Page 54 of Tutoring the Bad Boy
Ginny looks down at her wet dress and cringes. “Just…close your eyes, okay?”
“Of course.”
I clasp my hands together so Ginny can put her foot there for me to hoist her up. She places her hands on my shoulders then her foot in my hands, and I count to three. I lift her up easily because Ginny is not heavy at all. The rustling of the branch lets me know she’s grabbed it.
“Okay,” she says, and her foot leaves my hand.
Turning my back to her, I keep my eyes pinned to the grass. I’m a guy. Okay, not just a guy. An eighteen-year-old guy. Let’s just say…I’m exercising Herculean strength to keep my gentlemanly demeanor. “How’s the progress up there?”
“I’m doing it!”
“Let me know when the coast is clear.”
Within moments, she’s made it to the roof and calls out to me, “I’m up.”
Knowing that Ginny is no longer exposed, I look up and watch as she crawls along the roof. I stand below, waiting until she’s safely inside her room. She waves and then blows me a kiss.
I catch the kiss and return the wave before strolling back down her driveway. About halfway home, I realize I’m smiling and humming a John Mayer song my dad used to listen to right after my mom left. “Slow Dancing in a Burning Room.” Man, I haven’t thought of that in a long time. I swear the man had it on repeat. Enough that I could practically recite it for a while. Eventually, he stopped playing it. At the time, I figured he’d just grown tired of it. Maybe I’ll ask about it one day.
Once I get home, lights are streaming from the windows. Dad’s up and I’m late. I heave a deep sigh, raking my hand through my hair. Better to face the music now than later.
Walking through the front door, Dad lifts his gaze from whatever he’s reading. “You’re late.”
“Yeah…like five minutes late.”
He takes the book he’s holding and slaps it closed. “Still. You could have texted. Where were you?”
“The Hut.”
Dad pinches the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “Oh, Kaleb…not there.”
I take a seat adjacent to his and prop my feet on the table. “Dad. Really. It’s not as bad as you think. People are just having fun.”
“It has a bad reputation.” Dad finally looks at me, and his eyes narrow. “Are you wet?”
Now that I’m in the house, the wet clothing is making me cold. “I went swimming. It’s not a big deal.”
He sighs. “You went swimming with your clothes on?” With a groan, he puts the book on the side table where an empty glass sits. “Why?”
For some reason, I feel like I need to defend myself. “At least I have my clothes on. I…” I pause. “Dad, I’m not a bad kid. I’m trying.”
Blinking, he leans forward. “Is that what you think? That I think you’re a bad kid?”
“Don’t you?” That’s the impression I’ve had this whole time.
“No. That’s exactly why I don’t want you at places like that. So others won’t think it.” He shakes his head and sits back. “You’ve never been a bad kid. Rebellious. Smart-mouthed. A pain in my rear. But I’ve never thought you were a bad kid.”
I don’t know what to say. Even with our heart-to-heart the last time, I figured he still saw me as bad. “Really?”
“Never.” He smiles. “You thought that?”
Shrugging, I reply, “I gave you every reason to think that.”
My dad chuckles. “I thought you hated me because your mom left.”
Now that he’s said it, it throws me. “I did, but I don’t now.”
“I didn’t handle things the way I should have. I wish I could go back and change it.” There’s a catch in his voice in the last sentence. “I’m sorry.”
