Page 90 of Necessary Roughness
“At least you’re making progress,” he said.
“Yeah!” I gestured with the laptop. “I might even end the semester with a C.”
“I meant the other thing.” His eyes were dark pools. “You haven’t blushed once since we started studying.”
“Oh, yeah,” I said, feeling strangely pleased with myself. “How about that?”
38
Sloane
Winter was my favorite time in Florida. The sticky, humid air gave way to pleasant breezes and sunshine that wasdelightful,rather than the oppressive ball of fire that moved through the sky in the summer. The evenings were cool enough to sit out on the porch and watch the sunset, and the temperatures dropped low enough to kill off all the mosquitoes.
It was a nice reminder of why I had chosen a Florida school.
I spent a lot of my study time in the rocking chair on the front porch. The gentle rocking motion put me in a kind of trance, allowing me to focus on the words without allowing any distractions to interrupt me.
Sometimes the guys joined me. Logan and I would work on whatever assignment we had for our Creative Writing class, working in one-hour sprints and then swapping laptops so we could review the other’s story. Logan’s punctuation wasn’t perfect, but he had a surprisingly imaginative mind. Critiquing his work was more of a pleasure than it was a chore.
Knox studied Art History with me on Tuesday nights, since we usually had quizzes on Wednesday. Neither of usneededto do much studying—we were both acing the class easily—but it was a nice excuse to spend some time together. And since he got theclass notes ahead of everyone else, it made me feel like I was ahead of schedule.
Which was a nice feeling compared to my Physics class. That was the subject I spent most of my time studying on the porch with Roman. The information still wasn’t intuitive to me, but with his help I was able to at least have a passing understanding of the concepts. I even got a B+ on my next test, in no small part due to his help.
Roman proved to be a patient, polite tutor. I never felt like I was a burden to him, for which I was grateful. There was no more awkwardness between us now, no blushes or avoidance. We had a quiet understanding of one another, nodding in greeting and giving each other wordless fist-bumps when our paths crossed. It was a completely different kind of friendship than what I had with the twins, or even Knox or Logan.
We didn’t need to fill the silences with chatter. We could simplybearound each other. He often joined me on the front porch to study his own advanced classes, even when he wasn’t tutoring me. I found myself grateful for his presence, like he was a bodyguard. Quiet, strong, deadly.
Studying on the front porch gave me an excuse to be at their house, which proved useful when their assistant coach, Zane, occasionally swung by. He still glanced at me skeptically, as if he suspected my purpose for being there went beyond academic necessity, but he never said anything. And I kept my bedroom door locked so he wouldn’t discover that I had moved in. I got the impression that he didn’t care what I did or why I wasreallythere, so long as the guys were passing their classes. And, more importantly, as long as they were doing well on the football field.
I overheard Zane and one of the defensive coaches talking to Roman on a Thursday evening. They were sitting inside on the couch, discussing their strategy for the game this weekend, allthe ways they wanted Roman to adjust his attack and get to the quarterback. Most of the chatter meant nothing to me, since I knew little about the intricacies of football strategy, but I caught bits and pieces that made me frown.
“I don’t think that will work,” Roman was saying.
“Well, what you’re doing right nowisn’tworking. So how about we try it my way? I can always recommend that we move you to an easier position, like Left Tackle…”
“No,” Roman replied with more anger than I thought a player should voice to one of his coaches. “My position is linebacker.”
The coach left shortly after that, banging the screen door behind him.
Roman walked out onto the porch with a beer a few minutes later. I smiled at him, then pretended to read my Education textbook. But what I was really doing was waiting to see if he would bring it up.
“How much of that did you hear?” he asked.
“Most of it. Screen door,” I said, reaching behind me to tap the mesh barrier. “Now, how much did I actually understand? Next to nothing.”
“It wasn’t good,” he said. “Apparently, I’m a liability on the field.”
I grimaced at him.
“I don’t know what to do.” He stared at the beer bottle. Cradled in his two massive hands, it looked smaller than it was. “I’m working my ass off, same as I always have.”
Roman rarely opened up like this, so I closed my book and turned toward him. “Do you think the NFL draft is putting extra pressure on you?” Logan had mentioned that he felt that pressure weighing down on him like an elephant.
“Nah.” Roman shook his head. “I was red-shirted as a freshman, so I have another year of eligibility. I get to play all next season before registering for the draft.” He snorted. “If I even make the team next year.”
He took a long pull from his beer.
“I led the conference in sacks last year,” he said, staring off. “Fourteen. This season, I only have three. And we only have a handful of games remaining.”
