I sigh, knowing she’s right but not completely feeling it.
“Don’t you think some ice cream could help this situation?” Taylor asks.
I laugh, glad she always knows how to lighten the moment.
“Yes. No matter how bad things get, ice cream always helps,” I tell her.
As we enter the kitchen, we see my dad sitting at the table, his mouth agape as he reads a piece of paper in his hand. I quickly wipe my eyes, hoping he doesn’t notice I was crying.
But I needn’t have worried. He’s completely caught up in something obviously upsetting to him. He certainly looks distraught.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask him.
“I’ve been better,” he says, and then he shrugs. “Say, do either of you know of any good math tutors?”
“Why?” I ask.
“It appears my star player needs some tutoring. Hopefully that’s all he needs.”
I accidentally sigh far too loudly.
“Oh my god,” I exclaim. “That figures. He can’t even pass his classes, either. He’s too busy…”
As my dad looks at me curiously, I catch myself and say, “…playing football all the time. All your players are more jocks than scholars. That’s why I’d never want to date any of them. Their brain is the one muscle they never exercise.”
“Well that’s good,” he says. “Because I sure wondered why you seemed so interested in Wesley Reynolds. I don’t think I could handle any more bad news today.”
“Ha ha,” I fake laugh, acting like that is the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages.
Taylor swoops in to rescue me.
“I may know of some good students who tutor math,” she says, throwing me a wink. “Let me ask around and get back with you tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Taylor,” my dad says. “I’d appreciate it.”
And then I scoop out ice cream for Taylor, and some for my dad too. I’m glad for Taylor’s quick saves and her listening ear. And for not mentioning anything to my dad about Mandy’s drug overdose and the suspected link to Wesley. It’s still just a rumor and I need to sort it all out before my dad finds out.
But not right now. All I want to do tonight is relax and hang out with my BFF and forget about the bad boy I was too stupid to stay away from until now.
Chapter 39 – Wesley
Bonk.
My head whirls as a recently thrown football comes into contact with it.
“Ouch! What the—” I begin, but I’m soon interrupted.
“Reynolds, Reynolds, earth to Reynolds!” Coach Thompson taunts as he approaches me.
Is this some kind of joke? I wonder. He’s not saying it in a funny way but rather in a menacing way. Just like the way he’s walking.
Why on earth is Coach mad at me? I’ve been standing on the sidelines, minding my own business. The defensive line is on the field, so it wasn’t my turn to play.
“Did you see that ball whizzing at you, or do I need to make you an appointment at the eye doctor’s?” Coach Thompson asks.
Now he’s right in front of me, glaring at me. Yep, he’s definitely mad at me.
“I’m not even on the field…” I start to protest, but he cuts me off yet again.
“You should always have your eyes on the field,” he huffs. “You need to be studying everything that happens at all times. Not looking elsewhere or having your head in some pie in the sky fantasy.”
Does he think I was looking at Chelsea? I wonder. Because for once, I wasn’t.
I’ve been trying to forget about her, ever since she straight up told me to get lost.
But it isn’t easy. Sure, I still think about Chelsea more than I should, but it’s not like Coach can read my mind.
“You’re on thin ice, Reynolds,” Coach says. “Come to my office after practice. We need to talk.”
Great.
Maybe Chelsea told him about us and he’s as mad at me as she is?
But I don’t think she’d want to incur her dad’s wrath just to get back at me.
“More trouble in paradise?” Christian asks, coming up to me after Coach Thompson walks away.
“I have no idea what’s up with him,” I say, making a point of keeping my eyes on the field as I talk to Christian. “Or what’s up with anyone anymore. It’s like everyone’s mad at me for no reason.”
“You still pining for Chelsea?”
I put my helmet on, both so that my facial expressions can’t reveal my true feelings for her, and also so that I’m protected if Coach decides to throw any more footballs at my face.
“I just don’t understand what happened,” I tell him.
I hadn’t gone into great detail about everything. I like to leave some things private, and even though Christian is my only good friend here so far, I’ve really only just met him.
“Well, just let it go,” he tells me, with a shrug. “She’s just a cock tease. That much is obvious.”
There’s something sinister in the way he talks about her that makes me want to defend her, even though I know I shouldn’t give a damn. I decide to change the subject, because I don’t want to give myself away.
Plus, I can’t really defend her, anyway. I hadn’t told him we’d had sex, so I can’t exactly point out that she’s not a cock tease.
“Thanks for your help with that algebra test,” I told him. “I was never taught that way to do it. I can’t believe no one ever told me about it.”
“Well, you do come from a school where they focus more on sports than academics,” Christian smirks.
“Very funny.”
“But no problem,” he says. “Glad I could help.”
It’s the offense’s turn to take the field, so I hurry out there to avoid any accusations from Coach Thompson that I’m being too slow or that my head is still in the clouds.
I try to concentrate on practice, but it’s not even Chelsea over-shadowing my thoughts now. It’s Coach Thompson, and trying to figure out what the hell I did to get into hot water with him.
