Dirty Curve

by Meagan Brandy

I’d almost believe she truly didn’t want to be here if it weren’t for those big brown eyes of hers. See, every now and again, she has to look up, has to make sure I’m paying attention and what not. When she does, the second her gaze locks onto mine, her lips part, but just a tad, and she sucks in a tiny little breath.

Just last night, the ball babe waiting for me after class said she wanted my night to be hers, all so she could see the shade of blue my eyes take on when they take me on. It’s a thing, girls talk about it all the time. So yeah, my dick’s big and my eyes hold the vaginal verdict—to screw or not to screw, that is the question ... that only holds one answer. Not that I took the chick up on her offer. This girl, though, I give it to her, she’s good at hiding her lack of control. I bet it’s buried under that sweater.

What the hell? It’s not like I want her to want me, but it’s damn weird that she doesn’t. I just want to fuck with her, to tease her, to have the upper hand like I’m supposed to. But she just keeps … schooling me. “Okay, so I’m emailing you a list of options now. Pull it up and we’ll eliminate based—” “I’m hungry.” “You just ate.” “I had a sandwich.” “You had two sandwiches and a bag of jerky. And a Vitamin Water.” “I’m hungry.” She huffs, pushing to her feet without verbal complaint, so I hop up and start packing my stuff as she packs hers. “Chinese or Mexican?” I ask, glancing over to her, staring with a deep-set frown. She says nothing,

“Chinese or Mexican?” She pulls her bag over her shoulder, turning away. “The list is in your email. Try and look it over before Thursday if you have a chance, okay?” Thursday. This chick pisses me off. I cross my arms, widen my stance, and stare at her. She looks from me to my feet and back. “Don’t be difficult.” A slow smirk spreads across my face, and yet another deep sigh escapes her. Her shoulders drop an inch.

We’ve only been here for an hour and ten minutes. I got her for another fifty. “Chinese or pizza?” “I’m not hungry.” “Pizza or pasta?” “I’m not hungry.” “You’re a damn liar. Your stomach’s been growling for twenty minutes. Did you eat at all today?” She’s still that pale girl she was, but sometimes she looks like she’s rested and other times she looks like she was partying all night, and hell, maybe she is. “Not that it’s your business, but yes, I ate.” “What?” “What?” “What did you eat?” Her cheeks grow slightly pink, and she avoids my gaze, like normal. “I had a peanut butter sandwich.”

“No jelly?” She pulls fake lint off her jeans. “No jelly.” “Why not?” “Oh, my god.” She turns and walks past me, but, of course, I keep up. “Mind your own business.” “Well, I should know if my tutor is starving herself because she thinks she’s fat.” She gasps. “You’re not, by the way, so if my shitty, insensitive phentermine comment has you cutting meals. Don’t. You need to eat.” She scowls. “I said I ate.” “I don’t believe you.” “I don’t care.” “You need Chinese.” “I don’t want Chinese.” “Well, you’re eat—” “Stop!” She turns to me, resolve in her eyes, but something deeper behind them. “Please, just ... I’m walking out the door now. I’ll see you Thursday.”

No fucking way she’s trying to avoid being seen with me. Reaching out, I catch her upper arm and quickly jump in front of her. She doesn’t expect it, and she takes a step the exact moment my feet plant, bringing her right against me. All fucking on me and yeah, there’s some major miracles under this fucked-up rag she wears. I wonder if they’re real? They’re on the firmer side, full, but still offer that natural squish against my body, like I could grab ‘em good and hard and she’d like it. Would she like it?

She inhales through her narrow little nose, causing her tits to press harder into me. Those big, sandy brown eyes of hers, begging me to let go. Don’t want to. Someone bumps her with their backpack as they walk by and she stumbles closer, her hip brushing against the hard-on that came out of fucking nowhere, uninvited, yet painfully present. Her chin slowly lowers, and while she tries her hardest not to allow it, her eyes then follow. She’s looking at my jeans, and with the new angle, the scent of her freshly washed hair assaults my nose. Fuuuck, this girl smells like vanilla ice cream. I happen to love me some vanilla ice cream. “Tobias,” she whispers, looking away. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” Her brows crash. “What?” “Uh, huh.” Oh, it’s that spicy vanilla, too. “Thought maybe you were afraid of it.”

