I roll my shoulder clockwise, and then counterclockwise, stretching through the slight ache before pulling some Tiger Balm from my bag.
Meyer looks up from the packet she printed out at the tutoring center this morning, watching as I dig two of my fingers into the little container. “What is that?” she wonders.
“Ever heard of Icy Hot?”
She nods.
“Kind of like that. It’s an all-natural pain reliever, calms my joints.”
“Does your shoulder hurt a lot?”
“My legs, my arms, shoulders.” I chuckle when her brows shoot up. “It’s nothing past normal. I don’t really give my muscles a break much, but this helps.”
She stares as I glide the thick Vaseline-like ointment over my right bicep and shoulder, and my lips twitch when her lips part the tiniest bit. I’m thinking she realized it too, because she then darts her eyes to the paper again. “Um, okay, that’s the last of the questions for anatomy. I highlighted the ones you need to add to your flash cards before the next session.”
I nod, accepting the paper when she hands it to me and push to my feet.
“You know, you’re really good at what you do.”
Her eyes fly to mine, and the surprise in her expression tells me she didn’t expect such a compliment from me.
“I’m serious, you’ve got a knack for what you do.”
A hint of pink colors her cheeks and she looks down. “Thank you.”
“Is that what you want to do?” I ask her, suddenly curious. “Be a teacher, college professor maybe?”
A hesitant laugh escapes her, and she stands, beginning to pack her bag as I do. “I do, yeah. I think people would reach a little higher, believe in themselves more if more people care to help them understand. I’d like to do that for someone.”
“You do that now.”
Again, her gaze flashes to mine, small creases forming along her forehead, as if she’s confused, but she shouldn’t be.
“You do.”
“I don’t know about that, but …”
I step closer to her. “You do. You work hard. You care and it shows.”
She stares at me a long moment, and then she forces a small shrug. “Nah, I just want to have the summer and holidays off work,” she mocks herself.
I laugh and hers follows.
Glancing over at the mound, I turn back to her. “You want to learn how to throw a curve?”
“What?” she chuckles.
“Let me show you.”
She crosses her arms, her lips pinching to one side. “You want to show me how to execute your secret weapon?”
“Ah, so you do know a little about my game.”
She rolls her eyes, but it’s playful. “I’d have to be blind, deaf, and basically never step foot on campus not to.”
“Or you low-key stalk me.”
She laughs, shouldering past me with a lively glint in her brown eyes, and she doesn’t stop until she’s on the mound. “Okay, Playboy. School me.”
With a smirk too deep to hide, I grab the ball from the dirt and head her way, keenly aware that our mandated time together ended exactly seventeen minutes ago.
And the girl’s still here.
Meyer might know how to hit, but the girl can’t throw a ball for shit.
Grinning, I hop to my feet and jog the five steps up and over to pick up the ball where it fell.
“I told you I was no good.”
“I believe you now.”
She laughs, dropping her head back, and my eyes fly to the slender length of her neck.
I bet it’s smooth and soft, a spot that fires her up.
Right then, her hand lifts, gently encasing it as if to rub the heat beaming down from above away. She’s facing forward right as I reach her, and as her eyes lock on mine, the ball falls from my hand.
With a small frown, she bends to pick it up, and as she stands, I can’t stop myself, I dart a hand out, catch her around the wrist.
She tenses, her gaze snapping to mine, and while she swallows, she doesn’t pull away. So, I tug her into me. I’m talking right on me.
Her copper eyes are wide and unsure, a little uneasy but a little more intrigued.
I shift a little closer and she chases a choppy breath.
Gliding my thumb a little higher on her wrist, I press right over her pounding pulse, not missing how it begins to knock a little harder.
Her fingers tighten around the ball and heat builds in my gut.
I want to feel her tighten around me.
Tense under me.
Moan for me.
She swallows. “I should go.”
“I should kiss you.”
“Tobias—”
“I might fucking kiss you.”
“Please don’t,” she begs, and now all I can think about is driving her mad, fucking wild, until she begs for something else.
My eyes flick to her lips, my tongue coming out to drag along my own. “Make me a promise and I won’t.”
Her feet shuffle nervously. “What kind of promise?”
“That when you want to kiss me, you will.”
“I …” She looks down, but I use my knuckle to bring her focus right back.
“Promise me, and if you never want to, it won’t matter.”
But you’ll want to. I’m thinking you already do …
She nibbles on her lower lip and my chest rumbles against hers.
I want to pull it in my mouth, apologize to it for the torture she’s inflicting, and then cause some of my own. I want to taste her so fucking bad.
