eyes. “Fine,” he says. “I suppose this is how it is for now. But if we’re going to do this, I don’t want to do it here.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Come on,” he says, grabbing his keys. “We’re going out.”
Chapter 2
We end up at Suns Up, a dive diner that’s just off campus. It’s the sort of place where the food is worth the risk you take on the always-low health score. The walls are covered with Harton memorabilia, which more or less covers the wallpaper that I’m certain has been here since the 1950’s. We get a booth by the window; Finn looks comically too big for it, like he’s sitting on doll’s house furniture. Before the waitress can get to us, I start unpacking my bag of tutoring supplies again, lining everything up at right angles on the table.
I can’t help but notice, as I set up, that people are staring at us.
Well, at Finn, that is.
Mostly the female patrons and staff.
Some of them glance at me curiously, wondering what I’m doing here with Finn, and I feel my face start to flush a little.
I’m not his date. I’m just a math nerd. I’m only here with him right now because I have a brain. And yeah, it’s nice to have a brain, but sometimes it would be even nicer to be looked at for something other than my answer-key to the practice test.
“You’re upset,” Finn says, breaking me out of my reverie.
I flinch a little, startled that he can read me so well. “I’m just trying to stay focused,” I lie, “and this diner’s not really the ideal setting for a tutoring session.”
“You should relax,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “It’s nice sometimes to just chill, you know. Like, what do you do for a good time?”
I shake my head as I refer to my materials. “I’m not falling for this.”
“For what?” he asks, grinning.
“You’re trying to get me off track. It’s not going to work. I’m getting paid to teach you, not talk about long walks on the beach.”
Finn’s eyes glimmer and he leans towards me, his voice lowering. “So that’s what you do to relax. Now you got me picturing you in a bikini. And that’s bad for my focus.”
I feel my cheeks getting hotter still. “That was my point.”
“Was it?” he asks, studying me as he grins at my discomfort.
“Yes. I mean, no.” I shake my head.
“Your point was that if you talk about the beach and get me picturing you in a bikini, we both lose our focus?”
I close my eyes for a second and taking a deep, steady breath. “I’m saying that you’re trying to avoid work. But it’s not going to happen. Deal with it.” I turn and stare at him and he seems to subtly deflate.
“Fine,” he mutters, as the waitress comes over to take our order. I get my usual— hash browns and raisin toast, and a Diet Coke with cherry syrup. Finn order the entire menu, or so it seems, though the waitress is hardly alarmed. Finn’s size broadcasts his appetite, and besides, they serve enough Harton athletes in here to know the drill.