“I’m wondering why I want to fuck you all of a sudden, and why all you ever do is try real hard to get away from me.”

“Why you worried about being seen with me, Tutor Girl? Women beg for me. Being around me might be good for a girl like you. Get you noticed more.” Why would I want that? Why wouldn’t I want that? Something makes her sassy after that and she steels her spine. “Yeah, well. I’ve never felt a need to be noticed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go.”

“Why are you asking me questions that you don’t really want the answers to?” “What the fuck does that even mean?” I glare at this frustrating little thing in front of me. “What’s my name?” I open my mouth to respond, but I’m forced to pause a second and her brows lift as if she’s proving a point. “Well, what is it?” She clears her throat. “It’s Meyer.” “I like it.” I nod.

“We’re strangers, Tobias.” A hint of dejection crosses her face. “You’re here because you have to be. I’m tutoring you because it’s my job, and I’m obligated. That’s it.”

She probably thinks I ate that shit up. That I wanted the pathetic bad boy label and press that came with it. I didn’t, but the papers created him anyway, and once I realized they’d never stop, I did the only thing I could: I accepted the role.

“Message me if you need me before Thursday and I’ll do what I can.”

“And if I said I need you now?” “You’d be lying.” “I’m not a liar.” “Then I guess you won’t say it,” she whispers, her eyes lifting to mine.

Offering a small, anxious smile, she walks away, leaving me and my hard-on to fend for ourselves. Not that I wanted her to handle it. Not even a little bit. I look down, frowning at the obvious bulge in my jeans. Yup, dick begs to differ.

“That what it is?” Confused, I look to Echo. He raises a brow. “You not gettin’ any pussy playtime, my man?” I scoff and turn back to the game. “Like our walls are thick, my man.” “Oh, I hear your grunts… of frustration.” He laughs, sliding down the bench when I whip my arm out to smack him. “Imma kick your ass, Ech.” “For real, though. What’s got you all chafed?” I glance past Echo to see no one’s paying attention, and he leans in. “Shit’s gettin’ busy, bro. Games are getting deeper, the tougher part of our schedule is damn near here and with it, fuckin’ midterms are creepin’ up” I shake my head. “It’s like shit’s piling up from every direction and it’s frustrating.” “You failin’?” “Not yet, but I need all my focus to be out here on the field.” “If only it worked that way.” “Fuckin’ right?” I huff. “Thank god this is the last year of this shit.”

“You mean she ain’t bending over backward to meet your every need?” The bastard grins. “Shit, I wish she would. And if there was a girl who could meet my every need, my man, I’d beg to be her bitch.” I laugh, snatch my mitt off the seat and push to my feet. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t do the same.”

Here I’m not the Playboy Pitcher, the fame-seeking party boy people view me as. I’m not Friday night’s good time or a story to share with friends down the road. I’m not a prize that’ll lose its shine or a worthless memory that’ll fade into nothing. Here, I’m not the man the tabloids have decided I am, an egotistical jackass looking to score in more ways than one. Here, I’m Tobias Cruz, the real Tobias Cruz. The twelve-year-old boy who got up before dawn to run four miles before school. The fifteen-year-old kid who tied an old Honda tire to his waste and drug it up and down the street to gain speed. The seventeen-year-old kid who missed out on school activities because I was busy throwing pitch after pitch into a taped-up tent I bought at Goodwill. The eighteen-year-old young man, who was still trying to learn to be one, but both worried and disappointed his parents regularly because I had no time for friends and one single goal in life. To be the best at what I did.

I’m a man who knows what he wants and works his ass off to get it. Who understands there are no handouts when it comes to perfecting your craft, no shortcuts, no half-assing. Who knows, there’s no way but the hard way. The grind. The focus. The sacrifice.

Echo’s the guy who makes the call and I’m the guy who makes it happen.

Tobias

“Stop thinking about baseball and what someone else wants of you and think about what you need to do.” “I need to play in that damn game,” I tell her with a scowl. “No. You need to pass this test.” “Fine. I need to pass this test” —my brows lift as my eyes widen— “so I can play in the game.” With a sigh, Meyer drops back against her chair.

