Dirty Curve

by Meagan Brandy

Meyer clears her throat, hesitating briefly. “I should ... go.” “Why do I get the feeling that’s the opposite of what you want to do?” Instantly, her chin falls to her chest. “Message me if you need me before Thursday and I’ll do what I can.” My hand twitches against her back. “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.

She gently pulls from my hold and, this time, I let her because this entire situation makes no sense to me. 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.

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.”

“That’s like calling cupcakes, cake, sounds right but technically it ain’t.” 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?”

“Yes!” Meyer’s mouth curves, a wide, proud smile forming and fuck me ... I kinda want to be right again.

A low chuckle leaves me, and I hustle for the ball and back. “Again.” We continue for a good ten minutes, both of us working up a sweat despite the chilled March evening. When Meyer tosses the bat, my shoulders drop. I’ll admit I was having fun. Then again, I always do when a baseball’s in my hands. I guess the fun’s over. Or maybe not ... My eyes hold on Meyer as she walks over to the short gate in front of the dugout, opposite of where she set

her backpack. 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.

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.

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.

“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’?” She doesn’t slow or look back at me, but there’s a small frown now marring her face. Good, almost there. I want her to snap, to yell or scream. To give me something. She gives me nothing. “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.”

Tobias, you aint it honey

“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.” I don’t realize I’m slipping closer until she’s pulling back, a tangled thought flashing in her eyes. “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?

“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.” She takes a second, deciding if she’s going to be offended or not, but when my boys at the table to our left start laughing, she sets eyes on her next target of the night, and happily skips her fine ass over there—bit skinny for my taste, but fine nonetheless. But my dick didn’t agree and he knows best. On to the next.

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. Today’s game was intense.

The third beer does nothing, so I push to my feet, but not wanting to give in so soon, 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.

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. I swallow a frustrated sigh, my eyes narrowing in on nothing. I need to get a fucking grip.

Closing my eyes, I drop my head back with a heavy exhale, the long day catching up with me, but 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?!” She yelps, jumping a good two feet, her crap spilling onto the ground again.

She quickly disregards my presence, retrieving her fallen items once more. 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.”

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. That shouldn’t make me grin. Why am I grinning? “All right, fine. No dude.” I nod to myself, then peek at her from the side. “Not even a shitty one?” “Oh my god, Tobias!” she shouts, cutting her head my way. “Stop talking,” she says, but there’s a slight bit of something in her usually crisp tone. “Hold up.” I angle my head playfully. “Was that ... are you amused by me?” “No.” “I think you are.” “I definitely am not.” “Oh, yes, you are.” I jump in front of her, walking backward so we can face each other. “It was tiny, I’m talking statue cock tiny, but it was there.” Her lips curve into a smile, but she pulls them together to try and hide it. “Ha!”

Now, though, there’s no denying. The girl’s laughing at me. Full-on laughing and you know what? I ain’t mad about it. She’s cute when she laughs. I stretch my arms over my bent knees, playing cool for a second before I hop to my feet. “You chose not to warn me, didn’t you?”

“Look, Tutor Girl,” I cut her off with a grin. “It’s late, it’s dark, you’re not walking by yourself.” She’s quiet a moment before she speaks again. “I don’t want to walk with you,” she whispers, her frown is focused forward. Just like that, the bit of fun is fucked off into the night. “Yeah, well. Too bad.” I don’t look her way, unsure why a flare of disappointment washes over me. “I’m walking home just the same now, so only makes sense I walk with you. Which dorm do you live in?”

Home now, I take a quick shower, and flop onto my bed in nothing but my birthday suit, my sleepwear of choice. That’s when it hits me and I chuckle to myself. Of course. It’s obvious now. Tutor Girl got upset, maybe even insulted, at my offer to walk her home because I didn’t offer to take her back to mine. Maybe the poor girl felt rejected. Yeah, that could be it. Maybe. It’s also the reason I text her an hour later to make sure she got home safe. When she doesn’t respond, I decide I don’t give a shit. I frown at the spackled ceiling. Sleep can take over anytime now.

“Tobias, hey,” she says in a hushed rush, putting on a tight, fake smile for the assholes who slip by us. “What ... can I do for you?” “Wow, it’s like that?” I cross my arms, scowling down at her. “All business, huh?” Her brows pull in and she quickly glances around. Again, with this hideaway shit? Fuck that. I put on a smirk. I’m talking full blown, gonna get me some smirk, and take a small step forward, internally laughing as her features grow tense. Her head pulls back slightly, her eyes tightening in suspicion, and rightfully so. “Come on, baby,” I purr, laying it on thick and a bit louder than necessary. “Just last night you were calling me Daddy, and now today I’m already back to Tobias?”

