After gathering my stuff, I’m about to walk out the door to find Dr. Jax, but it turns out he finds me first. He stops, a look of concern on his face. I think I might look constipated.
“Is everything all right, Aidan?”
Carefully, with all the precision of a neural surgeon, I set my book stack on the corner of the desk so they line up corner to corner. Unlike that asshole Sebastian, I have significantly more tact. This is going to be a discussion between two peers, two adults. “Actually, Dr. Jax,” I begin pleasantly enough, “you’re just the person I’m looking for.”
He nods, still confused. He scratches his balding head. “Didn’t you have tutoring?”
“Well, no.”
“The student didn’t show up?”
“No, he showed up.” The thought of Mr. Hot Shot trying to bribe me makes me feel violent, and I’m probably the least violent person on the planet. I don’t even like shooting video games. And blood? Forget it. “But then he thought he could try and buy me a passing grade in your class—” I cut off, fuming.
It’s hard when you’ve had to work for everything in your life. I know it’s not the guy’s fault he was born privileged, but the way he treats people as if their only reason for existence is to cater to him... that’s what angers me.
I push my glasses up my nose and straighten my button-down to give my hands something to do. Dr. Jax appears upset. “Aidan, I’m sorry about that. I never would have assigned him to you if I knew he would do something like that. How did you respond?”
“I told him to stuff it, basically.”
He pauses, then nods, as if, yes, that’s an appropriate response. “Do you want me to send the student to William? I’m going to talk to this kid’s coach.”
“No.” The word surprises me. It’s not the first time I’ve had a student take advantage of me, but it’s the first time someone has been so forward about it, and without a care. “I’ll continue. If he decides to show up. Now that I’ve met him, I’m honestly surprised he showed up at all. Makes me wonder if he paid someone off to get him this far in life. Does someone kick the soccer ball for him? Does someone else play for the team in his stead, like a stunt double? Wouldn’t surprise me one bit.”
A sound from outside draws my attention to the door. A second later, Sebastian appears in the doorway, his expression shuttered. He doesn’t look at me as he says, “Forgot my jacket.” He leaves as quickly as he arrived.
With a deep sigh, I rub my eyes. No doubt he overheard my rant. Is that guilt I feel? Most likely. It wasn’t professional of me. At the end of the day, my job is to help this student pass calculus. It shouldn’t matter if I like him or not. At some point down the line, I’ll have to apologize.
Sometimes, my values can really kick my butt.
Chapter 5
Sebastian
The only thing that could make this week go any worse was if a rogue bus driver were to run me over at the crosswalk. Luckily, that never happens, and I cross the street from the math building toward the student parking lot like I’m a bat out of hell. Did I stand outside my tutor’s door and eavesdrop on his conversation with my professor? Yeah, I did. Do I regret it? Yeah, I do.
But you know something? I’ve decided I don’t really care what my tutor (ex-tutor?) thinks of me. Anyone who turns down a free ten grand is an idiot in my book. Doesn’t matter if he’s loads smarter than I’ll ever be, or that he looks like a young Jude Law. The guy’s sense of dignity and honor is too rigid. We live in a world where money buys anything you want. Judging by the less-than-quality clothes he wore, I’m guessing he could afford to have his honor tainted a bit. To me, the money means nothing. It’s pennies out of my trust fund. To others, it’s a lot. Sometimes it’s enough to save people.
Guess it won’t be saving that guy.
His insults about me sting more than I want to admit. Non-athletic types have no idea the sacrifices athletes make for the game, our career, and a chance to go pro. Why the hell do I need to learn how to graph? How to solve for q, or whatever the number is? I’m kicking a ball down a field.
My car is parked on the top level of the parking garage, as far away from other cars as I can possibly get. It’s the only Ferrari in the lot. It’s fire engine red, not because it’s my favorite color, but because it looks like the devil has gotten loose in the city, and I’m in the driver’s seat.