Her focus falls to the tabletop and she chews on that bottom lip of hers. She does that when she’s thinking real hard. It’s distracting as fuck. “Spill it.” Her eyes jolt to mine and she stares at me for a moment before slowly standing from her chair. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” I jump from my seat, irritated. “We’re not done. In fact, we just started. I—” “Relax.” I’m pretty sure I hear a smile in her tone, but she never lets it touch her lips. “I have an idea. Let’s go.” “Go?” I gauge her. “Yeah.” Her dark brows lift slightly, almost persuading me she’s capable of humor. “Go. Grab your stuff, this will take the rest of our time.”

“Look, I know you want to help, but now I really won’t be able to focus.” “You don’t even know why we’re here.”

Meyer drops her bag and heads to the mound, my mound. “Careful, Tutor Girl. That’s a precious piece of dirt you’re standin’ on.” I start toward her. Her hand shoots up, and she points. “Go to home plate.” I frown. “But that mound you’re standing on is my spot.” “Come on.” She rolls her eyes. “Just go with it.” Waste of fucking time.

She crosses her arms, her little hip cocking to the side. Okay, little mama means business ... and has a personality. Who knew? Widening my feet, I tip my chin. “Okay, Tutor Girl, I’ll humor you. We’ve got four bases.” Her muddy eyes meet mine and she nods. “Four bases.” “That’s what I said.” Aaand that hip pops out a bit more. Wonder if she’s double jointed? “The heart has how many chambers?” “No fucking idea, why you think I said this was a waste—” I cut myself short. Well, holy shit. A slow grin spreads across my face and she can’t hold hers in this time. I watch as those thick lips of hers pull to one side. “Four. The heart has four chambers.” She nods. “Four bases, four chambers. Good.” She steps off my mound and motions for me to take her place.

“So, the batter runs to first base ...” She nods encouragingly. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, squinting at the first baseline. “To the right, so ... the pulmonary valve sends blood to the right ventricle?” “Yes!” Meyer’s mouth curves, a wide, proud smile forming and fuck me ... I kinda want to be right again.

“Yes.” She stomps her foot, excited. “Exactly. Great job!”

She spins away from me. “Okay, time’s up today. I think you’ll do great.” “Not so fast.” I jog past her and pull out my keys, mitt, and ball from my backpack—always keep one on me. Curious, she tracks my every move, but I wink, hustling to unlock and step into the dugout. Pulling open the orange bin, I grab a bat and run back, shoving it into her hand without giving her a chance to say no. “You taught me something, let me teach you something.” She holds my gaze a moment and then drops hers to the hardwood in her hand. “Tobias…” “Come on, try. I’ll go easy on you.” She scoffs, making me grin, and when she hesitates, I add, “Don’t be afraid to get schooled, Tutor Girl.”

I’m about to instruct her on how to stand when she does it on her own, lining her feet up with the plate, her stance even with the width of her shoulders, bat raised high in the air. Okay, so she’s shown no interest in what I do, but has good form? Hmm ... I cock my head, but the girl simply stares me down, clearly aware I’ve got questions, but not wanting to divulge, so I show her the ball, letting her know it’s coming and lightly toss it to her. Meyer stands to her full height—all five foot something of it—and again, cocks that hip out. “What?” My shoulders rise innocently. “You have me standing here with a bat, the least you could do is give me something to hit.” “Okay, hotshot,” I tease. “You want some heat?” Her face flushes slightly, but she doesn’t back down and readies herself once more. I throw the ball with a bit more power. She swings and misses, a small grunt escaping her, but I don’t say a word, and she picks up the ball, throwing it back to me. The next pitch she nails, sending it sailing past short and into midfield. I watch it go, then turn back to her with my brow raised expectantly, but the girl just shrugs, rests the bat on her shoulder, and waits. A low chuckle leaves me, and I hustle for the ball and back. “Again.”

