Dirty Curve

Bianca called at seven this morning to tell me she woke up sick and didn’t want to risk passing it on to Bailey. She said she’d be here if I needed her, but it was up to me.

The last thing I want is for Bailey to get sick again, or for Bianca to have to care for her when she feels like death, as she put it, so it was a no-brainer.

I told her not to worry, that I’d be fine, and then I remembered Tobias.

Now it’s one thirty-five and I’m anxious.

He’ll be here in twenty-ish minutes and I’m considering waking Bailey up, putting her in the stroller and walking who knows where. Park, maybe?

Or we could go to the farmer’s market downtown? It’s gorgeous out so that could be relaxing.

My phone goes off and I’m half hoping it’s Tobias canceling.

It is Tobias, but he’s not canceling.

He’s here.

Crapola.

Tobias

Stepping out of the truck, I meet Meyer at her front door.

She’s uneasy, that’s obvious, and I kind of figured she would be. So, I drop my bag at my feet, and pull out the lawn blanket I stuffed inside. “It’s nice out, want to sit out here on the grass?”

She stares a long moment, and then her chin falls with a soft laugh. “There’s a small patio in the back, I think we’ll be more comfortable out there.”

“I think you’re right.” I grin.

She shuffles back, her lips twitching nervously as I slip by.

I know she’s waiting for me to look around and scope the place out, so I make it a point not to, and instead glance over my shoulder while pointing at the sliding glass door.

She nods, so I glide the thing open, wincing when it squeals. My eyes fly to hers.

“She’s not that light of a sleeper,” she teases, walking over to push it the rest of the way.

Grinning, I step out onto the patio.

The ground is cement and the wood enclosure is old, but it’s high so nobody can see over, which is good to know. She has two mismatched sofa chairs pushed against each other, and a round table in front of them, an old coffee cup sitting on top.

“Oh.” She squeezes her body by mine, quickly grabbing it and dusting off a couple stray leaves from the overhanging tree. “Sorry,” she mumbles, and when she looks up, she gasps.

It’s low and unintentional, but the good kind always are.

She’s close and she didn’t realize it, but she likes it, even if she hasn’t grasped that little fact yet.

She will.

“We can move the chairs. I push them together sometimes.”

She spins, nudging one back with her knee, but I reach past her, holding it still, and her eyes meet mine over her shoulder.

“Leave it. Might make it easier to work together.”

She stands frozen, only moving when a door is slammed somewhere close by and jolts her from what I hope was an X-rated thought of yours truly.

She clears her throat, stretching her body as straight as she’s able in an attempt to slip by without brushing against me, but she’s only half successful. Her chest’s too full to be hidden in any way, so it glides along mine with her escape.

I drop into one of the seats, pulling my laptop out and it’s not long before she’s falling in the chair beside me, her computer in hand.

She drags the table in the middle more and opens up my course lists. “You coming over worked out for me today,” she says, and we look to each other. “Bianca woke up sick, so I wouldn’t have been able to meet you. I would have had to cancel.”

My eyes narrow, and I lean forward on my elbows. “You almost did, didn’t you?”

She nods.

“Why?”

“If she wakes up from her nap while you’re here, your time will be cut short.”

“You’d make me leave?”

Her frown is instant, as if she’s confused by my question. “You’d want to stay?”

“My calendars clear, Tutor Girl. You’re all that’s on it today.”

At first, I think she might grow uneasy, put her professional cap back on, but she doesn’t.

She kicks off her slippers, folds her legs in the chair, and turns to her computer screen, but it only takes her a total of two minutes to realize all my work is already done.

She looks to me with a single brow raised and a side squashed smile.

I can’t help but laugh. “To be fair, I finished it after our last session so I could focus on the game.”

“Well, don’t think you’re getting off that easy, you still have tests we can study for.”

I playfully groan, sinking farther in the chair, and she knocks her elbow into mine.

“Come on, hotshot. You may know all there is to know about baseball, but you’ve got a lot to learn about vessels and veins.” She hides her smile, pulling out the notes she tucked neatly into my binder last week, and begins going over it from back to front.

A half hour in the walkie-talkie thing she brought out beeps.

Meyer’s eyes slice to mine, tension building behind them as a quiet little croon follows.

To make it easy on her, I go to stand, but her hand comes up, hesitantly covering mine on the armchair, and my blood runs warm under her soft touch.

Without thinking, I flip my wrist, so her palm is lying in mine.

“I …” She trails off, now focused on the contact. “She’ll want to eat right away.”

“Sounds like me when I wake up.” She looks to me once more. “Can I help?”

“When I’m home, she won’t take a bottle.” Meyer fights a grin, and my eyes fall to her chest.

Not fake, but full. Literally.

“Right.”

She laughs, her muscles loosening before me. “Sometimes it takes a little while.”

“I’ve got nowhere to be.”

With a deep breath, she nods and pushes to her feet.

