Don't Kiss the Class Clown (Billionaire Academy YA Romance Book 4)

by Sally Henson

  For once, maybe a few jokes were exactly what was called for. “You mean donkey?”

  Dr. Dave tipped his head back with laughter. “You nailed that one, Miss Woods. Don’t worry. I’ll find you better transportation than Ryan ‘The Mule’ Jacobs.”

  Ryan’s grin only grew bigger at our teasing, and my heart might have softened toward him just a little.

  Chapter 6

  Gamela leaned against the wall by my door and folded her arms. Her shiny, long dark hair looked as if she just left the salon. The ripped skinny jeans and flowy silk top that cinched at the waist fit her perfectly. She looked as if she could have just stepped off the set of a photoshoot.

  “What?” she asked, wiping under her eye at an imaginary smudge of mascara. “Do I have something?”

  I shook my head. “You just look … Wow. You could be a model.” Gawking at her was an involuntary response; I couldn’t help it.

  She rolled her eyes and clasped her arms again in a harrumph. “Come on. We told Ryan we would be there.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “You said we would be there. I have homework.” I went back to doing my lemon sit-ups.

  Gamela ran a hand over her hair. “Yeah, it looks like you’re doing homework. I don’t want to go by myself.”

  I rolled to my stomach. As tempting as winning tickets to HeartCandy was, increasing my strength and studying were higher on my priority list. “Sorry, La La. I can’t. Go with Lacey or Tia.”

  A knock sounded on my door. I began my one-legged push-ups as Gamela opened it.

  “Your chariot awaits, my queen.” It was Ryan.

  “She’s not going,” she griped.

  “Why not?”

  “She says she has homework.”

  The door closed. He stepped next to me and squatted down. “How many more do you have? I’ll wait.”

  I shook my head and counted the last ten of the fifty in my head. When I finished, I rolled to my back and sat up. “I have math, English, and economics.”

  “What if I help you?” Ryan asked.

  “You and Gamela go. She’s ready and waiting. Doesn’t she look gorgeous?” Maybe I could fix the two of them up and kill two birds with one stone. Gamela would stop trying to convince me I was into Ryan, and Ryan would stop pestering me. The thought soured my stomach for some reason. I swallowed and changed my focus to homework.

  Ryan sat on the floor, facing me. “You know, I’m pretty good at math and economics. My dad taught me all this stuff.”

  Gamela sighed. “I’m leaving. But you owe me a night out, Ally.”

  Ryan stood, crossed my room to the desk, and lifted the laptop. “Where do you want to sit?”

  My eyes widened. He was staying? “I can do it myself.”

  His eyebrows arched. “It’s okay to ask for help, you know. That’s one thing MLA teaches.” He sat next to me on the floor and handed me the computer. “You don’t have to be great at everything.” He chuckled. “It’s obvious you try, but no one is great at everything. Each person has their own thing.”

  “Well, my thing is gymnastics, and that’s not going so great right now.”

  “What I saw of you the other night … it was amazing. I don’t know how you do it.”

  Warmth grew in my stomach. Performing, tumbling, being the best was what I lived for. And for him to acknowledge that was … something my parents used to do. “Thanks.”

  “You can’t really choose gymnastics as a career, though, right? I mean, MLA is known for its high-level academics, not athletics.”

  I scrambled to my feet, doing my best to keep from putting weight on my sprained ankle.

  Ryan stood quickly, wrapping his arm around my waist to help.

  But I shook him off and hopped to my bed, laptop in hand. “Gymnasts have a small window to become the greatest. And I’m running out of time.”

  Ryan reached for the desk chair and dragged it next to the bed, stretching his long legs out with his feet on my nightstand. “What do you want to do after that?” he asked.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t want to give my future after gymnastics any thought. It was that I needed all of my focus to be on being the best now. I had wanted it for so long, but I also needed to prove to my parents that I could do it so I could go home. But I wasn’t about to share that information with the class clown. “Look, if you insist on staying, let’s just do my homework. Okay?”