I slide into the black leather interior and start her up, loving the purr of the engine through the soles of my sneakers. It’s Friday, which means it’s time for family dinner. Doesn’t matter where we live. The traditional lives. I could use some halfway decent food to take my mind off this entire week.
My parents bought their house while we were still living in London. They hired an interior designer to complete all of their desired aesthetic, and it beckoned like an unopened Christmas gift the day they arrived. The nice thing is it’s only twenty minutes from the university—though at my speed, I make it there in twelve.
Two massive iron gates block the long, paved driveway leading to the estate up the road. I use my clicker to open the gate and cruise the half-mile long driveway until the trees fall away and I’m left staring at a stunning seven-bedroom, eight bath Graystone set on three acres. It’s excessive, considering no one lives at home anymore, but we’re all close enough to crash if we need it, and my parents wanted to make sure we each had our own room if we ever needed one.
Kellan and Noah’s cars are already parked. I pull up behind them and head for the front door, walking right in, much to the dismay of Henry. I smile as I pass him. “Hey, Henry.” He hates when we walk in without knocking, but he’s never been able to drill the habit out of me.
The inside smells of garlic. My mom texted me earlier in the day to tell me the menu. Pesto tortellini with mushrooms and lemon greens. And, since I always ask for it, even if we’re having steak and eggs—garlic bread.
My parents and siblings all congregate at the island while their personal chef, whose name I learned was Manny, slaves over the stove. The kitchen is one of the largest rooms in the house, just after the living area and my parents’ bedroom. My mom loves hosting, so when they were looking for a home to buy, she absolutely needed a large, chef’s kitchen so as to serve enough food for all her friends. Which, at the moment, is none, but my mom has already joined a local, high-end yoga studio. Plus, my dad always hosts his business partners and their families.
“Seb.” My mother catches sight of me and envelopes me in a hug. For a moment, I’m five years old, having woken from a nightmare, and the smell of my mother’s perfume is still the same after all this time. I’ll always connect the floral scent to safety and home. “How was your first week at school?”
Pulling away, I kiss her cheek. “Horrible.” I go to the island and snag a bruschetta, shoving it into my mouth with all the care of a slobbering dog. Noah grimaces at me like I’m half-ape. I smile with my mouth full at him. He hates the sight of half-chewed food. With a sound of disgust, he returns to his book.
We chat about our day. Dad and I talk about the news. After ten minutes or so, the doorbell rings. Butler hurries to answer the door to let in Maverick. Unlike me, my youngest brother always knocks. He has the best manners out of all of us.
Then it’s time to eat.
Kellan lifts his wine glass, watching me over the rim. The spark in his eyes tells me something is coming my way, and I’m not going to like it. I glare at him, a silent demand to keep it to himself, whatever it is. His grin widens.
He says, “How was practice for you this week, Seb?”
The bastard. He knows full well how it was the first day. He was there.
My dad glances up from his dinner with interest. “Do you get along with your team?”
Kellan has his shit-eating grin on. I’m tempted to toss my pesto in his face, his perfect hair that he spends an hour on in the morning—it’s
freaking weird—but I know our mom would have a meltdown if I smeared pesto all over her fresh white linen tablecloth.
After a breath, I take a bite. Might as well get it off my chest. They will eventually learn of it anyway. You can’t keep anything secret in a family of six. “I don’t think they like me very much.” One of the reasons the Dumonts are so close is because we are open enough with one another to discuss life’s problems.
Although I only focus on the first practice, the second wasn’t any better. Max, the cute captain I saw the first day, was cold toward me. When I offered him pointers on how to improve the time management for our drills, he snapped that he had it under control. I’d held up my hands with a spoken, “Sorry, man. Just trying to help.”
“Things were perfectly fine before you arrived. They’ll continue to be fine, hotshot.” Then he jogged to the other side of the field to help the defensemen set up their scrimmage.
