Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
His expression becomes pinched. “How was I to know that she’d put the kibosh on friends helping me with homework?”
I shake my head and scrunch my face. “What do you mean?”
When he presses his lips together, I think about the scattered papers on the ground. They hadn’t all been low grades. In fact, a surprising number had been As, which doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. If you put the time and effort into the assignments, then the tests should be—
Oh.
I shift, cocking a hip and shaking my head. “So…Nichols figured out that you weren’t doing your own homework, huh?”
Un-freaking-believable.
Here I am, busting my ass with eighteen credits this semester so I can graduate on time and get a job. And this guy just skates on through, not even bothering to do his own homework. I didn’t think it was possible to lose any more respect for him, but I just did.
He shrugs, unashamed of his cheating. Because that’s exactly what it is.
“What do you want me to say? I’ve got a lot on my plate, especially when we’re in season. And those girls were eager to offer their support.”
Yeah…I’ll just bet they were. Unwanted images of the females that were hanging all over him at the restaurant flood through my brain. I roll my eyes and shove them away. Now that I have the full story, I can understand why Dr. Nichols came down on him like a ton of bricks. She’s not a professor to put up with shit. Not even from the athletes on campus who are treated like demigods.
Good for Dr. Nichols.
“As much as I’d love to offer my assistance, I can’t.”
“Can’t?” He lifts a brow.
If he needs me to spell it out for him, I will. Slowly. So he can understand it.
“Won’t.”
His tongue darts out to moisten his lips. “Come on, taco—”
When my eyes narrow, he trails off abruptly before clearing his throat.
“Lola.” His voice dips, becoming deeper as he takes a step closer, once again invading my personal space and making my heart flutter. “Come on. I need help and you’re in the perfect position to offer it.”
“That might be so, but I don’t want to. And even if I did, I don’t have the time. Some of us do our own homework and have to bust our asses working a part-time job in order to afford school. So, no…I don’t feel sorry for you one bit. Honestly, I find it refreshing that someone around here is finally holding you accountable. It doesn’t sound like that’s ever happened before.” I raise both hands. “Welcome to the real world.”
He blinks. “If it’s a matter of money, I can pay you.”
It’s so easy for him, isn’t it?
There’s not enough money in the world to convince me to spend more time with him than I already have. I shake my head before slipping my phone from my front pocket and glancing at the screen. Great. Now I’m fifteen minutes late. Professor Harrison is going to have a field day when I walk through the door.
“Look,” I snap, fed up with this conversation, “I need to go.”
“Will you at least consider tutoring me?”
“Nope.” It gives me pleasure to pop the P at the end of the word.
It’s a relief when I attempt to step around him for a second time and he doesn’t stop me. Without a backward glance, I hustle up the wide stone steps before flying through the glass door and into the quiet corridor.
That’s twice now that I’ve run into Asher Stevens in a handful of days.
Which is two times too many, as far as I’m concerned.
6
ASHER
An hour and a half spent lifting in the gym has done nothing to diminish my irritation with the dragon. For a couple of minutes, I considered taking this to Coach, but I have a feeling there’s nothing he’ll be able to do. So, in the end, I didn’t bother.
What I need to do is find a way to pass that class.
As I head out of the athletic center to my truck, a familiar ringtone knocks me from my thoughts, and I fish the cell from my pocket before answering it.
“Yeah?”
“Hey, dipshit. How goes it?”
One side of my mouth quirks as my brother’s deep voice booms over the line. “It’s all good. How’s work?”
Jack launches into a lengthy explanation about securities and the current market. When he starts throwing in terms like ‘fungible financial instruments’ and ‘ownership rights to holders,’ my eyes glaze over.
Here’s what I can tell you—I don’t want to be a stockbroker.
Or whatever the hell he does.
It sounds hella boring.
After a couple of minutes of bullshitting, he asks the dreaded question. “How’s school going?”
I clear my throat and strive for nonchalance. “It’s good. Fine.”
“Really? If that’s the case, why’d you pause?”
I glance at a group of girls walking toward me in the parking lot. As soon as I make eye contact, they smile and giggle before waving. When a teammate shouts my name, I give him a chin lift in greeting and keep walking.