Chapter 40 – Wesley
I knock on the open door of Coach Thompson’s office after practice, and he motions me in, without looking up from his desk and says, “Just come in, Reynolds. You don’t have to knock. Have a seat.”
He looks ragged, and I realize that maybe his anger was a cover for something else. Peering into his face, I guess disappointment maybe. Sadness?
I take a seat on the opposite side of his desk and he slides over the piece of paper he had been looking at.
“Reynolds, I took a big risk on you, when I agreed to let your dad pull some strings to allow you to come here. And quite frankly, so did the director of athletics, and even the dean of the school. Our division funding could depend on this. You told me you would behave, and keep your grades up.”
“I have been, Coach! I swear.”
“Well, this letter says otherwise,” he says, nodding down at it, silently instructing me to read it.
I look at the letter. It’s from the dean.
This correspondence officially notifies you that Wesley Reynolds failed his algebra exam and is currently failing the class. Further, he’s been absent from class…
“What the—?” I sigh, and shake my head. I push the paper back to him as if it’s on fire. “This can’t be true.”
“Well, are they making this up?” he asks. “Your algebra professor? The dean?”
“I mean, I guess not,” I tell him, my head swirling in disbelief. “But I studied hard for that test. Sure, I didn’t understand the concepts at first and I had missed one class that covered them. But that was the only class I’d missed all semester.”
And it was to chase your daughter around the cafeteria when she didn’t want to talk to me, I almost add.
I had been so distraught that Chelsea wasn’t returning my texts or calls, or coming to meet me at our spot, that I’d skipped class to catch her off guard at the cafeteria, where I knew she always ate with Taylor on Mondays before her philosophy class.
/> A lot of good my persistence did me. Apparently she thinks I’m a stalker, creep, and player. And now I’m in further trouble for trying to prove her wrong.
“But, anyway, I worked hard to learn the concepts and I did learn them,” I continue. “You can ask Christian. He helped me learn the method. I’m sure I aced the test, based on how he taught me a way to solve the problems that I had never known before. He said the professor taught it on the one day I was absent. And that way was simpler than I’d ever imagined.”
“Hmmm,” says Coach Thompson, rubbing the stubble on his chin. He’s usually always clean-shaven, so it must have be bothering him. In fact, he looks rough— like he’s gone one too many nights without sleep. “Maybe that’s because it was too simple.”
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, Reynolds,” he says, with a long sigh and then a tsk-tsk-tsk of his tongue against the roof of his mouth, as if I’m a kindergartner he’s scolding. “Did you ever hear the saying, ‘If it’s too good to be true, it probably is?”
“Yes,” I tell him. “Of course…”
“And did you ever stop to think that certain people might be jealous of you? That they might want to destroy your success?”
“Are you saying that Christian…?”
“…is purposefully trying to sabotage you?” Coach asks.
I look at him, bug-eyed. He shrugs.
“I can’t say for sure,” he continues. “But I just think it’s mighty convenient that he supposedly taught you an easy way to ace a test that you apparently failed very badly.”
“But, why would he be jealous of me? He plays a different position, so it’s not like he’s missed out on opportunities by my presence, unlike some of the other quarterbacks. And I’ve been helping the team win games, which would just boost his prestige, I would think…”
“Reynolds, for someone who comes off as a tough badass, deep down you’re actually way too nice.”
I just look at him and blink, not sure what exactly he means or what to say back.
“You give everyone the benefit of the doubt,” he says. “There doesn’t have to be a specific reason someone is jealous of you. Maybe they just don’t like people who do better in life than they do. Maybe it doesn’t matter if the star player helps their team win— they still want to take that star player down, just for being a star.”
I nod. It makes sense, when he puts it that way.
“Sure, Christian wasn’t the quarterback, but he was the star player on the team before your arrival,” Coach Reynolds continues. “I don’t want to disparage any of my players, but suffice it to say we both know the former quarterback sucked. So Christian was really the only one to shine, before you showed up.”
“Hrmph.”
I have nothing to say. I’m dumbfounded. Coach Thompson is making some good points that I can’t argue against.
“And maybe it’s not even related to football,” Coach continues. “There could be something— or someone— else that Christian is jealous about.”
I meet his gaze, and he’s looking at me with an expression that says he knows more than he’s letting on.
“I wasn’t born yesterday,” he says. “And I have put a lot of trust in you, in more ways than one. I feel like you’re letting me down left and right, never mind whether Christian is behind it or not. You have to be smarter than this.”
I just gulp, and I don’t say anything to confirm or deny what I think he’s hinting at— that he knows that Chelsea and I were dating, and now we’re not. I wish I could explain, and even ask him what he thinks happened, to try to gain some insight into what’s going on in Chelsea’s head.
But I don’t want to confirm it if it’s just a suspicion he has. Maybe it’s a test, which could get me, or, worse— Chelsea— into trouble if I admit that it’s true.
And besides, that’s not even the most pressing matter at hand. I need to figure out what’s happening in Algebra and if there’s any way to save my ass.