She begins to lift that hideous sweater, revealing her figure for the very first time and goddamn. It’s like opening up my gramp’s old Cracker Jack box and finding a Mickey Mantle rookie card. Girl’s been hiding some treasures. Far from skin and bones, as her slender face leads you to believe. Lucky for me, she’s looking the other way, her round, perky, and completely unexpected, ass taunting me without her knowledge. Torturing me might be a better way to put it. My fingers instantly twitch, begging to squeeze and smack it, to hold it in my palms and watch the way it moves when touched and teased, but I don’t get to envision it for long, ‘cause the girl shifts the slightest bit, sharing even more. Hips, wide and thick, made for holding on to. The thick, cheap cotton finally reaches her chest, and I run my tongue along the backs of my teeth in sudden anticipation. She tugs the thing over her head and fuck me ... So plump, so … full. They’re ready to spill, not far from toppling out of the tank she’s wearing, but as I could have guessed, that’s not her style. She pulls the top up as much as the material allows. I’d pout if I was a lesser man. I do try and get a good look, though, but she’s only half facing me, and then she tries to kill me. Meyer tugs her hair tie from her head, and lets it fall from its usual mess. Ass for days and long, tuggable hair is my sweet spot, and hers reaches her midback.

Still can’t tell if they’re fake or not, not that it matters. I love them all. Big ones, small ones, real ones, fake ones, call me Dr. Fuckin’ Suess, and right now, the doctor wants to play, are they or aren’t they? I want to touch ‘em, lick ‘em, suck ‘em, fuck ‘em, and then do it all over again. The second I force my eyes up, Meyer’s jump to meet mine, and I don’t look away. Can’t. Don’t want to.

She rushes to her bag, tearing her phone from the front pocket. This time, I know we’re done for real, so I move to put everything back in the container, lock it up, and make my way to where she’s standing. “You know, you did pretty damn—” “I have to go,” she cuts me off, runs to grab her sweater from the fence, and tugs it over her head before lifting her bag off the ground. Trips me out how she dropped it right there without a care. I’ve never known a girl who didn’t mind the dirt like that. Backpack on one shoulder, she shoves her phone in the pocket of her hoodie and begins to walk away. “I think you’ve got it, just remember the positions and plug in the correct terms.” Oh, I’m being dismissed, brushed off and forgotten until next time, like we weren’t having fun five seconds ago?

“Go over your study guide one more time tonight, but don’t look at it again after that. Not even right before the test. I’ll email you the breakdown of today’s session later tonight.”

“So, this is where slightly cool and less uptight Tutor Girl turns back into the killjoy, noted.” She gives no reaction and I’m pretty sure that’s what I’m after. It must be because I keep going. “To think, you almost seemed normal there for a second.” Her pace quickens. “So, what is it, huh? Can’t handle being around me this long, gets the juices flowin’?”

“Yeah, I noticed. You know, you really should take some of the money you’re makin’ off me and invest in a thicker pair of them tights you wear like pants, some that will hide the wet spots better.” She gasps, her head jerking in my direction, a broken glare blanketing her features. I smirk, cock my head and stare right into those brown eyes of hers. Yeah, I know, it’s sweat coating the inside of her thighs—she’s thick in the best fucking places and the sun makes you pay for nature’s kindness in providing perfect curves. Was I a dick to call her out on her worn-out leggings and unavoidable perspiration? Of course, I was, and later tonight, I’ll feel like a dick for embarrassing her, but I don’t yet.

Her eyes are on mine. Why do I want to keep them there? She swallows, whispering, “I need to go.” “Need to or want to?” Her lips press together, and her head begins to turn away, but my hand decides to fly up and hold it right where it is, facing me. My gaze falls to where my skin touches hers and heat builds in my groin. “Why don’t you try to get in my bed?” She nearly chokes, tries to escape, but I block her, and her brows cave. “I’m your tutor.” “That’s not an answer.” I lick my lips. “I can give you whatever it is you want, do whatever you like. I’m a generous man. I’d be good to you, I promise.”

“See you Friday, Tobias.” Quicker than I’d have thought her capable, she’s gone. And I’m hard as a fucking rock. For my messy, prudey, annoyingly pretty eyed, goddess-shaped tutor. The one girl seemingly immune to my charm. I don’t get it, but I want to. I want to know her. Understand her. I kind of just want to talk to her for a while. What kind of warped world is this?