I want her to be at ease, comfortable and here with her little one. That’s why I came over today instead of meeting her at the library, so I try to think of something.

“I could make us something while you feed her?”

“There’s not much in there right now.” A hint of pink colors her cheeks and she averts her gaze. “I haven’t gone to the store in a while.”

“So, I’ll run home.” I shrug. “I’ve got chicken out already and a jar of my mom’s salsa verde. You got a stove in there?” I jerk my head.

She nods.

“Then we’re good. I’ll go to my house and you …” I stand as she has. “Will you answer the door when I get back?”

“I’ll consider it,” she teases, a flash of delight in her eyes.

“Nah.” I step closer, and her slender neck stretches, allowing her to keep those eyes on mine. “You’ll do it, wanna know why?”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m gonna ring the doorbell over and over until you do.”

“Good luck with that,” she plays in a whisper. “Because it doesn’t work.”

A laugh slips from me and I curl my body around hers, taking backward steps toward the door. Right as I reach it, that soft croon turns into a cackled little cry. “Go feed your girl, little mama.”

I spin and walk out.

I’ll be back to feed mine.

And I am.

Exactly forty minutes later, I’m on her front porch.

I go to ring the doorbell, to see if she was messing with me or not, but before I can, the door is slowly tugged open. Meyer stands there, her baggy sweater gone, and arms full.

Her eyes meet mine, a hint of nervousness surrounding her, but she offers a side smile. She slides back, giving me space to enter, and nods her head toward the kitchen, but I don’t move ahead.

I pause a foot in the door, set my bags by my feet and take a step closer to her.

She stands perfectly still, the palm on her little’s back gliding higher with my advance.

I hold her gaze as I lift my hand, and when it meets soft skin, my eyes fall to her daughter.

She’s yet to lift her head from her mama’s chest, but the moment she feels my fingers brush against her own, she blindly wraps hers around mine. She instantly waves our hands up and down.

A grin builds on my face, a low chuckle following. “She’s quick.”

I briefly look to Meyer, but only for a moment because the sound of my voice startles the little one, and her tiny body flails.

She seeks out the source of the sound.

Right then, bright blue eyes framed in long dark lashes meet mine and they don’t look away. She stares right at me.

“What’s up, little one?”

Bailey buries her face in her mama’s chest, but as quickly as she does, she brings those baby blues back, and this time with a gummy smile.

My laugh is low and when Meyer’s follows, my gaze lifts to meet hers.

“She’s cute as hell,” I tell her, grabbing my bags off the ground. Licking my lips, I pull my bottom one between my teeth, but my grin sets it free. “Just like her mama.”

Meyer looks down and I hit the kitchen.

Pulling everything out of the bag, I glance over my shoulder, knowing Meyer is still standing in the doorway, watching.

“You good with a little spice, or should I go easy on the sauce?”

“You cooked it already?” Bailey’s hand comes up, tapping against Meyer’s chin.

“I did.”

Her smile softens, but she kisses Bailey’s forehead to hide it. “I like a lot of spice.” She tells me as she walks away.

Tell me fucking more …

I squeeze my eyes shut and give my head a little shake.

Not the time.

Serving us up a heavy plate, I step from the kitchen into the living room.

I didn’t allow myself a look at her place before, but this time I peek around.

The space is small, just big enough for a loveseat and TV stand, but there’s a few doors on the left wall that must be bedrooms of some sort since there’s no bed or crib in here. She’s got a little play mat set up on the carpet in front of the couch, little toys hanging from the bendy things on top of it and that’s it. It’s clean and neat and she’s done with it what she’s able.

“Do you mind eating out here?” Meyer asks.

There was no table or even room for one in the kitchen, and I’m betting she doesn’t want to call attention to that by us taking a seat inside, not that I’d argue against eating outdoors.

I prefer the sun any day, so I tell her that, dropping into the free chair at her side, Bailey propped up on her bent knees.

She thanks me and we eat in silence for a few minutes. “You cooked at home to give me time with her.”

I drop my grin to my bowl, taking another bite.

It’s true.

When I got home, I changed into some sweats and a sleeveless, grabbed everything I needed, but only twelve minutes had passed, so yeah. I decided to cook there instead to kill time in case she needed it.

The baby makes a gurgling sound and Meyer gives her a big, cheesy smile; her fork held halfway to her mouth. She turns to me mid-chew. “You said your mom made the sauce?”

I nod. “She’s a hell of a cook.”

“I was going to say, this is really good.” She takes another bite. “Are you … is this where you’re from or does she mail you things?”

I clear my throat, glancing up at the fading sun. “Nah, I’m from San Luis Obispo, a good four hours away. I’ve only been home a couple times since freshman year, but when I do, I never come back empty-handed.”

“That’s sweet.”

“Yeah.” My limbs tighten, but I stretch through it and turn the conversation to her. “How about you? Where you from?”

