Page 20 of Fighter Daddy's Girl

“So, when are you going to see him again?” Lila asks.

“Gracie, I didn’t know you were seeing anybody.”

We both turn to see Professor Bryson standing beside our table. I’d been so caught up in my conversation with Lila that I hadn’t even noticed him walk up. He stands there looking at me with a gleam in his eyes that sends a dark ripple through my heart, and I shudder.

“Are you seeing somebody, Gracie?” he asks.

“I’m sorry, Professor Bryson, but I don’t think that question is appropriate.”

I’m so used to deferring to my professors that standing up to one of them, even that much, takes all the courage I can muster. He frowns.

“I’m sorry, you’re right. Of course, you’re right,” he says. “You’re just always so focused on your schoolwork, I didn’t think you had time for much of a social life, let alone dating.”

“What can I do for you, Professor Bryson?” I ask.

He clears his throat. “Right. I wanted to speak to you about your paper,” he says. “I was hoping you’d come by after office hours tonight?—”

A strange look crosses Lila’s face, and she gives me a small, subtle shake of her head. Come by after office hours? It’s a reallyweird request. More than that, it’s even more inappropriate than him asking me about who I’m seeing. I’m just getting a weird vibe from Professor Bryson that’s making me completely uncomfortable. I don’t like it.

“How about I speak to you after class?” I ask.

“Gracie, I?—”

Jumping to my feet, I grab my bag then Lila’s hand. “We’re late, and we really need to go,” I say. “But I’ll talk to you in class.”

Dragging Lila with me, I dash out of the student union, running until Professor Bryson is long behind us. When we finally stop running, we take a minute to catch our breath.

“Is it me, or is your professor getting creepier?” she asks.

I shake my head. “It’s not just you.”

10

GRIFFIN

“What? Did you think I was illiterate or something?”

Grace blushes and giggles to herself. “No. I don’t think you’re illiterate. It’s just not common for elite athletes to read a lot.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “I’d hardly call myself an elite athlete.”

“You kind of are.”

“Not really. But thanks,” I reply. “And I just really enjoy reading. Always have. I read everything I can get my hands on.”

I surprised Grace by showing up at her school to take her out to dinner tonight. The conversation has been free-flowing and easy, as has the laughter, and we’ve been talking about everything under the sun. She’s one of those people who seems to know a little about a lot of things. The girl is absolutely brilliant, and I’m enjoying my time with her more than I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent with anybody in a long time. I’ve certainly laughed more than I have in ages.

For the last half hour, we’ve been talking about one of my favorite subjects: books. She was surprised that not only can I read, but that I read for pleasure. Not only that, but we share not just a similar taste in fiction but that some of my favorite books are the same as hers.

“Where did you get your passion for books?” she asks.

“My mom. She was a big-time reader.”

She frowns and looks down for a moment. “Did your mom … what did she think of you being a fighter?”

A wry smile curls my lips. “She wasn’t a big fan of me fighting. She was always worried about me getting hurt or doing some long-term damage to my brain,” I tell her. “If she’d had her way, I’d be teaching high school English.”

“There’s probably less of a chance of you suffering permanent brain damage.”

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