We’re not even an hour in and she’s pissy she hasn’t mastered irregular verbs, which means I’m choosing my words carefully and hoping she doesn’t bite my head off the next time I remind her the rules she keeps trying to use for these verbs don’t apply.
“I’m sorry,” she says, throwing down her pen after her fifth failed attempt at conversation. “I just suck at Spanish.”
“No, you don’t. These verbs are tough.” I can tell she’s ready to quit, and I’m not letting that happen. I want this for her. I want to be the reason she succeeds.
Her hands are tight fists on the tabletop. “I must be nuts to think I can make this work. Trying to become fluent in a matter of months?”
“You’re definitely nuts, but it’s a safe bet you’ve been that way a long time. The Spain thing, though? You’re already making it work.”
She snorts. “Sam always used to say I lacked focus. He hated it.”
“Sam sounds like a fuckin’ snooze fest.”
She allows herself a small smile. “I guess so. He was probably right, though. I don’t know how you stay so dedicated to football week after week, year after year.”
“It’s easy. Just have no other options.” When she gives me a doubtful look, I add, “I’m serious. I’m not good at anything else.”
“No way that’s true. Hello, you’re teaching me Spanish!”
“Yeah, okay, you’re right. I could either be an NFL quarterback or an unpaid Spanish tutor. Tough choice.”
“I don’t believe you’re not good at anything else. Unless you’re paying someone to do all your schoolwork for you. Shafer’s not an easy school.”
“I do my own schoolwork—I’ve got the shitty grades to prove it. But forget hobbies. I crush in football. There is nothing else.”
She thinks on that, considering me, before she answers. “Hate to be the one to tell you this, but football is the least interesting thing about you.”
I’m caught in the look she gives me, feline eyes watching me from underneath her long lashes. The space between us seems to shrink.
“Anyway,” she says, breaking my gaze. “I respect your dedication to football. I just don’t have that kind of drive.”
“Is that what you think or what Sam thinks? Because I look at your plans and you wouldn’t have made it this far if you weren’t driven.”
“Uh-huh.” She turns to the paper on the table.
“I mean it. You can’t let his words become your thoughts.”
“You should add motivational speaker to your list of potential careers.”
“Actually, I stole that from my high school coach.”
“Plagiarist.”
She’s trying to keep it light, but I don’t want to. I’ve hated Sam since the night at the bar when he made Jade cry, and I don’t want her to let him off the hook. “Seriously, Jade. Sam’s a complete dick. Get him out of your head.”
She looks at me sharply. “He is out of my head. The relationship left a couple scars, that’s all. Don’t they all?”
“I wouldn’t know, but I’d like to think not. Maybe scars are a sign of a shit relationship.”
She scowls. “It wasn’t a shit relationship.”
“If he hurt you this bad? It was. He was never good enough for you.”
“You don’t even know him, so how could you know anything about our relationship?”
“Well, there’s what you’ve told me. And there’s what’s completely obvious to anyone with eyes.”
“Is that right?” she asks, irritation simmering in her voice.