“I think I need a redo, Tutor Girl.” I run the back of my pointer finger down her arm, but that fucker freezes right where it’s at, on the soft underside just above her elbow.

Meyer’s eyes briefly close at my touch, and my brows snap together. Again, with that little mouth part small gasp she tends to give, but hold on ... I look where my touch rests. Are those ... goose bumps? No fucking way.

“Go.” She shakes her head, refusing to look at me. She wants to brush me off, as if she’s not responding to my touch when she so clearly is. I don’t get it and I don’t know what to do with her blatant disregard for me as a person, so I do what I’m used to. What I know. What everyone expects. I play with her some more. “Yeah, a redo’s what I need ...” I keep going, step more into her, and speak even louder. “Maybe I didn’t quite leave my mark, huh?” Her eyes squeeze shut, quickly flicking open and narrowing in on me. There’s a heaviness behind them that has me slowly easing up.

Despite what she’s likely convinced herself of, I’m not trying to hurt her. I’m just playing with her. But Tutor Girl does what not a lot of girls can. She surprises me. Meyer pushes off the wall, the little ball on her head bouncing with the sudden jolt and erases the space I gave back to her. She

“Don’t worry, Daddy,” she says with conviction and a dash of sultry taunting, but I got a feeling that’s for show. “I couldn’t forget our night together if I tried.” She shoves past. Gone is the flirty sexiness her posture and voice held for a whole five seconds and in its place is a resolute chick ready to dish it. Tutor Girl whips around, and volcanic eyes sear mine. “And believe me, I’ve tried.”

Meyer stops to adjust her bag, so I pretend not to be staring at her, waiting for her to find a reason to glance back and see if I’m still standing in the doorway where she left me, but she doesn’t. It’s fucking weird. Irritating. Downright frustrating. The girl always looks back, right? And who the hell is she to flip the rule book and the game I was playing with her?

This is bullshit. Twice. I called Tutor Girl twice today. Yeah, called, not texted. Who does that? No fucking body, that’s who,

She’ll call eventually. I think. Probably not, since she never does what I expect her to do. Maybe if I think she won’t, she will?

Fuck me, I’m confusing my own damn self.

See, Noah ain’t like me, so I give him shit when I can. He doesn’t sleep around or eat up attention, and he gets plenty. Honestly, I don’t think he’s comfortable with any of it, the attention and never-ending skirts who believe they’re entitled to your time since they’re willing to hand over their own. I wasn’t either, at first, but once I realized any good I did would be spun negatively by the school papers, I went ahead and gave them something else to talk about, the only other thing they chose to print when it came to me. The Playboy Pitcher living up to his name.

He looks away with a low chuckle but says nothing. See? Humble as fuck. Good dude, great student. Bet Tutor Girl would like someone like him. I freeze, halfway extended, to pick up a dumbbell. What the fuck was that? No, no. I don’t give a damn who or what she does in her spare time, so long as my work is solid, and I get to play ball. But! If she is ignoring my calls because she’s with some fuckface, that ain’t cool. Son of a bitch, I sound like a bitch.

“We’re picking up X and headed to Trivies. You in?” he calls, his hands cupped around his mouth. I stop in my tracks.

Huh. It’s a long shot, but it’s a shot. “Sorry, Coach. Misdialed.” I grin, end the call, and shout back to my boys, “I’m in.” I head their way. Let’s see if Tutor Girl’s made a habit out of walking alone in the dark. A few hours later, and there she is, crossing the dimly lit street. I want to call out her name, slam her for her reckless choice, and do it again when she rolls those eyes at my rant. But then she shifts, and the shitty streetlight catches something small on the inside of her jacket. A name badge. She shifts again and I make out the logo on her top, but it’s not a top. It’s an apron from the burger place down the road. She was at work. She’s walking home alone, late as shit at night, from work. Not for fun and escapades, but because she must have to. Walk and work, I mean. She wouldn’t do either if she didn’t need to, right? Wait, she has two jobs? Instead of doing any of the things I was about to, I step farther into the shadows, follow at a distance from my side of the road and once she’s safe and crossing campus grounds, the security guard rolling along in his golfcart at her side, I head home. I don’t know why, but I do the same exact thing the very next day.

