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Cornell pocketed his hands. “What is this? The Babysitter’s Club?”
Ali stacked loose papers on her desk that would have to wait until Monday. Mowgli lay down at her feet. “If you want him to run routes for you this season, he needs to pass algebra. That’ll be a lot easier for everyone if he shows up to class for his quizzes.”
Keeping his gaze locked on Ali, Cornell called out, “Marquis? How fast you run a forty-yard dash?”
“4.58 seconds, sir.”
“If Ms. Whitaker tells me you missed one more class this summer, you’re going to show me that about twenty-five times, got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Done,” Cornell said, walking over to Ali and sitting in the chair Graham had abandoned. He folded his hands behind his head, flashing James and his giant peach inked into his skin, her favorite part of Cornell’s tattooed sleeve. “That’s one knucklehead. Why was Thing Two in here calling you Alison? This is like the third time I’ve found him hanging out in here.”
It’s actually been way more than three times, Ali wanted to correct him. But that wasn’t unique. Her office was always littered with football players. What made this situation different was that Cornell didn’t like Graham.
Ali folded her arms across her chest, turning her chair to face him. “Are you going to make him run too?”
“If you want me to.”
“But would you run for me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Cornell pressed his lips together, the left side of his mouth lifting into a smirk. “To the end of the earth and back,” he told her with a wink. “If you don’t know that by now, you haven’t been paying attention.”
* * *
“Guess I’m the designated driver tonight,” Cornell said as he stepped out of the shower, nodding at Ali’s glass of wine parked on the sink vanity as she tried not to lose an eye putting her mascara on.
“It’s my first glass.”
Cornell wrapped a towel around his waist. “If that glass of wine got you to wear that dress, I’m not complaining, trust me.”
She looked down at the black, silky dress. “Too much?”
He smiled behind her in the partly steamed-up mirror before dropping a kiss on her shoulder. “I said I’m not complaining. But hurry up, we’ll hit traffic.”
“You were the one working out for thirty minutes in the garage. What is it with you and that punching bag?” Ali said, but watching the flex of Cornell’s back as he left the bathroom, she didn’t mind.
“Good stress reliever,” Cornell told her.
“Okay, Rocky Balboa.”
Ali capped her mascara and adjusted the thin straps, following him into the bedroom with her glass. The ice-cold chardonnay made her lips tingle already. Her phone buzzed from the dresser, and Ali groaned when she saw Graham’s father had already responded to her email about his classes. “Bill Jones doesn’t let up.”
“Father of Satan?” Cornell said over his shoulder, pulling out a pair of jeans from the closet.
Ali rolled her eyes. “Have you met him?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“He’s an asshole.”
She sat on the bed and crossed her legs. “I don’t disagree. I don’t think Graham does either.”
Cornell gave Ali a look as he buttoned his shirt. “What are you getting at?”
“I don’t know, maybe… maybe you could talk with him. You know what it’s like to have a dad that’s—”
