Bragan Boys (Bragan University Boxset)

by Gianna Gabriela

  I take the quickest shower of my life and dry off. The moment I put on my leggings and a Harry Potter T-shirt, my phone pings with an incoming message. Just as I tap the email app, I hear a knock on the door.

  Hesitantly, I put my phone down.

  ZACK

  Tutors are not supposed to look like that. Those are the words that run through my mind the moment Emma opens the door.

  I take her in from head to toe. Her clothes are exactly what I envisioned a tutor would wear—leggings and a Harry Potter t-shirt—but the t-shirt isn’t oversized and the leggings highlight legs I did not know she had.

  Her blonde hair falls over her shoulders perfectly in wet curls. She’s not even wearing her glasses right now and she looks like a whole different person.

  I watch her for long enough that I see her hand move toward her face as she tries to adjust glasses she soon realizes aren’t there.

  “Hi,” I tell her, my voice breathy. I clear my throat and try again. “Nice shirt.”

  Idiot. Now she knows you were looking in that direction, genius.

  “Thanks,” she says softly.

  “Is our food here?” I ask, remembering the reason I came—the reason I gave her. The truth is, I enjoyed spending time with her last week. She’s quirky, combative and smart. She’s funny too and, for some reason, I found myself wanting to press her buttons.

  I’m also here because work was too long and the thought of going to a house full of football players who are probably partying isn’t something I wanted to do.

  “Not yet. It should be here in a little bit,” she says, still lingering by the door.

  I look over her shoulder, checking out her room. I’ve never lived in a dorm room. I’ve lived at the Football House since I set foot on campus. “Can I come in and wait?”

  “For the food?”

  “Yes.” I flash her what I hope is a reassuring smile. The reality is, I’m just as thrown by her as she is by me. I mean, my tutor looks pretty hot right now—Harry Potter shirt and all.

  She moves away from the door, signaling for me to come in. “Sorry, that was rude. Please come in.”

  I step inside. “It’s quaint,” I tell her, looking around the small space. There are two desks on each side of the door along with two twin beds. At the other end of the bed on the right, I spot a bookcase.

  “I’m going to guess those are yours,” I tell her, pointing in the direction of the books.

  “Just because I’m your tutor, I have to be the one with the bookcase?”

  “You’re wearing a Harry Potter shirt, you’re my tutor and smart as shit.”

  She crosses her arms. “That’s a weird comparison. Shit isn’t really smart.”

  I smile, shaking my head at this girl. “You’re also a smart-ass.” I glance back at the books. “So I’m right? Those are your books.”

  She nods, uncrossing her arms and smiling. I take that as my opportunity to explore, moving closer. “What do you have here?”

  “Nothing you’d be interested in,” she says and I ignore the implication of her words.

  I do a visual inspection of the titles on the shelves and find a few I know. Harry Potter is obviously among them, but there’s one series of books that captures my attention.

  “Fifty Shades?” I ask, pulling out the first book.

  I don’t realize how close she is to me until I turn around and we’re face to face. Our chests are seconds from touching and it feels like there’s no air left in the room.

  I’m exhausted. That’s gotta be the reason I’m finding the blue in her eyes, the red in her cheeks, and the curls in her hair so breathtaking. That’s why I have this urge to…

  Nope, can’t go there.

  She tries to take the book from my hand, taking a step back. “I like what I like!” she says, shrugging.

  “And that’s…” I know I’m prying, but she’s a lot more interesting than I could’ve imagined. A lot prettier too.

  I may not know a lot about Fifty Shades, but I’ve seen some of the trailers. I didn’t peg Emma for the kind of girl who’d read this kind of stuff. Then again, I’m told it’s the quiet, smart ones you’ve gotta worry about.

  She looks up at me—biting her bottom lip—and my eyes become fixated on her. “What are you into?” I ask again, hoping she answers but knowing she won’t.

  “Um… I like…” she stumbles over her words and I hold back the smile that wants to escape.

  “What?” I press, taking a half-step closer. I know I must be breaking some kind of rule here, or I’m living in an alternate universe where I’m in a girl’s dorm room and she’s making me nervous. Emma is making me wish for things I haven’t allowed myself to want in a while.

  We’re standing so close to each other now that our chests are touching and I can feel her breathing. Neither one of us knows what to do next, but we’re not pulling away either.

  The moment is shattered by someone knocking on the door. Emma backs away, and I take a step back too. I can’t believe I almost went there. I hadn’t felt this kind of rush in a while—in years, really—and I can’t let myself feel it again. Especially not with her.

  She’s smart and deserves someone who won’t kiss her in the middle of the night then pretend it never happened the next day. I have to see her at least once a week until I pass my biology exam, so I can’t ruin this.

  So, despite how much I wanted to kiss her—how much I still do—I won’t.

  18

  EMMA

  I didn’t know what was happening. All I knew was I was getting too close to the guy standing in my room with his eyes on me. He asked me what I liked and it felt like the rug was being pulled from under me.

