And with his words, it feels like we just took one step forward and two back.
I glare down at my phone.
He’s being weird. Ashton is a lot of things, but not usually weird. Something’s up and the next time I see him face to face, I’m going to find out. I reread his text for the third time before replying.
Ashy C: I need you to tutor someone today. I owe you.
Me: Who? Why? Since when?
Ashy C: Are you studying to be a lawyer?
Me: No, dumbass. You know that.
Ashy C: Then stop cross-examining me.
I roll my eyes and huff.
Me: Come by and see me.
Ashy C: Can’t.
Me: Too busy ogling Drew?
Ashy C: Something like that. Dude bro will be by in twenty.
My phone nearly drops out of my hand.
Me: Twenty minutes? What the hell? Who is it? What subjects am I helping with?
Ashy C: An athlete on academic probation. I REALLY owe you. I’ll rub your stinky feet next time I come over.
Me: You’re in trouble.
Ashy C: You have no idea.
I set my phone down and go back to typing my paper that’s due at the end of the week, when Sasha sits down in front of me. “Haven’t seen you since the other night at The Lodge.”
“That’s because you skipped class.” I drop my gaze back to my work, hoping she’ll get the hint and go away.
“It’s a waste of my time,” she says. “I can pass that class in my sleep.”
I make a noncommittal noise, focusing on my work.
“So, that guy from the other night…” she starts, and I hold my breath, waiting for her to out me. “What happened?”
I release a harsh sigh of relief, thankful she’s just being nosy and doesn’t actually know the guy I left with the other night is the same guy who’s now employed at Atlantic Pointe.
“Nothing.” I shrug a shoulder, still refusing to give her my full attention. “We didn’t really click… went our separate ways.”
“Hmm…” she says, making me glance up at her. “Maybe you weren’t his type.” She raises a single brow, and I mentally roll my eyes at her subtle dig. Based on the way he was all over me, I would say I was definitely his type.
“Maybe not… Either way, nothing happened.” Lie.
She eyes me curiously for a long moment. “We’re throwing a party at the house this weekend. Invite only…”
“We’ll see,” I tell her. “I have a lot of schoolwork to do.” Her eyes widen in shock that I would dare turn her down, and I immediately regret my words, remembering why I’m doing this: so my parents won’t be as disappointed in me as they already are.
“Okay,” she says, standing. “Just keep in mind, invites like these don’t come around often…” In other words, if you don’t show up, consider yourself out.
“I know,” I tell her, attempting to backtrack. “I’ll try.”
She huffs and then disappears, and I bring my attention back to my paper. I’m lost in concentration when Brayden drops into the seat next to me.
“Table’s taken,” I say, quickly glancing at him long enough to glare, so if he doesn’t get my point—to go somewhere else—he’ll understand by my facial expression.
“I know, by us.”
“No, by me,” I say slowly, continuing to type. “There are fifty tables in here. Find another one.”
“Would be hard for you to tutor me if I’m sitting at another table,” he quips.
It takes a second for his words to sink in, but once they do, my fingers freeze in place.
Athlete on academic probation.
Freaking Ashton.
I grab my phone and shoot him a quick text.
Me: Foot rub? More like a full body massage! And not just one, several.
I wait a second for him to respond, but of course he doesn’t. Damn wuss. He’s probably hiding out in his room playing his video games and eating the Sour Patch Kids I gave him. I make a mental note to hide all his candy from him.
Me: Next time we hang out the only thing you’re getting from me is fruit.
“Did your bestie not tell you?” Brayden smirks, leaning closer to me. “He was a little busy eye-fucking his new roommate.”
“Let’s just get this over with,” I say with a sigh, slamming my laptop closed a little too hard. “What subjects do you need help with?”
“English II and American History.”
“Aren’t you a senior?” I snort. “Those are lower level classes.”
“Yeah, I suck at school,” he says dryly. “But you already knew that since you’ve been there when I buy answers from Ashton.”
“So, why aren’t you buying them now?” Not that I agree with him cheating, but he clearly doesn’t mind doing it. Why change up his plays this late in the game?
“The new meddling dick of a coach caught me buying and threatened to rat me out, leaving me no choice but to get help. Ashton volunteered you.”
Of. Fucking. Course. He. Did.
I type out another text, even though I know he’s not going to respond.
Me: Forget fruit, your ass is getting vegetables from now on!
“Look,” Brayden says, encroaching on my personal space. “I was supposed to give Ashton two hundred bucks for the answers. How about I slide it your way instead, you can pull up the answers off the main server I know the tutors have access to, and I’ll throw in dinner.”
He shoots me a wink, and I fake gag, making him roll his eyes.
“One,” I tell him slowly so he hears me. “Don’t ever wink like that again. You look even more like a douche than you already do. Two, I would rather starve to death than go to dinner with you. And three, if you don’t take back everything you just said about asking me to help you cheat, I’m going to get up and walk away, and you’re going to fail. Then, you can kiss your NHL dreams goodbye because they won’t even know you exist when you’re sitting on the bench because you can’t play.”
My phone vibrates against the
