Dirty Curve

by Meagan Brandy

The fuck? Oh, but I’m getting my A ... in the form of A pain in the ass who, as of this morning, was assigned to me, with clear instructions to ‘use my head, the one attached to my shoulders.’ I’m pretty sure those were my Coach’s exact words. I miss a few assignments and the man drops the gauntlet on me. Mandatory tutoring to keep my ass on track, as if I fucked off the first three weeks of the semester too bad already to make up the difference. I didn’t but fuck it. Coach always knows best. Which is why, on this fine Tuesday evening, the one day this week my team’s not on the field, I’m forced to make a quick run to meet the chick who’s supposed to help me pass.

I put on my best grin and wait for her head to shoot up as she grows closer, for her to peek up at me, flutter her lashes, and apologize for trying to pawn me off, then beg me to let her make it up to me by going down, but she doesn’t do any of those things either. She walks on by, like nothing. Doesn’t try and rub up on me. Doesn’t linger, hoping I’ll grace her with more, be it a quick conversation or impromptu invitation. The girl doesn’t even look my way and then she’s gone. My entire body twists with her speedy exit, now facing the direction she disappeared. Confused, I subconsciously grip the bill of my hat, lift it an inch, all to pull it right back in place. The fuck just happened here?

I spin to find Vivian already helping herself out of her dress, not requiring or desiring my help. Not interested in pregaming. No flirty fun or fired-up foreplay.

I swallow a heavy sigh, toss my hat, and tug my hoodie over my head. Typical fucking Tuesday.

Bianca is my biggest confidant and the only person who knows some of the troubles I face, keyword being some.

She’s tall and thin while I’m short and currently a good twenty-something pounds past my norm, which is still heavier than she could ever be. I’m on the quieter side and keep to myself, more so now than ever, where she can have a bit of a wild side sometimes. She’s confident, outgoing, and, inadvertently, the life of the

I pull myself up, walk toward that tiny room in the corner, and slowly push the door the rest of the way open. My gloomy mood disappears instantly, and I step inside with a smile that matches the one staring back at me. “Hi, baby girl.”

So, yeah. I’m feeling good ... that is until I’ve reached the top step of the stairs leading to the library, and no messy-looking bun is in sight. Stuffing the last bite of my breakfast burrito into my mouth, I look at my watch, and a frown builds along my forehead.

It all becomes clear right then and there. He shakes his head. “She never works before twelve and she would never miss an appointment.” My left brow lifts slightly, and I grin. “She your girl?” His white skin turns as pink as his polo, and he defends, “no!” “But you want her to be.” “She’s my friend, that’s all,” he swears, as if it really matters. “I bet you’ve got your friend’s number.” I cock my head and I think he might be ready to hyperventilate. “Can you tell her to come here, now? I need—” Shit. I can’t tell him and risk my eligibility. “I need to talk to her. Quick.”

Me: It’s Tobias. I’ve been waiting, Tutor Girl. Where you at? I stare at my phone and then stare some more.

I scroll up, make sure it was sent, double-check the number, and then lift my phone in the air just in case. Nothing happens. A full minute passes and still, no text back. What’s that about? Did I pay my phone bill? Yup, I did. Coach responded instantly, like he’s supposed to. Like they all do. With a frown, I suck it up and call the man, knowing I don’t have my assignments to turn in, so class isn’t an option.

“She sorta … has my work.” “... what do you mean she has your work?” When I don’t respond, he sighs into the line. “Damn it, Tobias.” A sour tang coats my mouth, and I squint at the sun. “Sorry, Coach.” Should have just sucked it up and did it, dumbass. “All right.”

I knew Coach would have my back. He always does. Strike one, little tutor.

“Are you trying to lose this job, Meyer? Because as you know, I can make that happen.”

hate when he threatens my position like this, as if I didn’t get this tutoring job on my own merit, but being he pulled me into his department, he does now have complete control over my main source of income. Keep your claws sharp but hidden. “I only had two appointments today and both were rescheduled last night.” “Cut the shit, Meyer, all right? You know exactly what I’m talking about. You listen good, when Tobias Cruz calls, answer. If he texts, respond. Wants an impromptu session, make it happen.” “You act like I’m the one who canceled our first session, and I didn’t even know he tried to call until five minutes ago.”