Tobias

girl asked me two questions before the slow rockin’ of our center fielder’s shlong caught her eye on his deliberate, leisurely stride past us in nothing but his birthday suit, towel hanging around his neck. Yeah, a men’s locker room is not for the weak. Takes a strong man to stand next to another whose dick is out dicking his own—poor, girthless fuckers.

“I can feel you through your jeans.” I bring my beer to my lips, giving the ball babe a side-glance. “Course you can, you’ve been scratching your nails across my zipper for the last ten minutes.” Tipping my head back, I finish off the bottle and look back to the girl. “If it ain’t hard yet, it ain’t gonna be, babe. Better luck next time.”

I bob my head to the music, skimming the room for the perfect figure for tonight. I need something soft to play with. To be as productive as possible in my pursuit of pleasure, I follow the length of the wall, passing some cheap, ancient booths and an old wooden bar. They don’t update much here but the liquor and the music. Being one of the two bars we have within walking distance from campus, my guess is it’s because they know the crowd they’re getting—a bunch of rowdy students lookin’ to bury stress and blow off steam.

A chick with a killer smile winks my way and I sit up a little straighter when she angles her body to show me her profile. She’s got thick thighs, just the way I like ‘em, like she’s played softball all her life, but she’s not on the team. Those girls won’t come here. Nothing but trouble if we mix our competitive edge with theirs. They usually take up at Screwed Over Rocks with the football team. Apparently, we baseball guys are over the top and hard to handle. The girl waves her fingers my way, and slowly, purposefully, licks her full lips. That alone should have me solid, but my boy ain’t even twitching, and this is beauty number two.

I scan the room once more. As expected, not a damn thing piques my interest, just like nothing did last night or the night before or the week be-fucking-fore. I’m off my game. My dick game, that is. The poor fucker hasn’t seen the sun in a hot minute. It’s sad ass shit, like a bad BJ where there’s no fire above my groin and no curling of my toes in my Timbs. Yeah, guys’ toes curl just the same as girls’ do.

Even if I did find a girl to get me going, I’d still have to go home and handle myself or go to bed aching. Nothing satisfies anymore. The perfect shade of golden brown flashes in my mind, and if I wasn’t keenly aware of where I am, I’d swear I could smell a very specific hint of vanilla. A spicy, baggy-sweater-wearing kind.

Xavier comes out with a grin, wrapping his arms around my middle in an attempt to bring me down, but I quickly spin out of it. It’s bullshit, everybody knows he’s hot for his boy’s little sister, even if nobody says it out loud. I just like to give him a hard time. “Shit, I forgot to get my card back from the bartender.” Echo dashes back inside. “Yeah, I need to take a piss real quick,” X says, on his tail through the door.

soon as I quiet my mind, something has my eyes popping open again. A shadow catches my attention just beyond the parking lot, and I squint, attempting to see better. Hustling across the street with both hands full is Meyer. Something falls from her bags, and she bends, rushing to grab the item before continuing to cross the dark road, only to drop down on an empty bus stop bench. At eleven thirty at fucking night. Across the street from a bar. A bar full of young dumbasses. What kind of shit is that? I make my way across the street. Before I reach the divider, Meyer pushes to her feet, lifts her bags, and begins walking toward the school. “What the hell are you doing?!”

Oookay. No hello, I guess. “Nice to see you, too. Again, what the hell are you doing?” She stands tall and pushes forward. “Going home.” “Uh-huh.” I hurry to reach her side and keep in step with her. “And why exactly are you walking around by yourself late at night?” “Why are you walking by yourself?” she counters. “I’m a dude.”

“Man, you’re in a hurry. What, Jonny Boy send you out for some condoms and now you gotta rush back before the Viagra wears off?” “Oh yeah, you hit the nail on the head.” She shakes her head. My brows snap together. “Wait, really?” She stops in her tracks, whipping around to face me. “No, not really!” I try to take her bags from her hand, but she tears them away, so I lift my palms into the air and start walking when she does. “I mean, if you were, you should know that there’s condom vending machines on campus. Unless you’re coming back from the dude’s house ...” I turn toward her with a frown. “And you know what, if a man’s making you walk home—” “Stop.” “I’m serious. You should kick his ass.” “Tobias, enough.” “Okay, okay.” I face forward. “But for real, what kind of dude—” “There is no dude, Jesus!” She nearly groans.