Page 10 of Tutoring the Bad Boy
“Thanks, Mr. Reeves.”
His gaze darts from me to Kaleb and back to me. “Okay, well, I’ll let you two…study.” The emphasized last word isn’t lost on me. In other words, my mom is watching me, and I hate it.
Once Mr. Reeves is halfway down a book aisle, Kaleb leans over. “I’m sorry.” His breath hits my cheek, and goosebumps pop up all over my body. It’s fruity and sweet from what I guess must be some sort of breath freshener. “Maybe you wouldn’t be getting such a hard time if it was anyone else but me being tutored.”
Maybe, but I doubt it. “Let’s just get to work. I can’t be late to practice.”
I tell myself to ignore the small downturn of his lips, but it’s not just his lips. The light in his eyes has dimmed, and for some weird reason, that bothers me in a way I can’t pinpoint. I barely know him. I didn’t say anything hateful. They were statements of fact. We need to work, and I really can’t be late to practice. Not if I want to make Mrs. Yates and my mom happy.
Touching his shoulder, I say, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
He shrugs off my hand. “I’m good. The only thing my parents taught me is that relationships are too much work and they end in disaster.” His lips press together in a thin line. “And I’m not interested in you. You’re my tutor, and that’s the only reason I’m sitting at this table. Not trying to be mean. I just want to make sure we know where we stand.”
“Right. Exactly. We are absolutely on the same page.” I open my book to one of the last sonnets and blink back tears. It’s so dumb. Even if I wanted to date, my mom wouldn’t let me. I’m basically dating volleyball until the foreseeable future. A relationship would only bring me problems.
Like Kaleb said, they’re too much work and they end in disaster. No way I want one. But my heart hurts at the thought, and I pinch myself. I need to get a grip. Kaleb is just a guy, and I’m helping him with Shakespeare. Nothing else.
Chapter Six
Kaleb
Kicking backon my bed Saturday afternoon, I eye the small basketball net hanging on my door. I’ve had it since I was six, so it’s a little ratty-looking now with all the tape holding it together. With a flick of my wrist, the small foam ball soars the six feet, hits the rim, and bounces.
My friend Chris Johnson snatches it just before it slams into my computer and gives it a spin on his ring finger. “All right. Talk. What’s up with you?”
“What? Nothing’s up with me.” Something’s definitely up with me.
Since our first study session in the library, I’ve thought of nothing but Ginny. It’s freaking me out, too. She gave me her phone number so I could text her if I had questions when I was working on assignments. Sad part is, I’ve been trying to think of questions just so I can text, which sounds pathetic.
I don’t think about girls. Well, not like that. Not since my mom left. That kinda shattered any sort of dream I might’ve had about relationships and marriage and all that. That issue aside, it’s Ginny, and I’m the resident pariah when it comes to dating any girl in my small hometown.
Chris flops down in my desk chair and uses the end of my bed as a footstool. “You only miss that shot when you’re thinking about something. So,” he says, making a motion with his finger, “tell me. Because you’ve been missing that shot all day.”
I swear under my breath and sit up with my back against the wall. My room isn’t small, but it’s also not huge. My bed stuck in the corner gives me the space I need to have a desk, desk chair, and dresser. I’ve got a drafting table too, but all weekend, the only thing I’d been drawing was a blank.
“Whooo. It must be bad.” He smiles. “A girl. Has to be a girl.”
“Ginny Gray has been tutoring me for Mrs. Yates’s class.”
For a second, I think I’ve broken the guy, and then he blinks. “Ginny Gray? As in Principal Gray’s daughter? Man, you need to put whatever you’re thinking down and back away from that land mine. Dude, she’s so off-limits she should be required to wear an actual warning sign.”
I snort. He’s not wrong. When I met her at the library—and I’d never, ever admit this to anyone because it would make me sound stalkery—but my breath caught when she came into view, and I stopped to watch her a second. She had on this pair of jeans that hit her curves just right and this t-shirt that showed off her lean arms.
Then when I did let her know I was there, she turned around and I could see she’d been crying. I’ve never seen brown eyes so pretty in all my life or wanted to take someone into my arms as much. I hated that she was crying. Hated it because I knew I was the reason. For a brief moment, it had ached not to take her face in my hands and kiss the tears away.
Of course, there was no way I was stupid enough to do that. Aside from the fact that I don’t know her anymore or have that sort of relationship with her, I have no desire to be mauled by her mom. I could absolutely picture Principal Gray hitting me with her car. And backing up and doing it again.
“I think her mom is tough on her,” Chris says, his voice pulling me from the sudden vision of being murdered by my principal.
I nod. “Yeah, I think so too.”
Chris grins, and I know what’s coming next. “She sure is hot, though.”
“Ginny or the principal?” I laugh and duck as he flings the ball at my face.
“Ginny is hot. I’d never go near her, but the guy who does…” He shrugs. “Nothing great ever came easy. I bet she’d be the girl. Like,thegirl. The kind you get with and paint white fences and have kids with.”
I laugh again. “Yeah, that’s not happening. Not to me. I think my genealogy has proven that to be a ticking time bomb. No thanks.”
