Page 20 of Saving The Shortstop

I’d never be enough for a girl like Haven. And having sex or fooling around would only make matters worse. Especially now that she’s tutoring me, I can’t afford to blur any lines. Especially lines that would jeopardize my future in football. Not after my parents have done everything they can to help me get here.

I dress quickly before walking over to the door just as I tug my shirt over my head. “All right, the anaconda is locked in its cage,” I say, smirking. “You can come back in now.”

“More like a garden snake,” she sasses, making her way back into my room, and I don’t even argue with her because we both know that bulge in my briefs was no garden snake. “Okay, I’m here to tell you that, against my better judgment, I will continue to tutor you.”

She sits down on the edge of my bed again, leaning back on her hands. “But you can’t lie about it to your friends. That isn’t fair to me, and honestly, it’s not fair for you either. You shouldn’t be ashamed that you’re getting tutored. A lot of kids—especially athletes—need extra help sometimes. We have a lot of pressure on us. We’re busy. It’s not a big deal.”

To you, it isn’t.

I don’t tell her that because she wouldn’t get it. But I need this, so I’m not going to argue with her.

“Thank you, Haven,” I say, sitting down beside her. “I’m sorry that I acted like a pussy last night when Hale showed up.”

I say that, but truth be told, if I was put in the same situation again, I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t do the same thing all over.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her eyes looking into mine. “You have nothing to be embarrassed of though. And I need you to understand that.”

“Yeah, I know,” I lie.

Having her this close to me, our shoulders almost brushing, is making me wild. I don’t know how I’m supposed to focus while she tutors me, but I’ll have to figure it out.

My eyes float to her red lips, and I don’t have to think about what they feel like because it’s never left my mind since we kissed. I’d give anything to kiss her again, but I know I can’t.

As if she feels my gaze on her mouth, she stands up and walks toward the door. Stopping once she’s in the open doorframe, she looks over her shoulder at me.

“Dad sent me your schedule, so I know that tomorrow, you’re free from noon to two. We’ll meet in the library.” She lifts a brow. “Come ready to work. And don’t piss me off or else I’ll stab that garden snake of yours with a pencil.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I drawl, swallowing rigidly at the pencil comment. I know she’d never actually do that, but she likes to be tough, and I think—I’ve always thought—it’s cute.

“See you then,” she says before leaving. And even though I shouldn’t … I make sure to get one more look at her ass as she walks out.

And just like that, I already need another fucking shower.

NINE

HAVEN

“Still drinking that shit, I see,” Dallas utters when I crack open my can of Dr Pepper. “Careful, the librarian will come over here and yell at you.”

“The librarian loves me,” I coo, taking a sip and sighing. “And it’s not crap. It’s the best soda ever to be invented.”

“It’s ranked one of the worst for your body,” he says, matter-of-factly.

“Yeah, well, I don’t think whatever alcohol you were pouring down your throat the other night was that great for you either, QB.” I look at him, lifting a brow. “Not to mention, I know a man who would whoop your ass if he found out that you were getting drunk the night before a practice during a week you have a game.”

“Practice wasn’t till afternoon,” he tosses back. “And the game isn’t until Friday.”

“Yeah, see, I don’t think your coach would care about either of those things.” I wave my hand toward his computer. “All right, let me see what you’ve got.”

I read through his work, occasionally changing a letter that I know he meant to be something else. Eventually, I am going to bring it up to him that I think he could qualify for some accommodations, but not yet. He’s far too self-conscious about himself, and right now, I want to build trust in this tutor-student relationship. Sure, we’ve known each other for years, but this is different. This takes something I don’t usually have: patience and grace.

Sliding the laptop back over to him, I nod. “That looks great. I think you really understood the assignment. You should be proud.”

“Right,” he utters, and it’s almost as if he doesn’t believe me. His eyes narrow as he gazes from me to the screen.

“Dallas, I’m serious,” I say, and knowing I hit save when I just checked his work, I gently push it closed. “It really is great work,” I promise him, meaning it. “You did good. And we’re done for today.”

Is it a piece of work that’s going to be published for some huge award—no. Probably not. But it’s work that is going to earn him a solid grade, and that’s what’s important.