Page 46 of The Cheerleader

He chortles. “You calling me a wolf, Granger? Because that could be a case of the pot calling the kettle⁠—”

“Not even close.” I know he’s right. But not completely. With Liz, it wasn’t—isn’t that way. “Some girls are okay with playing loose. And some girls are the serious kind. I know the difference. You⁠—”

“I know the difference.”

Tossing the used-up Brillo pad into the sink, I turn to him. “I have eyes, Eldy. And ears. And I’m in the room next to yours.”

He grins. “Sure, but none of those girls are serious types.”

I shake my head. “Oh, I don’t know, Eldy, maybe it’s the tears the next morning that make me think otherwise.”

He goes white. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend you never made a girl cry.”

“No. I didn’t. I mean, I never meant to. They know I’m not serious, and they say they’re cool…” He has the good grace to trail off, not bothering to finish his lame defense.

I reach out and clap his back. “Don’t worry, Eldy. I still love you.”

He flinches. He hates talk of emotions and especially the ‘L’ word, as he calls it—as if it’s a secret spell or a curse that will doom him. I don’t tease him much about it because I think he’s truly afraid of love. He doesn’t have command of his emotions. Yesterday, I would have insisted that I have complete command, but only a fool wouldn’t admit when he’s rattled. I’m no fool, and I swear any rattling damage done by Susie Bennett was a one-time event and the effects temporary. Either way, love isn’t my particular fear. Bottom line is I don’t like hitting Eldy in his soft underbelly.

One of the few differences between me and my dad. I chalk it up to being rattled and take a reinforcing breath in an attempt to ground myself.

“You’re such a weirdo, Granger,” he finally says. “You’re damn lucky you’re the fastest running back on the East Coast or I wouldn’t put up with you.” He’s grinning while he says it, but I have no doubt it’s the god's honest truth.

“I have to hit the books,” I say.

He nods. “English Comp?”

I nod back. He knows about my trouble with this class. He may think I’m a weirdo, and we may be opposites in about every way there is, but we’re tight as brothers after three years of our uphill climb on the football team together and two years as roommates.

“Professor Yardly says I need a tutor.” Not a lie.

“Yeah?” He smirks. “Could be interesting if you get a sweetheart⁠—”

“She already assigned me someone.”

“Oh. You don’t look happy. Some dorky guy?”

“No.” Shit. Maybe it’s time to bite the bullet—at least part of the way. “Susie Bennett. Liz’s friend.” I wait for his predictable reaction.

“Are you shitting me? You hit the jackpot. She’s a doll.”

“She’s off-limits,” I admit. “Not that I’m interested.” For a million reasons, but mostly because of Liz. I know her and how she still thinks of me as hers. The idea irritates me.

But not enough to provoke her. It’s not like I’m interested in starting anything with a girl like Susie. I don’t kid myself that she’s the same girl she was nine years ago, the little girl so kind that I dreamed she was an angel. I don’t really know her anymore, but if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that Susie is the definition of Serious Girl. Not someone to play with—no matter how much fun she is to tease. No matter how much I like the taste of her lips and—fuck.

Eldy’s forehead furrows for a second, and then his expression clears like he’s figured it out. “Oh, I get it. Because she’s friends with Liz, and you and Liz⁠—”

“Are still good friends.” My words ring with the finality of church bells at midnight, and I grab the dish towel to wipe my hands off.

“What are you going to do about her?” Of course, he doesn’t let it drop.

“Nothing. She’s my tutor.” I shrug. He’s the only one besides Coach, the prof, and now Susie who knows I failed English comp last year.

“You going to tell her why you need a tutor?”

I raise my middle finger at him.