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More like she doesn’t look like any of the women I’ve been with in the recent past, and it’s kind of refreshing.
“Did you make this vow so you could concentrate on football?” she finally asks.
“And my classes, yeah.” I love that she gets it. If I would tell any other woman my plan, they’d be confused. Like, why would I want to purposely avoid having sex for an extended period of time?
Then they’d try to grab my junk—just like I told Joanna a few minutes ago—and show me everything they’ve got. It’s how it works. How it’s always worked when it comes to me and women.
It’s kind of a relief, knowing I can avoid that this semester—this football season. I’m tired of the same old thing. I need a break.
It’s almost laughable, how much my feelings about sex have changed in such a short amount of time. I think I’ve been hanging out with the wrong kind of women. Maybe that’s my problem.
“Have you ever done something like that before?” Her sweet voice breaks through my thoughts.
I slowly shake my head.
“Did you make this vow at the beginning of the season? Like before school started?”
“No. Only a couple of days ago.”
Her lips lift into the smallest smile. “How’s it going so far?”
“You want to know the truth?” She nods. “Not so well.”
“Why not?”
“It’s like when you’re told you can’t eat chocolate cake because it’s bad for you. And then all you crave is chocolate cake. Even if you never craved it before,” I explain, staring at Joanna like she’s my proverbial piece of chocolate cake.
She rears back a little, like she needs the distance from me. “I know what you mean.”
“Yeah?” I glance down at the iPad she’s clutching. “So am I a hopeless case? Or can you help me with this class?”
I need to stop talking about sex with Joanna, because it makes me curious. What’s she like? What does she like? From the looks of her, I’d guess she’s your standard missionary type. No freak in the sheets. Might like giving blow jobs but prefers to be on the receiving end.
And just like that, I break out in a sweat. This is the last thing I need—to think about going down on Jo Jo.
Is she loud or quiet when she comes? For some reason, I can envision her yanking on my hair and screaming my name.
Or maybe that’s just my ego talking, which is normal.
“You’re definitely not hopeless.”
I jerk my gaze to hers, appreciating how easily she shifts right back into efficient tutor mode. It’s kind of hot, how serious she gets, though I shouldn’t think that way. My tutor isn’t hot. I need to keep reminding myself of that, even if it’s a lie.
“And I can help you,” she continues. “Though I’m going to need something from you in return.”
“Like what?” I sit up straighter, anticipating what she might say.
Her expression is solemn. “I need you to always be truthful with me, Knox. If you’re having trouble, struggling with an essay or the reading, tell me. I want to help you. That’s why I’m doing this. It’s my job. And I specialize in reading disabilities. I have the skill set to help you. So let me help you.”
It’s never been easy for me to admit I’m not good at something, when almost everything I do comes naturally. Except for this. Reading. Comprehension. Writing.
“Okay,” I agree with a nod.
The agreement was worth it, thanks to that bright smile on her face. She ducks her head, tapping away on her iPad, bringing up a calendar. “I think we should meet two days a week at first. That’s how often you have English class, right?”
“Yeah.” I bring up my own calendar app, frowning as I scrutinize my schedule. It’s packed already. Fitting in meeting with Jo Jo twice a week might be tough, but I’m going to try to swing it.
“Does this time work?” She lifts her head, her dark gaze meeting mine, and I’m caught up in her eyes for a moment, realizing they remind me of chocolate cake.