“I turned my phone off last night because Bailey’s—” I swallow. “I just had a long night.” “This is your job. Do it o...

“I’ll call him and tell him you’re ill, just this once, and you will get a hold of him tomorrow.” I don’t know if he was waiting for a thank you, but he doesn’t get one. “Understood, but be sure to let your protégé know that I won’t be doing anyone’s work. Ever.” He doesn’t respond but I know he heard me. He hangs up and I hang my head in defeat, not bothering to lift it as I read the text that comes through seconds later, a threatening warning from the man to never force him to have to call me again. Because he wouldn’t call if he didn’t have to. The tears I held off fall onto my bare feet, soaking back into my skin as if to remind me it’s no one else’s job to catch them. Bailey wheezes from the living room, a cry from the pain her barky little cough causes her inflamed airway following. My sick baby girl.

Student T. Cruz: I’m here, Tutor Girl. Prompt enough for you?

I stare at the name I’ve programmed him under, trying to keep my frown hidden as I look at Bianca. “I have no idea what to think.” “Well.” Bianca laughs. “I guess you’re fated to find out.” Am I?

My head snaps up when a bulky ass bag is slowly set onto the tabletop. I follow the pasty hand that hesitates to let the thing go to find a pale-skinned brunette with bed head and that oversized sweater I remembered sliding into the seat across from me. Ever the patient guy, I wait for her to say hi, make eye contact or acknowledge my presence in some way, but she doesn’t.

I focus on her face again, and while she has yet to bring her eyes to mine, the girl’s fully aware mine are locked onto hers. A tinge of color brightens her fair cheeks.

“Okay, so I’m not as prepared as I should be. I don’t have your assignment list on hand, so if your professor hasn’t had a chance to input recent work, I’ll need you to tell me what it is we need to work on today.” She opens her laptop and begins typing. “I’m a little tight on time tonight, so we have to stop right at the two-hour mark.” She wants to cut to the chase. I get it, get in, get out, right? But the girl still hasn’t looked up and now I’m getting pissed.

“Tutor Girl ...” I drag out, cocking my head to the side. “Look at me.” Her shoulders stiffen and she gives herself an extra second by running her tongue across her rust-colored lips before sitting back in the chair. She tucks her chin in and a little to the right, slowly lifting her eyes to mine. It’s as if she’s afraid to meet my gaze head-on, but now that she’s forced herself to make the move, she doesn’t cower or quickly flick them away. She stares, pretty sure without breathing, and I stare right back. Girls got a soft-looking face, like she uses lotion or something on it, and her eyes, they’re a strange brown, like a rainy day, postponed game, mud brown. A rusty red-brown, kind of like her lips. She could use a couple days of sleep with the dark circles under her eyes and maybe a burger or some sun. Her body’s hidden, so I can’t tell if she’s bones under all that mess or if she has curve appeal. She fidgets, and unable to maintain eye contact, glances away, but I keep staring, watching her grow more on edge, more uneasy, and it hits me. Oh, hell no. “Are you a tweaker?” Her eyes slice to mine. “What?” “You heard me.”

Her mouth is agape, but quickly twists in anger. “Are you freaking kidding me right now?” she hisses in a whisper. I lift my hands. “Look, I get you’re hired through the university, but I can’t have a drug addict around me. Bad press and all that. I deal with enough bullshit from the school paper as it is.” “I assure you.” She holds my gaze strongly now. “I am not on drugs.” “Not even a little phentermine to get ya goin’?” I raise a dark brow. Her cheeks are kind of hollow ... Her lips pinch into a tight line and she fights a glare, putting on her professional cap when, visually speaking, she looks anything but. “Thanks for your interest in whether or not I eat highly addictive diet pills like candy, but if you’re done with your passive aggressive way of pointing out I’m not a size four, can we move along?” “Whoa.” I jolt forward in my chair. “That is not what I meant. I was only saying—” “I don’t care,” she cuts me off. “Can we get started or not...