Meyer’s features pull, and her answer is nothing more than a harrowing whisper. “Okay.”
My muscles flex. “Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.” She nods, attempting to pull free, but I’m not quite ready to let go, not even when she tries and fails to change the subject with her next breath. “You know, if you pass this exam and your midterm next week, you’ll have your eighty percent in this class.”
“Kinda want the girl more.”
She cuts her eyes away, chastising herself. “You were supposed to be an asshole.”
My chuckle is heady, and my palm slides into her hair. “Did I disappoint?”
Reluctantly, she smiles up at me, but it holds that hint of heavy she always seems to carry, and I know.
“You have to go.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, her fingers twitching beneath mine. “I really do.”
I hate it and it takes a fuck-ton of strength, but I force my hand to fall from hers and take a single step away.
“See you on Thursday, Tutor Girl.”
At first, she hesitates, as if maybe she doesn’t want or can’t bring herself to go, and I wonder if she might just stay, but she doesn’t.
She takes slow, backward steps away from me, and then spins to grab her things.
I pack up as she does, trying to ignore how she leaves without another word, but just as I get the last ball in the bucket, she calls out.
“You didn’t, by the way.”
My head lifts, finding her just outside the fence, maybe thirty feet away.
I rest my arm on the net, nodding my chin. “Didn’t what, Tutor Girl?”
“Disappoint.” Her smile is hidden, but her words are strong. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”
My grin is instant, but she turns away before giving me hers.
I know it’s there, though.
I can feel it.
I had to cancel on Meyer tonight due to a mandatory film session with the team, and our next session isn’t until Sunday. I could wait, but I’d rather not, so instead of hiding out in the dark tonight and silently making sure she gets home safe, I decide the burger joint is where I’ll be eating dinner.
I spot her through the painted glass the second I pull into the parking lot, that forever bun on top of her head.
She’s got a pitcher in one hand and a tray in the other, and the second I walk through the door, her eyes pop up to mine.
At first, she freezes, but slowly, a smile spreads along her lips and she walks over with a single brow raised. “Table for one or is your date coming?”
“Nah, she couldn’t make it.” I shrug, bringing myself closer to her. “She’s working at this little burger joint in town.”
Playfully flicking her eyes to the ceiling, she leads me to the bar top in front of the cooks, so I plant my ass on one of the round stools, leaning forward as she steps around the counter.
“What can I get you to drink, Mr. Cruz?”
“What time you get off, Miss … wait. What’s your last name?”
Her eyes dart to the coffeepot she’s reaching for and lifts it up from its base. “It’s Sanders and I get off at ten.”
She heads down the aisle, refilling an elderly couple’s glasses before moving to the opposite side of the room.
Well okay then.
Looks like I’m here until ten.
Deciding to wait in the truck after I get my order, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know, she’s knocking on the window.
I roll it down and her hands come up to grip around the frame.
“You didn’t need to wait for me.” She looks toward the road and back.
“Get in.” I turn the key over.
It takes her a moment, but then she comes around the truck and slips inside. “You knew I worked here, didn’t you?”
“I might have seen you in your apron one night.”
“Seen me … where?”
“Headed home.”
“Headed home…” She trails off with suspicion. “Tobias?”
At the stop sign, I meet her big brown, uneasy eyes. “I went back to the bar a couple times, not once with the intention of stepping foot inside it.”
Her chest rises with a full breath.
“Why?” she wonders, so I tell her.
“I don’t like the idea of you being out at night alone, so I made sure you weren’t.”
“Lots of people walk home alone at night.”
“I don’t want you to be one of them.”
She opens her mouth but closes it just as quickly.
“I’ll pick you up every night I can, if you let me.” A grin slips over me. “And if you don’t, it’ll be like the first night, and I’ll follow you anyway.”
She lets out a small laugh, but tension quickly builds along her brows, and she looks away. “So, you know where I live then?”
“Nope.” I shake my head and in my peripheral, I spot hers turn toward me. “Once you were safe and with the campus security, I went home.” After I answer her question, I realize something, so I put her mind at ease. “If you don’t want me to know where you live, I can take you to campus, or you can walk from my house, which is just across the street on the far-left end.”
She doesn’t say anything but begins tugging at the hem of her long-sleeved shirt, so I turn onto the main road that leads to the front of the campus, but just as we pass the park side, she tells me to turn, bringing me down a narrow street about as big as an alleyway that’s lined with small rows of apartments. They’re the kind that look like they might have been a motel at one point but were broken up and sold in chunks. Some are nicer than others, but they’re all sort of jammed together.
