Still, this is Lee Burrows. The starting quarterback for the football team. The “it” man on campus.

  He’s a legend around here.

  Whether you’re a fan of college football like me, or only into the fact there’s no doubt he’ll be drafted, you love him. Girls all giggle and stalk him with their eyes when he walks past. Or they just strategically put themselves in his path for him to notice them.

  I’d love to say I’m above it all, but the truth is, I admire him too. I just do it from afar.

  And now I’m going to spend a few nights a week with him, alone. He better put forth the effort he needs to pass this class.

  Fear cripples me, because any time I’m around a guy who’s even remotely good-looking, I inevitably end up stammering and going pink-cheeked.

  I shake my head. None of those problems matter right now. I need to pay attention to Professor Sherman because he’s already wrapping up the lecture. He assigns our reading assignment, and the quiet lecture hall turns chaotic as everyone packs up their stuff.

  “Lee and Shayna, can you both please see me before you head out?” Professor Sherman asks.

  After I pack my bag, I reluctantly stand by the podium where the professor is organizing his notes. Lee’s large boots clunk as he makes his way down the stairs, smiling and nodding to the people climbing them.

  He’s wearing a pair of jeans and a snug olive-green Henley that I know for a fact matches the green flecks in his olive eyes. Yes, I’ll admit I know that because I’ve googled him one too many times. His hair is medium brown and longer on top with a natural wave most girls spend hours using a flat iron to achieve. If he wasn’t the best football player, he could be a model.

  Our eyes briefly meet and he clears his throat when he reaches us. “Hey.”

  I look back at the professor and he does the same as the professor says, “Lee, as you know, I’ve been in communication with Coach Buxby. You seem to struggle with some of the material, and since your hours don’t work with our tutor clinic the school offers, I’ve asked Shayna to help you. Lucky for you, she agreed. She has the top grade in this class, and she was in another class of mine, last year. I know she’s a hard worker. I have no doubt that if you put in the effort and work with her, your grade will go up.”

  Lee glances at me and I think he looks a little… embarrassed maybe? I can’t be too sure because seconds later, his expression morphs into the same affable one I’m used to seeing on all his social media.

  He nods. “Thanks for agreeing to help me.”

  “Yup,” is the only word that comes out of my mouth, which isn’t even a proper response to what he said. My cheeks instantly heat.

  God, this will be pure torture. I envision myself trying to tutor him, unable to string together a sentence because I’m so nervous.

  “I’ll leave you two to discuss your schedules and work out a plan of action. If you need my counsel on anything, just let me know.” He concentrates more on me than Lee.

  I nod and smile, afraid to open my mouth again for fear of something stupid coming out. Then the door slam shuts, the professor leaving us alone in the empty lecture hall.

  We stand there trading glances for an awkward beat. My vision goes from my shoes to him and back to my shoes. His confident gaze remains steady on my face the whole time.

  “So, what are you thinking? How often do you think we need to get together?” Lee asks.

  I struggle to hold his gaze, so I look over his shoulder to make it appear I’m not as uncomfortable as I seem. “I think three times a week to start. If you need more, we can figure it out as we go.”

  He blows out a breath and cringes, gripping the back of his neck with his hand. “That much, eh?”

  The “eh” makes the corner of my lips quirk up. A reminder that he’s Canadian.

  I shrug. “It’s your grade. If you think you can get caught up with two days a week, it’s up to you.”

  His full lips press together. “Nah, I’ll make it work. I’ve gotta pass this class.”

  “Okay, what days work for you?”

  He pulls his phone from his back pocket. I walk over to the desk beside the podium and set my bag on it to dig out my phone. Lee stands beside me. The scent of his cologne or deodorant or his natural scent reaches me and I close my eyes briefly. I can’t identify the scent, but it’s crisp and manly and alluring.

  “My best options are evenings,” he says. “I have practice in the mornings before class. And obviously Saturdays are out because of games, and a lot of Fridays too since we’ll be traveling to away games.”

  I pull up my schedule and frown. A couple of my classes are in the evenings this semester. “How’s Sunday work for you? I only have two evenings through the week that can work—Tuesday and Thursday. But there’s nowhere else to really squeeze in the third day.”

  He scrunches up his face in a way that would be cute if he weren’t a grown adult male. “Sundays are NFL days.” He stares at me as though I should know this.

  I understand the NFL plays Sunday, and I’ll be giving up watching it as well.

  I can’t help it. I look at him with an annoyed expression. “Well, it’s your grade.”

  He heaves out a sigh as though the tutoring thing is already interfering with his life too much when I’m the one doing him a favor. Then he nods a few times. “Sundays is it. Can we make it in the afternoon at least? It’s my only day to sleep in.”

  “Sure.”

  “Where should we meet? I live off campus with my teammate, Miles, so I can’t promise that if we study at my place, we won’t be in the middle of an NFL marathon party day.”

  He means Miles Cavanaugh, the team’s safety.

  “I live in the dorms with a roommate, so we’re probably best to meet at the library. I can schedule a private room so we won’t disturb anyone else.”

  “Whoa, Shayna, we just met and you’re trying to get me alone?”