“Uh.” She looks away. “Here originally, but I was raised in a little dirt town in Nevada. The kind where everyone knows everyone, and nobody gets out.”

My bowl cleared, I set it down and lean back in the chair. “Looks like you did.”

A sense of sorrow washes over her and she looks to Bailey, who bites on her little fingers in her lap. “It doesn’t count until real life begins.”

“Real life,” I repeat, leaning forward to gain the baby’s attention. Her blue eyes meet mine and her arms lift, all to slap back onto Meyer’s legs. I chuckle, tapping my fingertips on her belly and earning another little grin.

“I think she’s as real as it gets, Tutor Girl.”

Meyer and I look at each other.

Her eyes move between mine, but she quickly drops them to her daughter, so I shift the subject.

“Bianca, she helps you out a lot?”

“God yes.” She nods. “The child development center does have a day care I take her to when I’m tutoring, which is amazing. The program here is one of the best in the area, so I guess I lucked out there, but they close at six. After hours is when Bianca comes over and stays with her. I’d be screwed without her.” A soft cry leaves Bailey and so Meyer lifts her, laying her across her shoulder.

I watch as she gently begins to pat her back, rubbing small circles after every few taps.

“So … no other family around to help out or …”

Meyer’s hand freezes mid-pat, her body tensing slightly, but slowly, she eases once more.

Her eyes move to mine and I know she knows what I was thinking.

Does her baby girl have a man in her life, a father? Someone else who loves and lives for her like her mother does?

I want to know.

“I have a brother,” is what she whispers.

It takes effort not to frown, but I manage to hold it back.

“A brother.” I nod, lifting a brow. “Now the batting makes sense.”

A nervous chuckle escapes her. “Yeah, he plays for a smaller school a few hours away, but just for fun. He tries to help, but I don’t let him. He’s in school too, and that’s what he needs to focus on. He’d kill me if he heard me say that, though.” She laughs again. “You said you have a brother?”

My frown is instant and I look away. “Yeah. He’s … what men are made of, I guess.”

“And what’s that?”

I shrug, flipping my phone in my lap. “Good at everything he does. Not a bad bone in his body, not a selfish or egotistical one either.” Dropping my head back, I squash a sigh. “The kind that goes out of his way to please but not for notoriety, but because his conscience meter is set to perfection.”

“Kind of like what you’re doing for Joe and Franny?”

My lips curve the smallest bit, and I move my eyes to hers.

Her smile is small, as if she gets it, as if she understands what it’s like to work toward one thing but forever being seen as another.

Less than.

Or maybe I’m being a bitch and am making up the curiosity that’s softened her eyes.

Bailey begins rubbing at her eyes, and I wonder, “Is she getting tired?”

Meyer nods. “Normally she’s up for another hour but she didn’t nap long today so who knows how the night will go now.”

As I look over again, Bailey’s eyes find mine, growing heavier by the second, but she doesn’t fuss or cry. She tucks her hands in and lets them close, and something inside me grows warm.

Every couple minutes, they pop back open, but eventually her little fingers relax and her breathing grows steady.

“I think she’s sleeping,” I whisper.

When Meyer doesn’t respond, I look up to find her watching me, a distant look in her eyes. “Meyer.”

She blinks, refocusing. “Hm?”

“She’s asleep.”

Meyer nods, slowly pushing to her feet as she mouths, ‘be right back.’

I use the time to put our bowls back into my bag, while grabbing my other one and making my way back out to the patio, but when I round the corner, Meyer is standing at the foot of the couch, preparing to sit.

“I had to put the monitor on the charger and it’s getting a little too cold to keep the door open.” Her lips tighten, and she holds a hand out. “The heater’s kind of pathetic, so …”

I’m nodding before she finishes and drop down with my bag in my hand before she does herself.

“Right,” she whispers, reaching for her laptop, but I dart a hand out to keep her from grabbing it, and her eyes fly to mine.

I pull out the book I borrowed from Echo’s collection, placing it into her hands instead.

Slowly, she takes it, confusion blanketing her face.

“I hear it’s not good to overstudy.”

She chuckles, glancing at the cover once more. I think she’s trying to decide how she’s supposed to feel or react, but what she doesn’t realize is her mind’s decided for her.

The girl’s already settled more into her seat, and the grin on her face is one of anticipation. “This book’s been read before.” She looks to me expectantly.

“Stole it from my roommate, he’s got a good two dozen where that came from.” My eyes roam over her profile. “When’s the last time you read for fun?”

Meyer shrugs.

“Read to me, Tutor Girl.”

She scoffs a laugh, but when I don’t follow, she pauses to study me. I want to grab her by the waist and pull her into me, feel her ass against my lap while staring into her eyes as they come closer. Grow darker.

Watch her come undone and be the one to make it happen.

But I can’t, at least not yet, so I say it again, “Read to me, Tutor Girl.”

She chews on that lower lip of hers, and in the next moment, cracks the thing open. “Chapter One.”