Page 16 of Tutored By the Smart Girl

“Yeah. Walked in on them.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I lean into him. “Not a good way to find out.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

We walk along in silence for a moment.

“Are you in a hurry to get back?”

I shrug. “Not necessarily.”

“The weather’s perfect. Let’s walk through McCaffee Park.”

I smile. “That sounds great.”

I’m not sure what’s happening with Rush Radcliffe, but I think he’s healing my heart.

5

Rush

I was having the perfect practice until Wings and I collided and he ran over my ankle. Not his fault. My mind was elsewhere. Like on that dark-haired beauty who continues to take up space in my head.

It’s like she lives there now.

Rent-free.

Although I cringe at the thought of running into Evie outside the bakery, Adison didn’t get all weird about it. Some girls would’ve asked a million questions about what happened between us— maybe would’ve even been jealous of Evie flirting, but not Adison. And the best part was she didn’t pepper me with questions.

The way Adison kissed me after ice cream sent my body into overdrive. Her lips were so gentle, and she was meek. Mild. Almost like it was her first kiss. She’s so incredibly shy. I sort of have an unwritten law. Don’t get involved with freshmen and don’t mess around with virgins. It basically spells trouble.

She can’t be a virgin though, right?

I hold in a groan as the trainer, Doug, examines my ankle. He manipulates the swollen extremity and I wince.

“Thankfully, it isn’t broken, but I want you to stay off it for the weekend.”

“At least it’s a bye week.” I sit up on the examination table. “Will I be able to play against Northern?”

Doug makes some notes on his laptop. “Next weekend? I would think so. Let’s get throughthisweekend first… look at it again on Monday. Go home tonight and get some rest. Tomorrow, I want you to stay in, and keep this elevated with some ice. Got it?”

“I have to meet my tutor tomorrow morning.”

Doug shakes his head. “Nope. You stay put tomorrow.”

I groan.

If I miss one of Adison’s tutoring sessions, she may bust my balls. Or worse yet, tell me to hit the bricks. Since she isn’t much into sports, I’m not sure my swollen ankle will appease her and her iron-clad schedule.

I’m fucked.

I wakeup and barely move my leg and I’m reminded of my ankle.

Shit.

I texted Adison last night, told her about my ankle and how I’m confined to my room. Icing it, elevating it— all that. Against her better judgment, I’m sure, she agreed to come over and do the tutoring here.

Our house mom, Pat, brings me a breakfast burrito and helps me get settled in on my bed. A pillow under my foot with an icepack.

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