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Throws his head back so that his tussled mop of sandy blonde hair bobs, opens his sharp jaw that’s covered with prickly-looking stubble, and lets out a series of fucking guffaws.
My stomach churns as I step into the room and close the door behind me. I suppress the urge to run to Dr. Galloway and demand that someone else take my place. I know he’s got his hands full making the tutoring schedule work here, and I already agreed to take on this client.
Before I knew who it was.
All I can do is accept my fate. My pitiful fate.
“Why is the universe so cruel?” I’m gazing up at the ceiling as the question passes from my lips.
Tuck’s finally finished with his guffawing. “Hey, don’t act like you’re the only one disappointed here.”
I point my gaze at him and lower my brow. “Oh?”
“Yeah, I was hoping I’d get some girl who I could convince to write all my essays for me.” He adds with a wry grin, “Something tells me that’s not going to fly with you.”
I press my lips together in distaste. “You wouldn’t really try to get someone else to do your work and pass it off as your own, would you?” I can’t say I have the highest opinion of Tuck, but I don’t think I’d have suspected that of him.
He just shrugs. “Guess we’ll never know.”
I’m not willing to let it go that easily. “How would you feel if another team cheated in hockey?”
Lines furrow into his forehead. “Huh?”
“If another team paid off the referees. Or switched their opponent’s equipment so their skates didn’t fit right. How would you feel about that? Because that’s the same thing as getting someone else to do your work for you, and getting a grade you didn’t earn.”
“That’s totally different,” he protests.
I fold my arms over my chest. “How’s it different?”
Tuck opens his mouth, but words seem to fail him. He tilts his head to the side thoughtfully, his eyes bouncing around like he’s ransacking his brain for an answer.
“Uh. Because I say so?” A dumb smile curls on his lips. I guess when you’re Tuck McCoy, that’s usually reason enough for anything.
I narrow my gaze on him. “In my opinion, attempted cheating should be punishable under the academic integrity code, just like attempted murder is a crime itself even if it doesn’t succeed.”
“Is it just me, Lockley, or did I notice a glimmer in your eyes when you said the word murder while looking at me?”
I feel the edge of my lips twitch, but I tighten my mouth to keep from smiling. I don’t want to give Tuck the satisfaction. “Don’t tempt me,” I answer.
Tuck lets out a low whistle. “Getting with a girl who likes it rough is hot as it is. But getting with a girl who literally wants to murder you? Shit, that must be …”
I turn around and reach for the door handle. “Alright, if you just want to goof around, I guess you really don’t need help with your essays that much.”
“Wait!” he exclaims. The trace of urgency is enough to still my movement towards to door and turn back to face him. “I really do need help. And … I know I’m lucky getting you as a tutor. I’ve heard other athletes who’ve been sent to tutoring and assigned to you say that you’re a miracle worker. Stay. I’ll behave. Promise.”
There’s a strange fuzzy feeling in my stomach, reaching up to my chest where it grows warm. I try to search for any sarcasm in Tuck’s words, any hint that he’s pulling my leg, but there doesn’t seem to be any. He seems genuine.
“Fine,” I accept.
I pull out a chair next to him and try to think of him not as the obnoxious, cocky hockey star who’s been trying to get in my pants for the last four months, but as just another tutoring client who needs help.
“So, first of all. In your opinion, what do you think your biggest problem is when it comes to essays?”
“Getting bad grades,” he answers.
I clamp down on my instinct to say something snarky in response. That’s what I’d do if I were still thinking of him as a hockey jerk. But I’m thinking of him as a tutee in need.
“Okay,” I reply, evenly. “Why do you think you tend to get bad grades on your essays?”