  My eyes widen and blink a couple of times, my cheeks feeling as if they’re on fire.

  He chuckles, and the tip of his foot hits the front of my flat. “I’m just kidding. Give me your phone.” He holds out his hand.

  It takes me a moment to come back before I hand him my phone. He takes it from me, and when his fingers brush over mine, a shock hits us both. I yank my hand away.

  “See, we have sparks?” He winks and meets my gaze.

  Lord, I can see exactly why so many girls are willing to set aside self-preservation and sleep with this man, knowing he’ll probably move on with someone else right after. A girl could get lost in that gaze and wander for eons.

  He breaks our staring contest and looks at my phone, his thumbs moving over the screen at a record pace. “Here.” He hands back my phone. “I put my contact in there. Just text me when and where to meet you.”

  “Okay,” I choke out.

  “Great. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow night then. Thanks again.” He leaves the room in the same fashion as I imagine he came in—carefree, confident, and without worry.

  I wonder what that feels like.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Lee

  Later that night, I’m hanging out with Miles and two other guys from our team, Siska and Bellamoore.

  “Dude, you gotta get that grade up. You can’t get suspended right before playoffs,” Miles says and takes a swig of his smoothie.

  We all try to eat pretty clean, but Miles is by far the most obsessive about what goes into his mouth. I swear the guy knows the ingredients and nutritional value of everything that passes his lips.

  “Why do you think I have a tutor three times a week now?” I groan and sink back into the couch cushion. “Oh, and my NFL Sundays are gone with it.”

  This is gonna suck. Any day but Sunday. Not exactly like I can ask her to move her schedule around when she’s doing me the favor.

  “And Jimmy, the mechanic, is charging me a thousand bucks for the truck repair,” I add.

  “Shit, man.” Miles gives a look of sympathy. We’re both only here thanks to a full ride scholarship for football.

  “I’ll float you,” Siska says. He isn’t here on full ride. In fact, he was a walk-on our freshman year. There are rumors his daddy bought his spot, but he’s a solid player who has saved my back more than once. “Put it on the AMEX.”

  Miles eyes me because he knows I’ll decline, as he would.

  “No thanks, man. I just have to man up and ask Kane.”

  To which Miles frowns. He knows how much I hate the fatherly lectures from my older brother.

  “Is your tutor sexy?” Bellamoore changes the subject, thank God.

  “Who’d you find to tutor you?” Siska asks, his eyes not leaving the screen as his thumbs pound on the game remote.

  “The professor asked some girl in my class. She’s got the highest grade in the class.”

  The three of them laugh and exchange looks.

  “What?” I ask.

  Miles nods to Bellamoore.

  “How long until you’re hitting that?” Bellamoore asks but gets distracted when he beats Siska. He stands and declares victory with both arms raised.

  I’m willing to let this topic go. I know my track record and why they think the way they do.

  “I give him a week tops,” Siska says, tossing his remote on the table, sulking from the loss.

  I shake my head. “Fuck off. I’m working with her to pass biology, not practice it.”

  But Shayna does have some damn kissable pouty lips. The way her eyes never focused on me too long made me wonder if she was scared of me or purposely fighting her attraction.

  “Sure…” Miles says, and all three of them laugh.

  Though I want to be annoyed, I understand where they’re coming from. I can’t think of any girl I’m strictly friends with. Usually anyone who tries to get to know me wants something from me, whether it’s the status of being on my arm or just to brag that they banged the quarterback.

  That’s not conceit talking; it’s reality. But I’m not a dick, so I always make sure they know the score before I bang them. My theory is they do it anyway because they’re hoping it’s going to be some mind-blowing experience for me and I’ll fall in love with them the minute my dick enters their pussy.

  So far that risk hasn’t paid off for any of them.

  “I’m serious. Besides, if you saw her, you’d know she’s not like that.” I’m lying through my teeth, but they’ll never meet her, so it doesn’t matter.

  “What’s she look like?” Siska asks.

  I shrug. I didn’t give her a second look the first time I saw her in class. But once I was standing across from her, I was struck by her eyes—sort of a mix of blue and green—hiding behind her glasses. And when she spoke, I couldn’t help but stare at her lips. And even with her big T-shirt, I was still able to make out the swell of her breasts underneath.

  “I don’t know. She’s nothing special. Kinda geeky, I guess.” The words taste sour in my mouth.

  “So, she’s not impressed by you?” Miles asks.

  “Fuck off.” I toss an empty pop can sitting on the coffee table at him, but he ducks and it misses him.

  “Your turn.” Bellamoore holds the controller out to me.

  I change the profile on the screen and log myself in, then Siska sets up the next game.

  “I’m outta here.” Bellamoore stands from the couch and makes his way toward the hallway that leads to the door.

  “Where you off to? It’s still early,” Miles asks.

  “Making a stop on the way back to my place.” He winks.

  “Oh yeah? What’s her name?” Siska asks, pressing the button to start the game.

  “Kylie. Rylie.” He shrugs. “Does it matter? I won’t remember in a week.”

  “You don’t remember her name now, dumbass,” Siska yells.