“You can stop here,” she says, unbuckling her seat belt and turning to me. “Thank you, for tonight and for … the nights I didn’t know you were there.”
“You mean I didn’t just win a gold medal in the art of stalker mode?”
A laugh spurts from her and the strain in her shoulders disappears.
“No, you didn’t. Bronze maybe, but you know.” She lifts a shoulder, a small smirk playing at her lips.
“Hey now. I haven’t been reduced to bronze in years. Okay, maybe I should have followed you home.”
Her smile is wide, but she turns away, looking back with only her eyes. “Seriously, thanks. Sometimes it is kind of scar—”
Meyer’s head snaps up, her eyes narrowing out the front window, and then in a rush, throws the door open and jumps from the cab.
“Hey, what—?!” I shout, quickly rushing out after her.
What the hell?
She pretty much runs forward.
“It’s okay, let me get you settled, okay?” someone says, half their body sticking out an old green Camry.
“Bianca!” Meyer shouts. “What happened?” she panics.
The girl, who I can now see is Bianca, whips out in alarm, but swiftly settles when she realizes it’s Meyer approaching what must be her car.
“Oh, thank god!” She steps from the door. “I think Bay’s mimi is in your bag, and I can’t for the life of me find the spare. I was going to run out and get one.”
“Oh shit.” Meyer’s words are stressed, but her body seems to relax with Bianca’s answer, and she starts digging through her purse, pulling out and holding up something in her palm.
Bianca throws her hands up in a praising motion as Meyer slips past her, poking her head into the back seat.
That’s when Bianca spots me, a shrill shriek leaving her. “What the fuck!”
I chuckle, lifting my hat from my head and flipping it backward. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
At my voice, Meyer freezes, half her body stuck inside the vehicle, as if she forgot I was here, or didn’t realize I got out of the truck when she did.
Slowly, the knee on the back seat extends, her left foot planting back on the ground with her right and she comes out of the car, a ball of blanket in her hands.
Her eyes flick to mine and she steps from under the carport, back into the light.
A small cry fills the air, but then Meyer begins to bounce her arms, and the soft sound fades away.
Not a ball of blanket, a baby.
“You should go.” Meyer nods, turning toward what must be her apartment, but she pauses, cautiously facing me once more when my feet shuffle a little closer.
Meyer keeps her straining eyes on mine as I approach and they stay there when I reach her, but mine fall to the fluffy white blanket.
I peek through the small opening near her chest to find a teeny, tiny little thing. A baby girl, if the pink pacifier tucked into her mouth tells me anything.
The little one’s eyes are closed and the blanket’s pulled tight, so I can’t see much else, so I step back, looking to her mama.
“I’ll see you Sunday?”
She stares a long moment, sort of frozen and unsure, but then she gives a small nod.
So, I turn, walk back to my truck, and as I climb inside, it all clicks.
This is why Meyer runs on fumes most of the time. She’s not out partying or doing whatever the fuck it is most of us here do. The girl’s out working herself to death with assholes like me all afternoon, and at the burger joint into the night. When she’s not, she’s got her own classes to manage and taking care of a baby.
Her baby.
Trip. The fuck. Out.
I don’t know how the hell a college student can have a baby and still get shit done. Hell, I don’t know how anyone can get shit done with a kid, but she seems to do it like a boss.
She’s structured, organized, and on top of her tutor game.
It’s no wonder she tries to keep her mornings for herself.
Here I am, the dick who basically threatened her into adding me anytime I’ve needed her to by using my tightknit relationship with her boss. I realize now that shit worked too well.
She never complains, is always available for me, and goes out of her way to be where I need her to. I’ve taken her mornings, afternoons, and nights. Weekdays and weekends and even others’ study times when necessary. I know because I’ve seen her calendar book lying open before, scratches through other last names and mine scribbled in below or beside it.
Honestly, I’m with her more than I need to be because I fucking like to be.
I want to be.
But she’s with me out of obligation.
In my driveway, I pull my phone from the cup holder and bring up her name. I type out a text canceling the Sunday session I just confirmed, but before I can hit send, I remember what my coach told me.
She makes more when she works with me, so maybe if I fall behind again, just by a little, I can get more hours with her. Maybe then she can breathe a bit easier, take fewer shifts at her second job, and have more time at home with her baby.
I delete the text and send a new one.
And then I stare at my phone, an unexpected anxiousness in my gut as I wait for her response.