By the third day, no one could talk to me without hostility in their mannerisms or acid in their voice. And it sucked, because Kellan got along great with everyone.
This concerns my mother. She wants her babies to be not only successful, but well-liked. She thinks it reflects poorly onto her if that isn’t the case. “Why wouldn’t they like you?” she says, voice on the shrill side.
I shrug, but catch Kellan’s eye. He says, “Maybe because Seb waltzed onto the field ten minutes late expecting special attention.”
My dad looks between us. Maverick chows down on his meal, but Noah rolls his eyes with a muttered, “What a surprise.”
“It wasn’t that, exactly,” I argue. Well, maybe it was. I might have been out of line. My first impression wasn’t a very good one.
“Well, I don’t know why they wouldn’t like my Seb,” says Mom. She’s indignant on my behalf, which I appreciate, even if, the more I think about it, the more I realize Coach was right to call out my attitude. “Don’t they know how lucky they are to have you on their team? To have the both of you?” she adds with a loving smile toward my brother.
With a sigh, Noah says, “Mom, you know Seb always has to be the center of attention.”
I gulp down the rest of my wine with a hot glare in his direction before refilling my glass. There’s always wine at dinner, and I always drink my fill.
“It’s like, he has no value if he’s not the star. If he’s not the most important person on the team or whatever he’s doing in life, then his life has no meaning. If he can’t be the best, then he’s worthless.” I think that’s pity in his gaze. “Must suck to know people only like you because you’re popular, not because you’re actually a good person.”
All right, that’s uncalled for and hurts way worse than I care to admit. I don’t say anything, just grip my wineglass and consider the consequences of tossing my drink in my brother’s face. Noah can’t say a single nice thing about me. Ever. Don’t know what his problem is.
It’s worse when Maverick adds, “Yeah, you’re probably right about that.”
“Enough,” Mom snaps. Dad keeps packing it away, doing what he does best and answering business calls at the table. I can’t remember the last time I saw him without a phone in his hand. Actually, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him without a phone in his hand.
“Hey, do you think we can stop talking about Seb and talk about other things?” Noah says. “You know your other sons exist, right?”
“Oh, honey. Sorry. How are your classes?”
Thankfully, talk turns to other topics. I don’t dare mention what happened with the tutor. It’s still too fresh in my mind.
The rest of dinner is uneventful. But thoughts of the tutor remain long after we clear the table.
Chapter 6
Aidan
Trivia Tuesdays at Mulligan’s, the local Irish pub, are where I go every week with three of my closest friends to drink and talk about our week. Two of them are also math grad students, while the other is a poly-sci grad student who we met last year at a different trivia night. Two men, two women, all four of us ready to unwind by talking shit about our students and the woes of grad school.
It’s a way for me to destress. The bar is packed for a Tuesday night, as usual. Not so much because of the trivia, but because beer tankards are only three dollars each. Despite it being an Irish pub, it’s surprisingly updated. A bit on the industrial chic side, even, which is probably why it attracts a lot of millennials. We like broken things to fix up and make new, make better.
As Lila grabs some tankards for the table, Michael, Clary, and I snag the last open table in the sitting area. The floor is dark grained and shiny from polish, the walls a forest green, and the ceiling constructed of open pipes, chrome, and glass light fixtures that look handmade. There’s still another ten minutes before trivia starts, so we start brainstorming a fitting name. Generally, it’s a play on words, but math related. Yeah, we love our numbers.
“What about To Infinity and Beyond?” Clary suggests. She writes down all the trivia answers because she had the neatest handwriting. Currently, a pen hovers over the slip of paper she grabbed from the trivia host.
Michael, the one with the dirtiest mind, snorts. “Good, but not nearly good enough.” He’s the one who comes up with names like Divide and Conquer. I’m happy to say he made us shirts for that one, which we wear out on occasion. They’re lucky, and it has nothing to do with statistical data. Every time we wear them, we come close to winning. Tonight, however, we don’t wear them, so winning can go either way, especially since I catch sight of a particularly large table with a group of close to fifteen. I personally think it’s not fair when so many people are present, but I would never say anything about it.
