Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
I don’t anticipate Rhys being out the front of our house when I get home, though.
His entire face lights up when he sees me climbing out of the car.
“Don’t say one fucking word,” I grumble.
“Let me go see Charlotte, and my lips are sealed.”
I think about that. “Tell you what. You can go see her from three p.m. until five—”
“Yes!”
“If,” I continue, “you help me with my math class.”
Seeing as I already got the perks of studying, I figure I better actually put in some time learning, and Rhys is a math whiz. He’s in all the advanced classes at school. He kinda sucks at every other subject, which is a shame, but at least he has direction.
Rhys smiles at me. “Deal.”
“Okay. I’m going to go have a really hot shower. Meet me in my room in ten minutes. Oh, and bring food. I’m starving.” I go to move past him.
“I’ve heard sex works up your appetite,” Rhys mumbles.
I turn. “Who are you talking to about sex?”
He shrugs. “Guys at school.”
“If they tell you they’ve done it, they’re lying. You’re thirteen.”
“When did you first …”
Mother of fuck, we are so not ready for this conversation, right? Also, do I lie here or tell the truth?
“I’m a virgin.” Lying it is!
He looks down at the clothes in my hands and cocks an eyebrow at me.
“Fine, I was sixteen. And I know this is totally contradictory, but you can’t until you’re eighteen.”
Rhys laughs. “I think you’re getting the hang of this parenting thing.”
I shudder. “Eww, dude. I’m not and never will be your parent.”
My brother’s face falls slightly, and he looks disappointed.
“I mean that because you’re my kid brother, and I love you. I don’t want to be your parent. I’d rather be the guy you come to if you’re ever in trouble, and I want you to trust me, okay? Would you have ever asked Dad that question about his virginity?”
“Hell no.”
“Exactly.”
Silence fills the small space between us.
“We good?” I ask.
“Yeah, we’re good.”
“Awesome. Now I really do need a hot shower, or my toes might fall off from frostbite.” I sneak around the side of the house to use the external entry to the basement instead of having to walk past all my other brothers and sisters undressed like this.
Even though Rhys tutors me in math, and he tutors me well, when we’re given a pop quiz in my next class, I fail, and I fail hard.
“Mr. Dalton, can I have a word with you?” Professor Fuckstain asks. His name is Eckstein, but that’s hard to remember. Fuckstain suits him more. And his personality. It’s a shame because he’s pretty hot for someone in his thirties. He looks ripped underneath his tweed jacket, a contrast of hunky covered in nerdy clothing.
As the class disperses, I approach the professor.
“You’re failing this class already, and it’s only November.”
“I know. I’ve been studying, I promise.”
“I know this is a core subject, so everyone thinks it’s a waste of time and a flyby class where you get an automatic C by turning up, but if you wanted that type of education, you should’ve signed up to someone else’s class.”
I’m tempted to ask whose so I can do just that, but he keeps talking.
“You need to make the effort if you want to keep your minimum C to stay on the hockey team.” His face screws up when he says hockey, and I get the feeling he’s singling me out for a reason.
It’s not because I suck at math. It’s because I’m an athlete. He’s not the first professor to stare me down like he is now. Like I’m the dumbest of the dumb, and it’s unfair I get a free education because I’m good at sports when he probably couldn’t even stand upright in a pair of skates.
“What can I do?” I ask.
“I’d suggest you drop the class. The last day to do so is tomorrow.”
“If I do that, I’ll need to pick up an extra class next semester, and I don’t have the time for that. Last year, my classes let me do extra-credit work over the summer. Is that an option? I have extenuating circumstances—”
“Sports is not an extenuating circumstance.”
“No, my parents—”
“I don’t care if you’re not meeting your parents’ expectations. You’re not a good fit for this class.”
He’s pissing me off, and I want to tell him to get fucked so bad, but I need this class. Look at me being all mature and responsible.
“In other words there’s no extra credit on the table,” I say, not ask.
“Nope. You do the work like everyone else in my class. No special treatment for …”
“For?” Go on. Say it. For jocks.
“For anyone.”
“Got it.”
I exit the class, wanting to punch something, and I guess I should be glad I’m heading for practice where I can skate all this excess energy out. It’s a shame Simms and I are getting along now, because I don’t want to wreck the good thing we’ve started, so I can’t even get in his face and beg him to punch me.