“Yeah, all right.” I lean forward, resting my forearms on the fake wood. “We’ll start, but real quick, let’s get this outta the way, yeah?” The pull in her brows tells me she’s paying attention and maybe even a little more nervous than before. “I really gotta get this shit done, so can you try to keep this ‘I’d rather shit Flamin’ Hot Cheetos than be here with you’ act you got going until we’re at least halfway done? Not sure I could say no right now—game days amp me up and I could use the release.” She stares, eyes wide, and then a quick, unexpected laugh bubbles out of her. And you know what? It ain’t a bad laugh. I grin. Suddenly, she stops, her fingers flying to her mouth as if to keep the sound inside.

“I have a lot on my plate, Tutor Girl, and it might sound shitty, but what overwhelms you isn’t something I can afford to worry about.” “I’m aware,” instantly flies from her mouth. It’s not harsh or damning; in fact, it’s soft and nearly whispered,

but by the way her eyes widen the slightest bit, I think she wishes she hadn’t said a word.

She sits straighter in her seat, and for the first time since she arrived, I see an outline of breast. It appears there may be something hiding under that ugly ass sweater, after all.

“Coach’s orders.” That right there sets her straight. Literally. Her spine squares as her entire body grows rigid, and all signs of stress vanish from her face. In fact, any sign of life vanishes from her altogether. “He told you I’d tutor you in both?” My smirk is slow. “He told me to take up every spare minute you had, Tutor Girl. Starting right this second and ending the moment the bell rings on the last day of the semester, metaphorically speaking, of course.” The girl quickly pushes to her feet, excusing herself for the restrooms. And she doesn’t invite me to join her.

“That won’t work.” “Why is that?” she asks, without looking at me. She’s only looked at me a handful of times since we’ve been here. It’s annoying. “Because it’s due tomorrow.” “And you have the rest of the evening.” “I live with another dude who, by now, has guests, so as soon as I get home, all the blood in my brain is gonna drop to my dick, and my shit won’t get done.” Her cheeks color once again. “Sorry, but I can’t stay.” “Again, not gonna work—” “Look.” The chick finally makes the conscious decision to look at me, her brown eyes on the frustrated side. “I understand why you think you make all the

decisions, considering most people allow you to, but I have to leave right now. You can stay all you want if going home is distracting. I’ll even review your paper for you sometime tonight if you email it to me, I promise, but I really have to go.” There’s a plea in her eyes, even if it’s not heard in her practiced tone. Now I’m curious. “Why the rush?” Her lips smash together, and she quickly finishes shoving shit into her bag. What is with this chick? Here I am, doing what girls wait for me to do and initiating conversation, yet she’s still pretending not to be interested. Not that I’m interested, but she should be. Putting my own things away, I tell her, “You need to meet me tomorrow.” “Fine. Tomorrow at three. Same spot.” “Nope.” I make sure to pop the P like a dick. “I have to have all this in before noon, or this was pointless. Tomorrow at ten.” Her shoulders drop and she shakes her head. “I can’t. I can’t be here before twelve thirty.” “Not my problem, Tutor Girl. Better tell whoever it is you save your mornings for their happy days are on pause until June.”

“I’m priority number one, remember?” And then I’m gone. Tutor Girl thinks she can dictate when we meet? That’s not going to happen. I’ll make sure of it. Her morning dude can suck it. I wonder who it is? And now I’m wondering why the fuck I’m wondering.

Apparently, she thinks so, too, ‘cause she gets right to it. “Did you happen to get anything down last night?” “Sorry to disappoint, but I don’t go down.” Her hands freeze over her keyboard a moment, but again, no response comes. Man, she’s no fun. Not a laugh or a flirty “oh, but I do” comment meant as a not-so-subtle offer. Nada, nothin’.

