Anyone who says they’re having the worst day hasn’t met me. My girlfriend cheated, I blew out my knee, and probably trashed my chance of going pro. All in one day. Then my jerk professor tells I’m almost on academic probation.
Awesome. Now I get to find a tutor.
Enter Mallory Fine, quiet, a little intense, and my kind of gorgeous. Who also happens to hate baseball and any guy who plays it.
I tell myself this will be nothing more than a tutoring relationship. I’m a liar. I want this girl. How hard can her secrets be to unravel? It might be a challenge, but so is getting back on the ball field and I’m determined to make that happen—no matter the cost.
“Hey,” I said, drawing her attention back to me.
She tried to soften her expression, but her eyes darted back to the game. “I just wanted to apologize for earlier. One of the freshmen had a meltdown that would rival Three Mile Island.”
“Three mile what?” I asked, searching my brain and coming up empty. “Wait isn’t that an Eminem song?”
“Dr. Monroe was right, you didn’t pay attention in class today.” She shook her head as a grin lifted her cheeks.
Mallory: What makes you think I’m reading anything?
I chuckled quietly.
Me: Just a hunch.
Mallory: Don’t judge me, but it’s a romance.
Me: A romance? Let me guess, a hot teacher falls for a sexy baseball player?
Mallory: It’s not a book of advice.
Shaking off the feeling of disappointing my father again, I took my computer out of my bag and powered up. The first email I saw was from MFine. I laughed at Mallory’s last name. She was pretty fine with that pixie face and hair a guy could get lost in. I opened it and smiled.
Dear Mr. Betts,
I hope you made it back to campus without any problems. We will meet in the library on the third floor by the microfiche. Nobody uses those except history majors and the area is always quiet. I’d like to meet on Mondays at three, Wednesdays at five, and Fridays at three. Our sessions will go no longer than an hour and a half; although I doubt we will need that entire time. Most of my tutoring sessions only last an hour, but I always schedule in extra time in case we hit a particularly difficult stretch. If these times are not going to work for you, please let me know immediately.
I hit respond, amused by her formality. It was like talking to a character out of one of Chelsea’s silly historical romances. Not that I would know anything about that. Okay, not that I’d ever admit to reading one. Once.
Dear Ms. Fine,
Those times are acceptable. For now. In a few weeks, I’ll start physical therapy so we may need to make adjustments depending on the doctor. Is there anything you want me to bring to the sessions?
I waited less than a minute for a response.
Dear Mr. #4,
Bring your books and your brain.
Leave your brain, and we may need the entire hour and a half.
Maybe this girl wasn’t as stiff as she pretended to be.
About the Author
Lynn Stevens flunked out of college writing her first novel. Yes, she still has it and no, you can't read it. Surprisingly, she graduated with honors at her third school. A former farm girl turned city slicker, Lynn lives in the Midwest where she drinks coffee she can't pronounce and sips tea when she's out of coffee. When she's out of both, just stay away.
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