Page 10 of Attractive Forces
Instinctively, my gut curdles at the thought of Brewer being tutored by Jake. Which is stupid. I don’t own the guy. And I get the feeling Jake could use the money.
“Not sure. I could ask him if you want.”
“It seems a waste though,” Brewer says.
“What’s a waste?”
“Getting tutored by a guy instead of a hot chick.”
I shrug. “Easier to concentrate.” It’s surprising my outrageous lie doesn’t cause me to spontaneously combust.
* * *
The next fewweeks go by in a blur. The more time I spend with Jake, the more I find to like. He’s smart. He’s funny. He’s a nice guy. Not to mention he’s super hot. When he gives me his lopsided smile or fixes those brown eyes on me, my breath automatically hitches.
My favorite part of tutoring is when we shoot hoops together. It’s become our thing to take a break halfway through and muck around underneath the hoop.
Jake gets this intense look when he’s shooting the ball. I can’t help wondering if he gets that look when he focuses on other things as well.
We’ve just got back to his desk one Thursday after shooting hoops when Jake’s phone beeps. He reads the message and curses.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s my brother. He’s got a softball game over in Edgemont. He was supposed to be getting a ride home with his friend’s mum, but it looks like something’s gone wrong.” Jake glances out the window, then starts typing a message.
“What are you saying?
“Just that he’s going to have to wait there until Mum finishes work.”
“I can take you to pick him up if you want,” I offer.
Jake eyes me doubtfully. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. No problem.”
“That would be great, thanks. Otherwise, he’ll have to hang around for ages. And it’ll be getting dark soon.”
“It’s not a problem,” I repeat.
Jake and I chat easily on the fifteen-minute drive to the nearby town of Edgemont. We talk about what sports we played as kids, which morphs into discussing what rugby teams we now like and dislike. Being from Wellington, Jake likes the Tornadoes, whereas I support the southern team, the Clansmen. We both have a passionate dislike for the Greens. And agree most things that come out of Auckland should be regarded with suspicion.
We pull up at the Edgmont High School field, which is now cloaked in long shadows. At first, it looks deserted, but then someone detaches themselves from the front gates and starts walking toward us.
Jake’s brother looks to be around twelve or thirteen. I can’t make out his features clearly in the dimming light, but he’s skinny and has dark hair like Jake.
Jake rolls down the window.
“Jump in the back,” he calls.
His brother nods and heads around the back of my car.
“This is Logan,” Jake says when he’s climbed in. “Logan, this is my brother Aaron.”
“Hey,” I say, turning around. Aaron does a double-take when he sees me.
“Hey.” Aaron’s voice comes out high-pitched. He clears his throat.
I get a good look at Aaron and my eyebrows shoot up. The side of his mouth is bloody and the flesh around his eye has started to swell. The kid is going to have a hell of a black eye in the morning.