  “Your wish is my command,” he said, pulling out his phone and typing in a message. “Let’s start with the economics paper.”

  I opened my laptop and navigated to a document. “I’m curious,” I said. “What did you get on that pop quiz Mr. Kremer gave us the first day I sat by you?”

  He shrugged. “I aced it.”

  Seriously? My eyelids slammed shut. That made him more annoying than being my manservant or having perfect lips and amazing taste in cologne. Maybe I really did need his help.

  “Banzai!”

  My eyes flew open as he hurled himself into the air and crashed on my bed. I gasped and burst into giggles. “Are you trying to kill me?”

  “You looked way too serious, and we haven’t even started yet.” Ryan bounced closer—like hip to hip closer.

  My belly flipped. I was sure my eyes bulged out of their sockets like I was some cartoon character.

  Ryan leaned even closer and sang, “Hello, baby.”

  I coughed on my own spit.

  Okay, so he actually just said, “Hello.” No “baby” attached. But something about how close he was and the way his voice sounded caused the Jerry Lee Lewis song “Great Balls of Fire” to play in my head. I knew the words by heart from using it for my floor routine three years ago.

  What was my problem? It was Ryan. The class clown. The guy that had hauled me around for two days and for some reason seemed to like it.

  My giggles promptly tapered off.

  He took the laptop and scrolled through what I had written. His expression changed, and his lips moved in silent words. As annoying as Ryan was, he was growing on me.

  I shook my head, clearing out any thoughts of Ryan being anything more than annoying. It wouldn’t work. I had to be disciplined, follow doctor’s orders to get back to my training. My goals were more important than ever. And if I wasn’t careful, Ryan would become a distraction.

  Chapter 7

  Students sat scattered at the long solid wood tables arranged at the center of the library. Ryan sat across from me at the one closest to the windows. The small, time-controlled desk lamp arranged in the middle was on.

  I glanced over the top of my computer at Ryan. Our eyes made contact. Heat warmed my cheeks. His smile widened before he focused back on his own laptop.

  “How are your questions for economics coming along?” he asked, eyes on his screen, fingers tapping the keys.

  I stared at the blinking cursor for a moment. “I’m stuck on number three.”

  His brow furrowed. “Give me a sec to finish this … and okay.” His mouth tugged into his usual permanent grin as his finger tapped and swiped the screen. “Let me check.” He mumbled the question as he read, and then he met my gaze. “Do you remember when Mr. Kremer was talking about the difference between Keynesianism and Marxism?”

  I shook my head and groaned. “There are so many names, I get them confused.”

  His expression brightened as he explained the difference between the two and the political link. It was hard to pay attention to what he was saying when all I wanted to do was bask in the sunshine he was giving off as he spoke.

  I caught myself leaning closer, smiling like a boy-crazed girl. But I was able to blink it away. “You love this stuff, don’t you?”

  He hitched a shoulder. “My dad taught me from an early age.”

  “What does your dad do?” I asked, pushing my computer aside. I wanted to watch his eyes and face morph from one feeling to the next. His expressions were so emotive.

  Ryan rubbed his lips together as he leaned back against his chair
. “He used to own a hedge fund company on Wall Street.”

  “Used to?” I asked. “What does he do now?”

  His gaze, mouth, and shoulders all collapsed at the same time. “He died last year.”

  My stomach tightened, but my body involuntarily leaned against the table. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Thanks.” He kept his gaze down, and I wanted so badly to wrap my arms around him and take that sadness away. Sadness did not look right on his handsome face. Ryan was the class clown, always prepared with a joke and laugh, never taking anything seriously. I had no idea he’d lost his dad. He never showed it.

  My stomach twisted, thinking what it would be like to never be able to talk to my dad again. Was I mad as a hornet that they sent me away? For sure. But if I wanted to talk to either of my parents, all I had to do was make a phone call.

  He took a deep breath and asked, “What about your parents?”