  I know he was asking me what kind of books I liked to read, but considering I pried Christian Grey out of his hands, I imagined his question went beyond that.

  My brain told me it was inappropriate, but I didn’t want it to end. I enjoyed it—having him this close as he bit back a smile. The green specks in his eyes drew me closer, not that it was physically possible considering our chests were already touching—our breaths intermingling.

  Call me crazy, but the look in his eyes made me feel like he wanted to kiss me. From the moment he stepped into my room, he looked at me the way he did when I drove him home. Like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  I couldn’t seem to form a coherent answer to his questions. I was too focused on the way his chest fell and rose. The all-too-heavy weight of his eyes on mine.

  Him.

  He went from getting under my skin to getting into my room in too short a time. I know I should’ve taken a step back, but all I really wanted to do was take the final step forward.

  Luckily, the decision was made for me when someone knocked on the door.

  I take a step back, feeling both relieved and disappointed. Opening the door, I find the delivery guy with a bag in his hand. He hands the receipt over to me.

  “I got it,” Zack says.

  “I’ve paid for it already. I’ve just gotta sign.”

  He steps in closer. “I’ll reimburse you,” he whispers, making normal words sound too seductive. I look at the delivery guy’s face; he thinks there’s more happening here than meets the eye.

  Zack takes hold of the bag with our food. I tip the delivery guy and he leaves, but not before I catch him winking at Zack.

  I shut the door and turn around. “What was that all about?”

  He starts rummaging through the bag. “What was what about?”

  I guess I need to be specific since a lot happened in a matter of minutes.

  “The delivery guy winked at you!”

  “Oh, that’s what you meant. Well, he obviously thought I was getting lucky tonight.”

  “Too bad he was wrong,” I tell him so he doesn’t get any ideas.

  He smirks and I cringe at my choice of words. “Too bad, huh?” he asks, looking up from my desk where he’s laid out the food. “You sound a little disappointed,”
he adds.

  “Not even a little!” I reply. He would take my words to mean I’m disappointed we’re not having sex.

  He shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

  “I do say!”

  “Let’s eat,” he says, pulling the chair from Zoe’s desk and taking a seat. I take the one he abandoned.

  “I thought you were just coming to pick up your food,” I tell him as I open up my container. I’m hit with the glorious smell of chicken teriyaki.

  His spoon is already halfway to his mouth. “Do you want me to leave?”

  I don’t want you to leave. The realization comes out of nowhere. I want him to stay and that desire scares me. “Okay, you can stay. You did order the best thing on the menu.”

  “I see you ordered the same. I guess great minds think alike,” he says, taking a bite.

  “I guess so.”

  ZACK

  The food is amazing and exactly what I need. She feels the same way if her moans are an indication.

  I’ve never seen someone enjoy their food as Emma does, but it makes watching her more entertaining. It doesn’t even look like she’s registering my presence as she takes bite after bite.

  I like a girl who can eat.

  Despite the part of me telling me I should go home, I eat slowly, wanting to extend the time I’ve got with her.

  “So, tell me about you.” I start with a line I’ve heard too many times.

  She looks up from her food, searching for a hidden motive. “Well, you know my name. You know I love science and I’m tutoring you.”

  “You never answered me when I asked if you’ve tutored any other football players.” Has she let them into her dorm, her space? Have they seen her in leggings and nerdy t-shirts? God, I hope not.

  “You’re the first person I’ve tutored. I’m not really into the whole tutoring business if you haven’t been able to tell.”

  I guess it’s not me she doesn’t want to tutor; it’s just tutoring in general. “So why start now?”

  She thinks about her answer for long enough that I start to wonder if she’s going to tell me the truth. “I didn’t have much of a choice.”

  “How so?” I press, eating another piece of chicken.

  Finding her glasses on the desk, she puts them on. I’m starting to think she uses them as a shield—a barrier between her and the world.

  “Um…it was a requirement.”

  “Oh, like a major requirement?” I know grad students have to teach classes and such when they’re trying to get a PhD. I didn’t think science majors had to do similar things.

  She nods. “A major requirement.”

  “I hope I haven’t made the task too terrible for you.”

  “This is the second time we’ve spent more than ten minutes together, and here you are in my room at 10 PM on a Wednesday night.”

  I smile. “So, you’re saying this isn’t how it’s supposed to go?”

  She readjusts her glasses. “I’m going to guess that it isn’t. Are other football players being tutored?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like we go around saying ‘Hey, I got a tutor assigned because I failed.’ I’d like to keep my failures to myself.” It’s quite likely that a few other players have had tutors—tutors their parents pay for so they don’t fall behind.

  “I get that. So nobody knows you’re being tutored?”

  “I’ve told a couple of people.”

  “Who?”

  “Colton and Jesse.”

  “Do you think they judge you for it?”

  “I don’t think so. They know how hard I work and how much I want to play. They just want to make sure I do whatever I need to do to be on that field for the championship game.”

  “You’re that good?” she asks in disbelief.

  “Have you been to any of the games?” I ask cockily.