I’m sure that’s all there will be of that, but then her eyes meet mine, and the shine in them has my anger fading. “I didn’t mean it that way,” she nearly whispers, not once looking away like she did every five seconds last night.

“I’ve got you for two hours.” “It won’t take us that long. I expected—” She stops herself and speaks again. “I’ve printed all the pages we need, and highlighted the key terms from the questions, so all we have to do is read and paraphrase.” “I’ve got you for two hours.” “You have to turn these in, in two hours.” “Don’t much care right now.” She sighs and drops her head, rubbing her temples with her fingertips. “Could you please just start the work?” “What’s your problem?”

A strange, tangled expression sweeps over her, as if she’s at battle with her own mind and has no idea what she’s even thinking, making it impossible for me to guess. And I’m kinda feeling like being a dick. Tutor Girl wants me to hurry, huh? I scoot my chair back to stand and her eyes follow my every move. “I’m gettin’ a coffee. Be back.” She begins to say something, but I don’t wait around to hear it. I walk toward the front of the library, where a coffee bar sits.

and walks on past. I turn and watch her walk away, which is a total waste of time, since I can’t make out the shape of her ass hidden by all that cotton. It’s maddening, and you know what? So is she. Swear she does all this to irk my nerves. Speaks but says virtually nothing. Stares but hides her every emotion. Wears that stupid fucking sweater. It’s almost as if the girl lives in some sort of invisible box, one she keeps locked tight around her, and if I were to try to punch past it, I’d be met with a triple layer of bulletproof fucking glass. My knuckles would be reduced to fractured fragments first try. Not that I’d try.

I bet he’s supportive and uplifting, maybe even a father figure for him, like a good coach would be. Like a good man would be. I wonder what he’d say if he knew, if his opinion would change. Not that it matters. Reality is as sad as it is serene.

The corner of his mouth lifts in a nasty smirk. “There is no risk here because you are who you are, and he is who he is. You’ll never be on his radar without the beer it takes to get there, honey, and he’ll continuously have his hands full of something better.” Wow. I want to scream and cry, to demand he apologize and start over from scratch. But mostly, stupidly, I wish he’d look at me like he used to. Even if I could never do the same. It’s with that thought in mind that I go home, open my computer, and do what I should have done months ago. I submit my transfer application to the University of Florida.

It’s like my eyes pull at something in her, probably her pussy strings. I dig it.

Ick

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. “Are you even listening?” Her head lifts. See? If I don’t answer, she has to look at me. Lips part, tiny gasp ... I don’t answer. I tilt my head in an attempt to get under her skin and make her wonder what I’m thinking, but she looks away, back at her fucking books. What the hell? It’s not like I want her to want me, but it’s damn weird that she doesn’t.

“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, so I repeat myself in case she’s in awe at my invite and needs reassurance she didn’t imagine it. “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. The girl knows already what I’m about to say. 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?”

“I had a peanut butter sandwich.” My eyes narrow. “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.” Slowly, cautiously, she leaves. And I follow. No one tells me to get lost or whatever it is she’s doing. I do that. Not her. I give her a small head start, let her think she’s in the clear, and then step in line beside her. “Will you go?” she whispers, glancing around as we strike it across the grass. It takes a second to register, but when she looks to the side for the millionth time, sweeping the vicinity with jerky movements, it’s clear as damn day she’s making sure no one’s eyeing us. 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? Her eyes widen, and her hands come up to push off my chest, but I grab ahold of her other arm, keeping her right there, right where she is. 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 angl...

“What are you doing?” she worries. “What am I doing?” I push even closer. “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.”

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?

“Yeah, well. I’ve never felt a need to be noticed. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go.” She yanks herself free of my grip, but I catch her around the waist because she’s pissing me off. “You didn’t answer the question.” “Let go,” she whispers. “Why you tryin’ not to be seen with me?” “I’m not—” “Don’t lie.” She sighs and finally meets my gaze again. “We aren’t friends.” “And?”

“We live different lives.” “And?” “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. A tight laugh leaves her and she nods, frowning at the ground. “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.”