Page 3 of The Chemistry of Us

“It’s fine. I’ll just request another student.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re not my first tutor, so unless you plan on deep throating my dick, I’m stuck with you.”

She jerked back. “Of course you’d screw your tutors.”

“I wasn’t exactly the one doing the screwing.”

“You make me sick.”

“Feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.” Before she could say another word, I gripped her arm and hauled her ass into the private study room beside us.

“Let go of me!”

I did. “With pleasure.”

Being a football player meant I had my fair share of injuries—the clean break was always the easiest, but the sprain?

The stumbling?

The hit to the head, the knee, the body?

The rough shove against the wall that made you so dizzy you wanted to kill someone. You always remembered the bastard who did it, and then you were always out for blood. But the clean breaks always almost came out as an accident forced by aggression and competitiveness. Those were the hits I respected.

The ones I knew.

Now Tru Remy…

She was my clean break.

I swallowed hard, taking a deep breath while trying to stay focused on the task at hand.

“So Cinderella turned into a tutor?”

Her beady eyes zeroed in on me. She always had that shit-eating stare, especially when looking at me.

The same solemn expression.

The familiar sad smile.

The “I trust no one” composure.

She hadn’t changed, and for some reason I couldn’t for the life of me fathom, it pissed me off for her. There were times with her that used to wreak havoc on my mind. I wanted to yell at the world and use the power my parents had to fix a corrupt system that had fucked over and fucked up so many kids and ruined so many lives.

I couldn’t blame her for hating a world that had been beyond unfair to her. The cards she was dealt weren’t just shitty, they were traumatizing, and if I knew anything about Tru, which wasn’t a lot to begin with, she was as tough as nails.

“So,” she mocked in a patronizing voice, “the football god turned into a bigger dumbass than he was in the past? I mean, how many tutors have you gone through at this point? What am I? The tenth? Twentieth?”

Instead of acknowledging her jab with a response, I sneered, “All we had to do was meet and get our schedules together, alright? I’ll go first. I have practice every night at five unless there’s a game, which typically takes place on Saturdays. As far as scrimmages, I can sometimes work around those. But let’s get something straight, Cinderella. The only reason I need a tutor is to graduate and move on to bigger”—I purposely raised my eyebrows and looked down at her—“and better things.”

She lifted her chin; her jet-black hair hit right at her chin, bringing too much attention to her full lips and crystal-blue eyes. I was always mesmerized by them. I think everyone who met her when she first came to the Hamptons as the new charity case was.

Tiny compared to me, she didn’t even come up to my shoulders. However, she still had curves in all the right places, and her tits were utter perfection while her legs went on for days.

My hand twitched at my side, resisting the urge to spank her plump, luscious ass for being the sassy little minx she obviously would forever be.

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