Either way, next time we met, he was getting it in the neck.
It could have been a one-off. He wasn’t a partier; I’d checked out his socials before our first proper meeting. I did it with everystudent I tutored. I wasn’t going to waste my time if they weren’t going to give metheirtime. Current pain in the ass excluded.
I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. My phone buzzed, and I reached for it, almost dreading what I was going to see on social media this time. It wasn’t a post; it was a text message from Dante.
Wrong.
It was aphotoof Dante, half dressed — wearing nothing but simple dark sleep shorts — lying on top of his bed, holding up a textbook from his reading list.
“Asshole,” I grumbled, but I knew I was smiling.
QB10: You shouldn’t doubt me
“You’re still a jerk,” I grumbled, knowing I couldn’t send that. Then I thought, fuck it.
Me: You’re still a jerk.
Me: Start from page 53.
The dots came and went, and then I received his text — a saluting emoji.
“This will never work,” I mumbled to myself as I put my phone down and snuggled under my blanket. But before I went to sleep, I gave a chuckle at his relentless charm.
I wasn’t laughing the next morning when my dad sent me the screenshot of Dante in the bar with the question,I thought you tutored him on Tuesday?
“Fuck.”
My dad was always watching. Why had I forgotten that?
* * *
Yet another morning of me waiting outside the training facility for Dante Freaking Spence to wander out without a care in the world.
He didn’t see me; he was deep in conversation with one of the guys he’d been out with last night. It was the other guy, Dustin Slater who also played offense. He nudged Dante, and they both looked over.
I would have given money to hear what QB10 muttered as they walked over.
“Sav?” He ran his eyes over me. “Again? This is getting kind of stalkerish, don’t you think?”
Please God, don’t let me scream at him.
The other guy snickered, and I shot him a look that wiped the smile from his face.
“This is Dustin Slater,” Dante said. “He’s our star wide receiver.”
“Hi.”
Dante leaned in and mock-whispered. “That means when I throw the ball, he catches it.”
Dustin snickered again.
“Iknowwhat a wide receiver is, Ten,” I snapped. “You wear eleven, right?”
The guy smiled. His teeth were a striking white, not the artificial or naturally impossible pure white. They appeared even brighter against his dark skin. Like Dante, this guy was winning hearts whenever he smiled.
Like Dante, Savvy? Really?
“I need to talk to you,” I told the annoyance in my life.