  The game starts, so we both inch closer to the end of our seats. Bellamoore flips off Siska behind his back and leaves with the thud of the door closing behind him.

  At least the game can distract me from my life problems.

  That Thursday, I knock lightly on the door of the private library room Shayna texted me to meet her at and hear a soft, “Come in.”

  I push open the door. She sits at the table, laptop open and papers spread out over the table, pen in hand.

  “Hi.” Shayna glances quickly at me then back down at her notepad.

  “Hey.” There are only two chairs in the room: one Shayna sits in and the other one across from her. I step inside, closing the door behind me, then set my bag on the edge of the table before grabbing the other chair and bringing it around the table next to Shayna’s.

  “Oh,” she mumbles.

  I pause. “Figured this would be easiest.”

  She nods, shuffling her papers over to make room for me but never glancing in my direction. “I figured we can start with the first lecture of the semester and work our way through the material from there. I have all my notes here and I printed copies for you. That way we’ll see where you’re struggling.”

  “I can answer that—pretty much all of the class.” I sit down, unzip my backpack, and pull out my handwritten notes from class, then I plop them down on the table between us.

  She takes them and reads through them for a minute, her finger scanning down the margin lines. Which are filled with doodles of small field goals, footballs, robots, and the outline of a woman with breasts and a patch of hair between her legs. What can I say? I get bored and easily distracted in class.

  “We have our work cut out for us.”

  Her words should probably fill me with the fear that I’ll never catch up, but I’m too busy studying her face to bother.

  Yep, her eyes are definitely aqua colored. The perfect mix of blue and green, like the ocean down in the Caribbean where I spent Christmas with Kane last year. I wish she weren’t wearing glasses so I could get a better look at them.

  “Let’s go through my notes.” She hands back my notes and passes hers to me. “You need to let me know if we get to something you don’t completely understand and we’ll dive in with more depth, okay?”

  I find myself nodding, still fixated on her eyes. And when she seems to notice I’m transfixed, her cheeks turn pink and she studies the table.

  I clear my throat. “Yeah.”

  “All right.”

  For the next two hours, she works her way through her notes, checking in with me to make sure I’m understanding and expanding when I don’t quite grasp the idea behind a concept.

  She barely meets my eyes, as if I make her nervous. Other than that, she’s all business. Not once does she allow the conversation to deviate to anything personal, which bothers me. I’m not even sure why. Isn’t that what she’s here for? To help me ace this class, not to shoot the shit about unimportant crap?

  But a part of me is intrigued by how quiet she is and wants to dig under her protective top layer. What movies does she like? Does she ever go to parties? Is there a wild side of her who likes keg stands and drinking games? Or does she prefer quiet nights in her dorm with a few friends? Most of all, the question I shouldn’t care about at all keeps repeating—does she have a boyfriend?

  She closes the textbook and slinks back in her chair. “How do you feel about that material?”

  “You should be teaching. I understand it a lot better than with Sherman.”

  A small sound leaks out of her. “I’m glad, so… I’ll email you a few questions before we meet Sunday. With your schedule, will you have time to work on them over the next couple of days?”

  She says it as if she already knows I have to wake up at five thirty almost every morning to work out, have practice every day with the team, and have to watch tape as well, plus all of my classes and games.

  “You a football fan?” If she is, this is my first indication of it. Most girls who follow college ball would have flirted with me all night, knowing exactly who I am. Maybe she likes football, but she’s a lesbian?

  “Oh. Oh no.” She shakes her head vigorously as if I accused her of working at Tassels, the strip club off campus. “No, I just know that college-level athletes must have to dedicate a lot of time, both on and off the field.” Shayna shrugs her slender shoulders.

  Damn, I might have asked her out if she enjoyed football.

  “Right.” There’s this weird niggling in my belly like maybe she’s not telling the truth, but why would she lie? “Yeah, I should be able to handle a couple of questions.”

  “Great.” She pushes back her chair and stands, roughly shoving everything into her backpack as if someone screamed that the first one out gets a million dollars.

  I match her pace so that when she’s ready to leave, I am too. We exit the room, and rather than walk in silence, I attempt to start a conversation with her.

  “You headed home now?” I ask.

  “Uh… yeah.” She hikes the strap of her bag farther up onto her shoulder.

  “Which dorm do you live in?” I match her pace when she seems to walk faster.

  “Um…”

  She’s not exactly a conversationalist. Why am I pushing for more information about her?

  “I just meant I’d walk you. You know, it’s dark outside and…”

  We reach the exit doors.

  She shakes her head. “No, I’m not far.”

  I push a hand through my hair and she tracks the movement, her gaze remaining on my hair for a beat. “I don’t really feel right about letting you walk home in the dark.”

  “I have my rape whistle.”

  I guess it shouldn’t surprise me that this prim and somewhat proper girl is always prepared. She must have been a Girl Scout. When my pen ran out while we were working, she offered me one of her extras—all categorized by ink color and point diameter.

  She unzips the front pocket of her backpack, pulls out a whistle, and slips the cord over her head, so it hangs right in front of her breasts. I try not to notice the way her sweater indents, but it’s hard. Impossible really.

  “All right, well… keep your phone handy in case you run into trouble.”