  I swallowed the lump of emotion. “My parents basically dumped me here while they went off to live halfway across the world.” It slipped out before I knew it. My fingernails dug into my palms. Every time I thought about it, which was a lot, anger roiled my insides. If Ryan made a joke about them dumping me, I would have reached over the table and decked him.

  Thankfully, he didn’t. I really would have felt bad messing up those mesmerizing lips of his.

  He folded his forearms on the table. “That sucks.”

  The words, and his soft blue eyes full of understanding, loosened the hold that anger had on my muscles. I mirrored his posture, and we sat there for seconds that felt like eons—in a good way.

  Ryan broke the silence first. “What does your dad do?”

  I sat back in my chair, both glad and sad the moment was over. “He’s a big-oil guy.”

  Instantly, Ryan's eyes grew to the size of the giant compass on the painting on the wall behind him. “Does he wear a cowboy hat?”

  I nodded. “He does.”

  “Cowboy boots?”

  “Yeah. Most people in Texas own a pair of cowboy boots.” I couldn’t help but giggle at his excitement.

  He leaned into the conversation, eyes wider than ever. “You wear cowboy boots?”

  I scrunched my eyebrows together. Didn’t I pretty much answer that question? “Yes.”

  Every question had him leaning farther over the table. “How about a big, shiny belt buckle?”

  “He was born and raised in Texas. My family all has shiny belt buckles.”

  “Y’all got to get me some of that,” he said in a terrible Southern accent.

  I shook my head. “You sound ridiculous.”

  “Well, now, little lady, I take offense to that.”

  He might have sounded as fake as a three-dollar bill, but he sure looked cute doing it. And I had a feeling he’d look hot in a black Stetson.

  Needless to say, I didn’t get much studying done before we had to leave. Ryan might have been growing on me, but I would be glad when I didn’t have to rely on someone else to get me where I needed to go. Most of all, I couldn’t wait to get back to tumbling.

  Chapter 8

  Ryan stood in the middle of hallway with his hands stuffed in his pockets when I came out of first-hour class. His signature mischievous grin made me pause for a second. Was he up to something?

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He shrugged, a chuckle rolling out of him. “Guess I’m in the habit of meeting you after every class now. I like being around you all the time.”

  I planted my hands on my hips and looked up at him through my lashes. “You’d better not be playing a prank on me.”

  The grin he wore fell long enough for him to glance away. A tentative smile took its place. “No pranks, Ally.”

  Was he disappointed I’d caught him before he could pull it off? Or did he really like being around me? His fingers lifted my backpack. I was too confused about the underlying context of the conversation to refuse.

  “You’re fun to be with,” he said, putting us in motion to our next class.

  Was he serious? The guy’s record for being serious was in the single digits. I could tell my mouth was wide enough to catch flies, not that MLA had a fly problem. The flies couldn’t afford it.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked.

  It was my turn to shrug. Did it? I understood what he meant by it becoming a habit, but at the same time, I didn’t want him to be my habit.

  “Are you nervous about tonight?” he asked. One thing I’d learned about Ryan early on was that he did like his questions.

  I shook my head. After my treatment with Dr. Dave this morning, he’d said I was good to go but told me not to rush into it. No doubles for a few days. “My private lesson is today. Which will be good, because we can test everything out. I know I won’t be able to go full force the first day back.”

  “How long have you wanted to be in the Olympics?”

  He was full of surprises. Shocker, I know. I knit my eyebrows together and looked up at him, wondering how he knew and what he’d heard. Talking about it reminded me of what I’d left in Houston.

  “Dr. Dave mentioned it one time.”

  A blond-haired, blue-eyed boy approached us. “Hey,” he said in a British accent. “Are we on for tonight, mate?”

  “Simon, this is Ally. Ally, Simon.”

  Simon grinned as his gaze danced between Ryan and me. “Good to meet you, Ally.”

  His accent was a little dreamy, I had to admit. I had seen him before but never heard him speak. “Hi.”

  “I’ll let you know later,” Ryan said.

  Simon chucked. “Sure. See you, Ally.”

  “Bye.” I gave a little wave.

