Well, that was just rude to call me out on it. I’d wanted to get to the studio. IthoughtI’d been subtle.
Defense was what I needed. “Says the guy who’s been reading his phone since I got here?”
“Since you got here?” Dante made a big show of looking at the clock over his shoulder. Again. “You mean the five, no,sixminutes you’ve been in the room?”
“You’re being childish.”
“Childish?” He gave me that cool, impenetrable stare. “I’m stating facts.”
“Chapter twenty-three, let’s start,” I snapped at him, failing to hide my irritation.
“Shall I read it out loud for you?”
Do not scream in the library, Savvy.“Real mature, QB10.”
An uneasy silence stretched between us as he flicked open his textbook and started to read, as I berated myself for losing my control with him. I didn’t lose patience with students. Not like this. It was him — there was something about him that just made me... irrational.
I needed to mend this before it broke any further, or else I would never be able to lie to myself and say I’d given it my best.
“This isn’t personal, Spence,” I said, closing my notebook, ready to start again.
“Could’ve fooled me,Cole.”
Oh fuck off.
My voice was as flat as his. “You know whatIthink? I think you don’t like the fact that you need help with this class.”
“Or maybe,” he said, completely ignoring my jab as he pretended to read, “you just don’t like anyone calling you out.”
“You’re not...” I looked away, shaking my head, remembering my father wanted me close to Dante.Damn it.I breathed through frustration. “You need to work with me, Dante, if you want to pass.”
“Youjustsaid I didn’t need you.” He leaned back, chair tipping on two legs, the picture of insolent defiance.
“No, what I said was you’re smart enough to do this in your sleep and you haven’t bothered, which iswhyyou need me.”
“Guess we’re both going to have a long semester, then.”
“Guess we are.”
We stared each other down for a beat too long before I broke it, flipping my notebook closed. “Fine, let’s call it. I don’tthink you’re in the right mood to study.” I glanced up at him and saw that usual impenetrable stare, only tonight, instead of intimidating me, it made my stomach flip. “Same time next week,” I snapped at him, wincing internally at how harsh I sounded.
“Lucky me,” he drawled, but there was an edge under it now. He shoved his chair back, the scrape loud in the small room. The textbook and laptop were placed with care into his backpack, meticulous even in temper, I noted.
He slung the backpack over his shoulder, and I saw him wince slightly.
“You okay?” I asked, and for one brief moment, I thought I saw a look of panic in Mr. Ice’s eyes.
“See you later, Sav.”
By the time the door shut behind him, my pulse was still pounding. “Of course you have somewhere else to be,” I muttered bitterly. “Heaven forbid the golden boy risk being accountable. Or thatImight have somewhere to be.”
I sat there, pulse thudding harder than it should have. Then I reminded myself I didn’t care if he failed out of the program. It wasn’t my job to save football’s favorite son, no matter what the student liaison description said.
Dad’s words from yesterday kept echoing in my mind: to keep him posted on anything unusual. Was this unusual? A student failing a class they clearly disliked, cutting a tutoring session short.
No. It wasn’t. I’d had plenty of students walk out on me. Dante was just more...irritatingthan any of my previous students. Possibly more irritating than them all combined.
God, I hated what Dad had asked. Hated feeling like a spy. But then, after that, it was easy to dislike Dante for just being... him.