  She nods. “I have. But on the field, you all look the same. I just know our team is wearing blue.”

  “Not a football fan then?” I ask, surprised there’s anyone at Bragan who isn’t a fanatic.

  “I mean, I read about football.”

  “Like sports magazines?” I didn’t see any of those in her bookcase.

  “Like my books,” she says, pointing at all the books near her bed. “I read sports romances. Football romances are sort of my favorite.”

  “But not real life football?” Who likes to read about the sport but not like watching it?

  “Nope.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I don’t know. I grew up around football and as I got older, I started to dislike it.”

  “Why do you think that happened?”

  She stops to think for a second, sliding her glasses up to rest on top of her head. “My father was obsessed with it. He couldn’t stop talking about it.”

  “That’s true for a lot of people,” I reason. My dad played football when he was in high school, but now he doesn’t have time to sit down and watch a game. He’s too busy working. He’s always been my number one fan though—him and Mom. They’d cheer me on regardless of what I chose to do.

  “He, um… He really wanted a boy. He wanted to be able to teach his son to play football.”

  I listen attentively to her every word, knowing it’s probably more than she imagined telling me.

  She sucks in a breath before continuing, “The problem is, when I was born, my mom had some birth complications.” She pauses. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” she says with a laugh that sounds more self-conscious than genuine.

  I don’t know either, but I encourage her to continue because I’m invested. I want to know her. “Sometimes talking to someone you barely know is therapeutic.”

  She smiles. “Where’d you hear that?”

  “I don’t remember where, but it sounded true. If it’s making you feel better, you should continue. It’ll stay between us.”

  She studies me for a moment, as if she’s trying to decide if she can trust me with this secret. “The birth complications meant that after I was born, my mother couldn’t have any more kids. My father never got the son he wanted. He sort of became a non-parent. I guess to him, he didn’t know how to raise a daughter, so he didn’t try.”

  “That’s bullshit. I mean, he could’ve played football with you,” I tell her. I don’t know why I latch on to the football part, but I can’t imagine my parents not caring about me because I was a boy and they wanted a girl.

  “He could’ve, but he never did. He thought girls played with dolls, so he passed me off to Mom. He started coaching little league, high school football and… Well.” She shrugs, pretending like it isn’t hurting as much as I imagine it does.

  “So, you don’t like real life football because your dad loved it too much.”

  “No. Because my dad loves it more than he loves me.”

  “That just can’t be,” I try to argue. “I’m sure he loves you and is just not really great at showing it.”

  “You don’t know him,” she says, holding back tears. “Anyway, I stick to sports in romance books, and I go to games when Zoe drags me with her.”

  “Aha, then she’s the reason you’re letting football back into your life.”

  “Basically, I have no choice. When Zoe gets something in her head, it’s impossible to convince her otherwise.” She shrugs and smiles slightly. “You guys aren’t so bad.”

  “I’ve seen you at a couple of our parties.”

  “You have?” she asks, her eyes widening in surprise.

  “Yeah, at the House,” I tell her. “You hang out at Couple’s Retreat.”

  “Couple’s Retreat?”

  “The bonfires that happen outside.”

  “That’s what you call it?”

  “Nick and I came up with the nickname a while ago. Everyone’s inside partying and those who are cuffed hang by the fire, probably talking about love and whatnot.”

  “That’s not true! And it’s not all couples.”

  “It’s Colton a
nd Mia, Jesse and Zoe.”

  “Kaitlyn isn’t dating anyone. Chase is there sometimes too, even though he barely speaks, and I’m not in a relationship,” she says, covering her mouth like she’s said too much. She hasn’t. She’s said just enough.

  Not that it matters.

  “It doesn’t matter if there’re only couples out there. It just feels like Florida.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Retirement State? Like, everyone out there doesn’t want to party. There are people at the House who are there just to party and y’all just hang out outside next to the fire. Who would turn down a party?”

  “People who don’t like partying?”

  “There’s no such thing,” I tell her.

  19

  EMMA

  I think about telling him about the celebration party where I ended up driving him home, but I don’t. If he doesn’t remember, it’s not my job to make him.

  “Some of us just aren’t about parties,” I argue.

  “I’m not ‘about them’ either,” he says, making air quotes.

  I roll my eyes. “You love partying.”

  “How would you know?”

  “Are you gonna tell me you don’t go to a party every weekend and get black out drunk?”

  “Wow, that was incredibly on point. Have you been doing recon on me?”

  “Maybe,” I joke.

  He finishes his food and closes the container. “What else is there to do?” he asks, like he really doesn’t know the answer—as if he’d be twiddling his thumbs if he didn’t go to a party.

  “There’s no party or alcohol in this room and I think we’re enjoying ourselves,” I tell him, my words coming out a little hesitantly. Maybe he isn’t having fun?

  “That’s true, but this is also the first time I’ve shown up at someone’s dorm to have food with them and just talk.”

  Oh.

  I close my food container as well. “Maybe you should start doing that more often. You’ll be amazed at how great it feels to wake up the next day without a hangover.”