I’m so overwhelmed at the possibility that Christian would do this to me that I can’t think too clearly about how to fix the problem of my failing grades. I don’t want to think that my only friend would shit on me like this, on top of everything else that’s gone wrong. The only thing going right is football, and that might be in jeopardy.
“So what exactly does this letter mean, Coach?”
“Well, I’m not quite sure. It’s just one exam, and even though it was a doozy of a failure, it’s not the end of the semester yet, so I think you might still have time to turn this around.”
“I understand, and I know I can do that,” I tell him.
“I’ve been looking around for a good tutor,” Coach says. “And I think that if I tell the dean you’re putting extra time and effort into this class, and that if you can really learn the right method— and not whatever crap Christian Lewis intentionally or unintentionally taught you— then we might have some hope.”
Whew.
“Okay good. Thank you, Coach.”
“I’m going to try to talk to your professor and see if you can re-take the test. If not, even if you can manage to get a good grade on your next test, so that it would pull up your final grade, then I think you might still be okay to keep playing.”
“Okay Coach, I can do that.”
“I hope so. Because you know what’s on the line here.”
He stares at me. I sure do know.
Our championship games and any post-season games, if we make it that far, don’t happen until the beginning of next semester. So if I get benched for bad grades or kicked off the team for bad conduct and therefore for breach of my contract, there’s no way I can play in the games that matter the most.
And if that happens then there’s no way I can get back to Huningdale, where now I want to be more than ever. I don’t have any friends here— only enemies pretending to be friends. I don’t have Chelsea. And if I don’t have football, I don’t have anything.
I also get the sense that Coach Thompson isn’t just talking about football. Although I heard Chelsea very clearly say to leave her alone, her father’s hints reveal that something further might still be able to exist between us. And I don’t want to screw that up, either.
Looks like it’s Operation Relearn Algebra for me. Whether or not anything can work out with Chelsea, I’d better do the best I can for Coach Thompson. And for my last chance to keep playing football. If I have any chances left.
Chapter 41 – Wesley
“Wesley Reynolds?”
“Yes?”
I’m sitting on the patio of the campus cafeteria a few days later, waiting to meet my new algebra teacher that Coach Thompson lined up for me. I was sure it’d be some nerdy dude with horn-rimmed glasses and a stutter.
But this tutor has a female voice. And when I turn around to face the voice who called my name, I’m greeted with something altogether different than the tutor I’d imagined.
She’s model-pretty: tall, slim, and with a smoking hot body. But she’s dressed a little inappropriately for a tutoring session, in a low cut tank top that reveals her stunning cleavage, and tight fitting short shorts that show off her ass.
I can’t help but think it’s nothing compared to Chelsea’s ass. She has a naturally curvy ass, with an hourglass body to boot.
While this girl is definitely very attractive, and I wouldn’t have hesitated to hit on her pre-Chelsea, it’s like Chelsea messed up my brain. Now I can’t even look at another girl without comparing her to Chelsea.
“Yes?” I ask again, incredulous that this could really be the tutor assigned to me. Perhaps she’s here for some other reason.
“I’m your algebra tutor,” she says to me, putting her hands on the table and leaning over, giving me a further glimpse of her ample cleavage. “I heard you were in need of some motivation in the… math department.”
“Uhhh, yeah, I guess,” I tell her, knowing that I sound like a damn idiot.
I’m sure she’s used to guys f
alling all over themselves for her, but my amazement comes at the fact that she’s been assigned as my tutor. Right when I’m still crushing on a girl who doesn’t even fucking want me.
Life can be so unfair.
“No one told me you looked like this,” she says bluntly, staring me up and down.
My thoughts exactly.
Normally I’d be jumping all over the fact that she looks ready to jump all over me. But I need to stay on the straight and narrow, for the sake of my football contract.
Besides, I just don’t feel like pursuing anything with her. She’s definitely not giving me any kind of a chase.
And she’s definitely not Chelsea.
When I’m honest with myself, I know that the old me would have taken the risk and returned her flirtations at the very least. But the new me only wants to risk going out of bounds with one person, and that person doesn’t tutor math. Unfortunately.
“Well, let’s get down to work,” my new tutor says, and sits down on the same side of the picnic table bench that I’m on.
I look around. Everyone is staring at us.
The last thing I need is for this to get back to Chelsea. If I have any chance left with her, this obvious scene would totally blow it.
“Shouldn’t we, like, go to the library or something?” I ask her.
“Or maybe my house?” She looks at me through thick, long lashes she’s batting at me.
She even puts her hand on my thigh.
“I… ummm…”
“Just kidding,” she says, and lays her head on my shoulder as she opens my algebra textbook with her other hand. “I think better when I’m outside. And I need more breaths of fresh air after finding out that my new student is a total stud.”
I try to scootch over a bit, but her not-Chelsea ass quickly follows.
“Okay, I know you’re a bright guy who can catch on to these concepts,” she tells me, as she points to a problem in the book. “And I know I’m just the girl who can offer you extra motivation to do so…”
She reaches her hand close to my dick, as if she’s about to grab it, and I practically slide off the end of the fucking bench.
Yes Boss: A Bad Boy Office Romance Page 29
