“It’s not a problem, I’ll do it,” I said, eager to take any opportunity to leave this mind-numbing dinner. Even if it meant replacing it with a football player. Dad would be unhappy. But the thought of another hour of Mrs. Perfume was unbearable. “I’m happy to help.”
My father’s eyes narrowed a fraction — a silent reminder that in his world, football players were headline risks, not people. “My daughter, so willing to sacrifice her free time.”
As if being here wasmychoice for how to spend my free time, but I said nothing, just gave Kylie the go-ahead to email the information I needed.
Kylie trailed after me into the crisp night air, the sharp scent of damp pavement replacing the perfume and polished wood of the banquet hall. “I’m so sorry for the last-minute notice,” she said. “What was the dinner for this time?” she asked me, looking over her shoulder to ensure no one was behind us. “Or does it matter if you get to eat steak all the time?”
I let out a little laugh. “Notallthe time,” I told her with a smile. “I think that was the first time sincelastWednesday.” I pulled my phone from my purse. “This evening’ssoiréewas for alumni donors of the sciences.”
“Dear God, Savvy, how do you keep smiling?” Kylie gave me a sympathetic smile. “When do you ever get to study?”
I could have had a mini rant. I could have stopped and let out every bottled emotion. I could have... I could have done a lot of things. Instead, I shrugged.
“It can get tedious, but they can also be interesting.” I caught the look she gave me. “Okay, tonight wasn’t the best example,” I added with a rueful smile. “I won’t say I welcomed the interruption... but I won’t say I didn’t either,” I added with a wink.
Kylie laughed. “Well, in that case, you’re welcome. He’s in meeting room twenty-one at the library. His academic record just needs a quick perusal, and a plan in place for some tutoring. Shouldn’t take long.”
I nodded, checking my phone — five after seven. Great. Nothing like walking in late to meet the campus ‘superstar.’
The heels were a mistake. My calf muscles were screaming by the time I crossed campus, thank God it wasn’t raining. The stadium, where my football star shone, cut across the skyline in the distance — an ominous reminder of exactly whose orbit I was about to step into.
The library was quiet when I stepped inside, the kind of hush that felt both peaceful and oppressive. Libraries were supposedto be quiet, but tonight, there was a charge to the silence, or maybe I was having moments of fancy. Not something I was prone to, but I felt anxious about this meeting. Which was silly. As a liaison with the Academic Association, I’d tutored many students in my time. So, he was a football player. My first athlete to tutor. But at the end of the day, Dante Spence was a student just like me.
But Dante Spence wasnothinglike me.
He was the quarterback of the Alabama Lions. He was incredibly talented.
I also knew that, as part of their athletic scholarships, the Academic Association offered tutoring packages; after all, athletes had demanding schedules, but they still needed to study just like the rest of us if they wanted to graduate.
I followed the signs for the meeting room, my pace quick but deliberate, until I reached the door marked twenty-one.
I exhaled once, smoothed my dress, and opened it.
The room was empty. Damn it. He’d left because I was late. I turned to leave, and then I spotted him before my brain had time to prepare for it.
He was in the corner of the meeting room at the window, looking out across campus. Still. Not restless, not bored —watching. Even alone in an empty room, he looked like he was calculating something.
Six feet plus of muscle in jeans and a hoodie.
The legend in the flesh. Quarterback extraordinaire.
My pulse gave an involuntary kick as I drank in his side profile.
Dante Spence wasgorgeous.
He wasn’t in his football jersey; he was dressed casually, and I don’t think I’d ever seen him dressed normally.
I’d seen him on the field, seen the replays on the sports channels, but standing this close was different. Camerasflattened people; they couldn’t capture the way someone’s presence filled a room. Dante Spence had that kind of presence — bigger than the space he occupied, as if the stadium lights were still on him even in a beige-walled meeting room.
His thick, light blond hair was shorter now than it had been two weeks ago. It was neater at the sides, pulling attention to a jaw that looked even sharper in real life than on TV.
He turned then, and my gaze clashed with his. Pale blue eyes, focused, carrying that quiet, infuriating calm that the sports reports always said made him impossible to read. I admired it when he played. The cool calmness. But one-on-one, it was a little intimidating.
He didn't fidget. He didn't fill the silence. He just watched me, and I felt it everywhere at once. It made something low in my stomach twist in a way I didn’t want to name.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I said, moving into the room and closing the door behind me. I slipped off my black coat and draped it over the back of the chair beside me.
His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he moved toward the table with grace and confidence. Dante sat down and then flashed me the smile that had been plastered everywhere for weeks, if not months. Despite myself, I felt a flicker of something in my chest and quickly squashed it. Whatever it was, it was definitelynotan appropriate reaction from a tutor toward a student.