  Ryan put us back in motion, saying, “Simon’s my best friend. He started here in junior high.”

  I nodded, curious where Simon had been all the times that Ryan was around me lately.

  We made a left towards the business department when he asked another question. “When did you know you were serious about it? Have you always known?”

  My eyebrows drew together, first wondering what he was talking about and then unsure where he was going with all the questions. Where was the usual goofy joker?

  Bailey and Cade entered our economics class. Ryan motioned for me to go in first. I walked back to our seats and pulled my laptop out as he sat next to me. He looked at me expectantly.

  If he was being serious, I guessed I should answer. “I’ve been training full time for two years. Until I came here, anyway.” Just the thought of what my parents had done made my nostrils flare and my lungs constrict at the same time.

  He let out a whistle. “Whoa. That is … intense.”

  I sat up straight, proud of how hard I had worked to get to the elite level. With everything slipping through my fingers, it was the only thing I could control. After my latest injury, even that was questionable. I repeated the words Coach Romanoff had drilled into his gymnasts’ heads: “If you want to be the best, you have to be intense. You have to want it more than anything and anyone else.”

  “I get it,” Ryan said. “But intensity needs to have some playtime, or you risk losing it.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him. The bell rang, but I had to know what he was talking about. “Lose what?”

  He closed the distance between our seats. “Your drive—focus—passion. Most of all … yourself.”

  Ryan had no idea who I was, how hard I’d worked, the struggle of getting through the past injuries. I had to do it, and he wouldn’t know anything about that kind of drive.

  Mr. Kremer spoke, “Miss Woods, I’m glad to see you are on your feet again.”

  His words were a much-needed break with Ryan. I smiled and nodded.

  “I take it you will be laying claim to the seat next to Mr. Jacobs for the rest of the semester.”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Sitting next to Ryan had become habit in such a short time.

  Habit. Ryan was not supposed to be a habit. I t
urned to the blue-eyed hottie next to me, opening my mouth once more to answer the teacher, but my “no” wouldn’t come out.

  Shoot. Did I admit Ryan was hot?

  Ryan leaned in and whispered, “Stay. I promise I’ll be good.” The sound waves of his melodious voice, or maybe it was the heat from his breath, sent the most divine chills down my spine.

  Mr. Kremer continued with class. “If you have not submitted your papers before class started, they are considered late.”

  Maybe Gamela was right about Ryan liking me.

  And maybe I liked him too?

  Crap.

  Chapter 9

  My teammate, Tessa, found a spot on the mat near me. She and the team did a full warm-up; I did less than half my usual. It sucked not being able to go full force.

  “Hey, Ally.”

  I sat up from my pike stretch and smiled at her. “Hey,” I said. We’d talked before. Nothing deep or important, just things about the gym and coaches.

  “How’s the ankle?” she asked, as she went through her stretches.

  I pulled up from my bridge and stopped to assess how it actually felt. No pain, pressure, or weakness. A weight fell off my shoulders. “Good. It feels … perfectly fine.”

  Her smile widened. “That’s great. I can’t wait until our first meet and you blow those MAGNA girls out of the water.”

  I snickered. “Me? You’re looking good on beam. I can’t wait to see what you score.” I rifled through my bag for my uneven-bars hand gear.

  “Can I ask you something?” she asked, continuing the routine stretches.

  I slipped on the gear. “Sure.”

  “Would you mind giving me some pointers?”

  “On beam? It’s not my best event, but if the coaches don’t mind.” I shrugged.

  Her face lit up with a burst of energy. She began talking so fast I could hardly make out her words. “Oh, they won’t mind. You’re the best I’ve ever seen in person. I mean, like, the best. And some of the girls are jealous and talk, but that’s their problem, because, you know, they just aren’t that good. Because they’re kind of lazy and just expect everything to be handed to them. That’s probably happened to them their whole life. You know, the ‘getting whatever they wanted whenever they wanted’ thing. But not me. My parents are self-made and expect the same from me.” She stopped for a breath, and I raised my hands to stop her.