Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 109505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
She fidgets, and unable to maintain eye contact, glances away, but I keep staring, watching her grow more on edge, more uneasy, and it hits me.
Oh, hell no.
“Are you a tweaker?”
Her eyes slice to mine. “What?”
“You heard me.”
Her mouth is agape, but quickly twists in anger. “Are you freaking kidding me right now?” she hisses in a whisper.
I lift my hands. “Look, I get you’re hired through the university, but I can’t have a drug addict around me. Bad press and all that. I deal with enough bullshit from the school paper as it is.”
“I assure you.” She holds my gaze strongly now. “I am not on drugs.”
“Not even a little phentermine to get ya goin’?” I raise a dark brow. Her cheeks are kind of hollow ...
Her lips pinch into a tight line and she fights a glare, putting on her professional cap when, visually speaking, she looks anything but. “Thanks for your interest in whether or not I eat highly addictive diet pills like candy, but if you’re done with your passive aggressive way of pointing out I’m not a size four, can we move along?”
“Whoa.” I jolt forward in my chair. “That is not what I meant. I was only saying—”
“I don’t care,” she cuts me off. “Can we get started or not?”
Tapping my palm on the tabletop, I frown. I didn’t mean to offend the girl. It was a legit question that, okay, I probably could have worded differently, but I can tell from the small interaction we’ve had, she’s not interested in an apology. To be honest, I’m not convinced I’m off the mark here, but I have a game to play in two days, so ...
“Yeah, all right.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the fake wood. “We’ll start, but real quick, let’s get this outta the way, yeah?” The pull in her brows tells me she’s paying attention and maybe even a little more nervous than before.
“I really gotta get this shit done, so can you try to keep this ‘I’d rather shit Flamin’ Hot Cheetos than be here with you’ act you got going until we’re at least halfway done? Not sure I could say no right now—game days amp me up and I could use the release.”
She stares, eyes wide, and then a quick, unexpected laugh bubbles out of her.
And you know what? It ain’t a bad laugh.
I grin.
Suddenly, she stops, her fingers flying to her mouth as if to keep the sound inside.
Her eyes cut to her screen as she clears her throat and starts typing away.
“Okay, so I have the class syllabus, but I was right, and can’t see what’s missing. I’d need to sign in at the tutoring or athletic center, but they’re closed this time of night.”
“It’s six.”
“And they closed at five.”
“Maybe you’re not as good of a tutor as you think if you can’t fly when given wings.”
Her eyes pop up to mine, and she opens her mouth to speak but slowly closes it.
“Nah, nah, Tutor Girl.” I drop my head to the side with a small grin. “Speak.”
She hesitates a moment, but only for a moment. “I schedule ahead so I can come up with a game plan and make sure I’m giving you my all. So that you feel you have someone in your corner through every stage of the process and never failing you. That way, in the end, if you never set foot on that baseball field again, you have no one to blame but yourself.”
This girl’s either really taking this tutor stuff seriously, or a damn good bluffer—neither are important. All I need is to skate by enough to play ball.
“That sounds … textbook great, but so you know, I’m not interested in studying. I need to get my work done and turned in, that’s it.”
“And when you have a test? Midterms? Your finals?”
“We worry about it then.”
She drops back in her seat. “That’s working backward. I can teach you to learn as you go, so it won’t be so overwhelming on either of us when exams come up.”
“I have a lot on my plate, Tutor Girl, and it might sound shitty, but what overwhelms you isn’t something I can afford to worry about.”
“I’m aware,” instantly flies from her mouth. It’s not harsh or damning; in fact, it’s soft and nearly whispered, but by the way her eyes widen the slightest bit, I think she wishes she hadn’t said a word.
We keep eye contact, but I can’t read what’s going on behind hers, they’re too guarded, so to move us along, I reach forward and push my assignment list toward her. At first, she doesn’t look at it, and small creases form along her brows as her eyes travel along my face, maybe without her realizing. With every shift of her gaze, the lines along her forehead deepen until she finally blinks and when her eyes reopen, they’re on the paper in front of her.