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“Do you prefer reading out loud or to yourself?”
“I think I might prefer reading out loud,” he admits. “It’s easier to give up when you’re trying to read the page in your head. At least for me.”
“Do you comprehend it better when you hear the words out loud then?”
“Maybe?” He frowns, his brows drawing together. “I don’t know. I never thought of it like that.”
“Okay. I have an idea for you—I think you should get the audio version of this book. That way you could listen to it and absorb what’s being said,” I suggest.
“I can do that.” He nods.
“Good.” I rest my clasped hands on top of the desk, perilously close to where his hand is resting. It would take nothing for me to reach out and touch him, but I don’t. Of course I don’t. “Now, let’s work on your assignment.”
We go through each question, and I realize he didn’t fully comprehend what he just read. Clearly this isn’t easy for him. If he’s just a bad reader, how did he get through his other classes the last three years? Reading is required in pretty much every class you take in college.
I ask him that exact question.
“I always had help. Someone in my class who was willing to share their notes, or work on a paper with me.” Again with the bashfulness from this guy, which tells me it was always a female who was so willing to help the big, sexy football player with his homework.
“So why didn’t you find someone to help you in your English class?”
“Because I was already getting behind and we’ve barely started. Plus, they’re all freshmen.” He makes a face. “They’re kind of starstruck.”
“By you?” I lift a brow. I mean, I get it. I’m a little starstruck too, but I remind myself this is a job and he’s just another student. No big deal.
“Well, yeah. I’m sure I could get any girl in that class to help me. Probably any guy too.” He says it so matter-of-factly, it’s hard to imagine him being arrogant about this.
“Then why didn’t you?”
“Because everything’s riding on this. I’ve avoided this class for the last three years, all thanks to my coaches and my counselor. She finally told me last summer that I couldn’t ignore it any longer. I’m a senior and I have to take it.” His gaze locks on mine. “Want me to be real with you right now?”
“Please.” I nod almost too eagerly. Ugh.
“I’m scared I’ll fail. I can’t risk it. And I don’t need the distraction of some pretty freshman trying to touch my junk while I ask her to go over her notes with me.” He leans back in his chair, spreading his long legs in front of himself. “Besides, I’ve made a vow to myself.”
I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old girl would so blatantly reach for his junk. Clearly, they’re a different kind of person than I am. Not that it’s a bad thing—they’re just bold while I’m a little more reserved. “What kind of vow?”
“I swore myself to celibacy.”
TEN
KNOX
Now why thehell did I go and admit that to my new friend Jo Jo?
The shocked expression on her face says it all. I threw her for a loop with that confession. And on the first tutoring session, too.
Way to wow her with my smarts.
“What do you mean, a vow of celibacy?” She asks the question slowly, as if she might’ve heard me wrong.
“No women allowed during the football season. I made a bet with some of my teammates.” Yes, Jo Jo. That’s just as bad as it sounds.
She’s frowning. More like scowling, though she still looks pretty doing it. She’s attractive, my tutor. Or is that the lack of female company talking? Could I already be finding anyone with a vagina attractive? It’s only been a couple of days, so doubtful.
I watch her, feigning indifference, secretly clocking her every feature. Joanna is definitely pretty. I like the freckles that dot her nose. Her lips are full and this rosy shade of pink. Dark, delicate brows and deep brown eyes that are full of curiosity at this very moment, which makes me think she wants more info about this celibacy plan I’ve got going on.
She doesn’t have a lick of makeup on, and I…like it. But she isn’t plain. I’d actually describe her as striking. Guess I like the natural look.
