I constrain my snicker. “So, anyway, I’m guessing you want me to tutor your guy?”
Wyatt nods, so I continue.
“Okay, like, I speak Mandarin, but I don’t know if I’m qualified toteachit.”
“Please,” Chris says. “It’s a desperate situation. Most of our players take French, but a certain someone decided to be special and slotted himself into Chinese 107.”
Man, I like the sound of him already.
“If you tutor him, we’ll pull some strings and get you in-state tuition as opposed to the international rate,” Wyatt adds.
My mouth falls open. “Give it to me in writing, and you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Chris smacks Wyatt with the clipboard again, and I wonder if Wyatt’s apparent lack of common sense, or a filter, is because of the constant blows to his skull.
“We can’t offer that, but we can pay you minimum wage in addition to the hours qualifying for your degree language credits,” Chris clarifies.
I raise an eyebrow. My plan was to take French next semester, and now I’ll have one less course to pay for. Besides, tutors here are usually volunteers who are lucky to get a ten-dollar gift card as payment for a whole semester, so this deal is shaping up to be pretty sweet.
“Alright,” I say, containing my excitement. “I’ll do it. Who’s the guy, anyway?”
“Nick Russell,” Chris replies.
Nick Russell? Damn, or more likehot damn. I don’t pay too much attention to varsity baseball, but you’d have to live under a rock to avoid hearing about him. That man’s a fucking stud, and I swear half the campus would jump at a chance to get with him.
Me included, even if I’ve only seen him on a varsity athletics poster in the gym a handful of times.
“You know him?” Wyatt asks.
“I know of him.” I offer a casual shrug. “Send me an agreement or whatever, and I can start when he needs me.”
“Awesome. Thank you so much,” Chris says. “And you said your name is…Dean?” He squints at the clipboard.
“Yeah, but it’s Dailin officially.” I take his clipboard and unhook the pen from the side. “I’ll write my email down just in case.”
Wyatt grimaces, shifting awkwardly between his feet. He’s half a head shorter than me, and when I tilt my neck to take him in, there’s something familiar about his wavy brown hair, as well as his strained smile that’d look a lot cuter if it was relaxed?—
Oh.I think I might have hooked up with him in my freshman year. Maybethat’swhy he’s acting so strangely.
“Sounds good,” Wyatt says, his voice quiet. “We’ll…uh, let you get on with your night.”
“Cool. See you—”Nope.“Take care.”
Then they’re off, leaving me behind to gather up my things and run to the shower before the gym closes for the night. The locker room is as equally deserted as the rest of the building, and as the warm water washes over me, I’m alone with my thoughts.
Nick Russell.
I agreed to tutor Nick Russell. Again, I don’t know the first thing about him, other than that he’s a varsity baseball player, he’s hot as hell, and that he’s in apparent need of a Chinese tutor.
That’ll change when I meet him. I know better than to hope he’s anything other than straight, but if he’s like any of the other athletes I’ve met here, he’ll be chill.
As agreed, I’m in the Central Library a week later, settling into a pre-booked group study room.
Nick isn’t here,notas agreed. It’s already five minutes past when we were supposed to meet, and I’ve caught no fewer than three groups of roving students giving me the stink-eye for being alone in a group room. I’m not self-conscious enough to give too many shits, especially since I’ve spread out my stuff to make itlooklike it isn’t just me here, but Nick is kind of leaving me hanging.
Well, not kind of. Actually leaving me hanging.
Maybe he got lost. I don’t have his number yet; I can’t ask him for an update, and I shouldn’t bethatannoyed.