Clary isn’t fazed, though I sense how badly she wants to roll her eyes. “Fine. What about Live Free or Pi Hard then?”
“Too Bruce Willis,” says Michael.
She counters with, “Denominators?”
That makes my eyebrows lift in surprise, but in a good way. “That could work.” It’s one we haven’t used and it’s clever word play. The only thing that’s missing is the vulgar aspect, which is half the fun when thinking up trivia team names. Michael’s mind, however, is dirtier than most.
Lila comes to the table, bearing tankards of beer. He passes them around before settling in the last empty chair. “Name?”
“Still brainstorming,” I say.
“I got it.” Clary taps a blunt fingertip onto the table and smiles, satisfied. “The Limit Does Not Exist.”
Lila giggles before clapping a hand over her mouth, and I can’t help my smile, which is almost a cringe.
“Mean Girls?” says Michael. “Really?”
“It’s nostalgic,” she counters.
It’s perfect.
The door to the bar opens, and in steps a lone figure. tall, leanly muscled, and whose eyes are turned a rich and unending amber as the low lighting hits them at just the right angle. My stomach jolts in shock.
“That’s him,” I hiss, glancing at Sebastian again. He stands near the door, looking around, and I see him raise a hand to—what do you know—the table full of fifteen guys. My only guess is that’s the men’s soccer team. They look to be of the athletic sort, and I don’t say that based on their physiques. They’re the rowdiest of the groups here.
I find it interesting, however, that they don’t wave back to him. A few glance his way, but their stares are cool, their mouths tight with disapproval. One of the players comes over to slap Sebastian on the back. There’s a definite familial resemblance to them.
Clary and Lila look at one another in confusion as Michael goes to hand the host our team name. “Who?”
I sigh. “My tutoring student I was talking about yesterday.”
Clary’s mouth drops. “Ah.” Then her blue eyes narrow at the offender in question. She’s had students try to buy grades off her before, and to her, it’s a loathso
me, immoral decision as well. I’m actually surprised to see a sneer curl her mouth. Clary is generally an amicable young woman, liked by all, who doesn’t get her feathers ruffled too often. “Good riddance.”
Honestly, I’m still not sure if I’m tutoring him. I told Dr. Jax I would, but I won’t know for sure until Friday when we have our session and whether or not he shows up.
Sebastian and the other guy, who is either his brother or his cousin, discuss something, their heads bent close. It looks like they’re arguing about. Sebastian looks to the long table of teammates. One of the guys glowers with his arms crossed over his chest.
Sebastian scans the sitting area. I think he’s looking for an extra seat. Before I can turn away, he catches my eye. He goes still.
I do too. Our eyes lock, and it feels like someone has held a knife to my throat. The disrespect he showed me isn’t something I’ll be able to put behind me easily, especially if I have to continue working with him for the entire semester. But I’m not a total pushover. Sebastian seems like he expects me to look away first, yet I don’t. I stare at him until he looks back at his brother/cousin. Only then do I return my attention to my friends, who all stare at me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. I blink and straighten. “What?”
Lila fights a smile and fails. She shakes her head. “Nothing.”
Well, that’s most definitely a lie, and now I want to know. “No seriously, what is it?”
She shrugs. “He’s pretty cute.” Her eyes linger on him, taking in the well fitted jeans he wears and white polo. The gold in his brown curls comes out in the light.
I give her my best withering stare. It’s ineffective, as I’m not an intimidating person, but I guess it works because she flushes. “Did you not hear me talk about how shitty of a person he is the other day? And anyway, I’m his math tutor.” Maybe.
“You’re right. Sorry.” One last longing glance at him, and she turns to Michael and starts chatting about when the next D&D meetup is.
Sebastian (The Dumonts Book 1) Page 3