“No freaking lie?!” Meyer’s lips curve up as she snags the paper I’m holding up in front of her. She scans over it and that smile of hers grows. Laughing, I repeat her words. “No lie.” “That’s killer for a pop quiz.” “I’ve got a ‘killer’ tutor.” Finally, her eyes come up to mine and she pulls her mouth to one side. “We didn’t go over this section. You read this one on the bus on the way back from your Arizona game. This is all you, Tobias Cruz.” Again, with that smile. “Be proud.” Are you?

“I didn’t get a chance to eat after practice, cool if we grab a pizza? There’s a patio we can work on.”

Her face smooths out and she looks out across the grass. “Um.” “You won’t be sorry. They’ve got the best sauce around.” With her head down, she timidly says, “I only have two hours.” “I know.” I’m no fool. She’s here because she’s required, but that doesn’t mean it has to stay that way, right? I pull my keys from my pocket and walk backward toward the parking lot. “It’s only a couple miles from here, I have my truck.” My eyes roam across her makeup-less face. “I’ll get you back in good time, Tutor Girl. Promise.”

“Okay.” “Wait, for real?” My head tugs back. “I said okay.” She chuckles, flicking her gaze to the sky. “Well, okay. Right this way, Tutor Girl.” I hop off the curb, unlocking and opening the door to my Dodge Ram for her. “Hop on in George.” She looks to me with a goofy expression. “George?” “That’s right.” “That’s odd.” “You ever met a George who wasn’t a reliable son of a bitch?”

Inside, Franny, the mom of the place, greets us with a weathered smile and a wave. “How you doing, honey, get over here, and you brought a friend!” She quickly turns her head, shouting, “Joe, get out here, Tobias is here and he brought a friend!”

I laugh. “Not me, Joe, not me.” I turn to Meyer. “This is Meyer, she goes to school at Avix, too.” “Well look at you.” The old man grins at her. “You don’t have all that shit on your face and you’re still prettier than this one.” He jerks his head toward me, kisses his wife and disappears behind the door once more.

Meyer shakes her head as Franny leaves, and then turns to me. “They’re so cute.” “Yeah, I want to be them when I grow up.” I smile. She eyes me, a look of surprise crossing her face.

“What?” “I guess that’s not something I’d expect you to say.” “I wonder why?” I tease, knowing exactly where she’s coming from. “You know you can’t believe everything you hear ... or read.”

“You okay with pepperoni? It sounds boring but Joe’s is fire, swear.” “Don’t worry about me.” “You’re eating with me.” Her smile is sheepish. “I didn’t know you wanted to go eat. I like to leave my wallet at home so I don’t spontaneously spend.” A quick meal is spending spontaneously for her? As I think that, a sense of aversion washes over me. Twenty bucks didn’t always come so easy for me either. My parents lived paycheck to paycheck all our lives, and the little extra they did have, they saved. Maybe I need to remember that next time I pop into the grocery store. I shake off my thoughts. “Contrary to what you may believe, or the shitty impression I gave with the whole ‘be my schoolwork slave,’ I’m not a complete dickhead.” I lean forward. “I wouldn’t invite you, order a pizza, and expect you to pay for any of it.” “I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“Pepperoni isn’t boring, by the way.” She looks to me and pops a brow with a playful grin. “It’s a classic.” Damn straight it is.

A little over an hour and a large pizza in, my assignments are done. We’ve already gone over a few ideas for my next English essay, and I officially have no pressing work that needs handled ... but she hasn’t asked to leave yet. In fact, she stood up and chatted with Franny for several minutes about plants and how to keep them alive, while I watched on, finishing up the last of the breadsticks.

“We still have a good half hour before we have to head back.” For the first time today, she pulls her phone from her bag. “It looks like we do.” “Read to me.” Her eyes pop up. “What?” “The sections I have left? Read them to me.”

She’s fire, I know it, and call me a fuckin’ pyro ‘cause, goddamn if I don’t crave the flame. To be honest, I’m not sure what to do about this girl. She’s so hot and cold. Okay, maybe she’s never hot, but she definitely gets to that lukewarm level, like the half empty water bottle you dig out of your back seat when you’re dying of thirst. But I guess she could say the same about me. The hot and cold part, I mean. I’m as good as whiplash when it comes to her, I know that, but she does that to me.

My initial reaction is always to do what’s expected, to be who they expect when things around me begin to feel sour or new. Unexpected. But maybe that’s the wrong way to go about it where she’s concerned. Maybe she doesn’t expect a thing from me at all. That’s an unrivaled, terrifying, electrifying ideal. Licking my lips, I tip my head the slightest bit. “Please?”