Contradictions Read online

  That bastard was trying to boink me.

  Feeling better and less indebted to his “sacrifice,” I picked up my pace. My first tutoring session was this afternoon, and there was no way in hell I was going to be late.

  8.

  A couple hours before our tutoring session, I received a text from Trent because he found out the library was closed for the day with some sort of plumbing issue. He suggested we meet at his apartment off campus instead.

  “Well, isn’t that convenient?” I said out loud, rolling my eyes. That superhero-worshiping asshole would go to great lengths to get in my pants. If that’s the way he wanted to play, that’s fine. Game on. Just because my grades sucked didn’t mean I was a moron. I called the library myself.

  “Oh, so the library is closed until tomorrow?” I asked, confirming what the helpful lady who answered the phone had just stated. “Plumbing issue, you say? That’s what I heard. Okay, thanks for the info—bye.”

  Fine. Send me your address, I texted to Trent. According to the GPS on my cell phone, his apartment was on the other side of campus. I probably could have walked there, but it had been almost a month since I’d taken out my old reliable Jeep, so I decided to drive. Dad reminded me every time I talked to him to start the Jeep at least once every few days to save the battery, but anytime it came to mind, I always told myself I would do it the next day. And yes, that would turn into the next day and then the next. My pattern was clear.

  Cameo came out of her room as I was gathering my things to leave. It had started to snow outside and I wanted to head out in case it got bad.

  “Hey, you want to go to Stavro’s for dinner? I’m in the mood for a little pasta and some house wine.”

  I shook my head regretfully. “Can’t. I have tutoring.” The idea of good Italian food and rich wine sounded more appealing than banging my head against a math book, but my ass was in a sling.

  “Tutoring? You? Where is my friend and what have you done with her?”

  “Very funny.” I grabbed my bag, which felt like it weighed a hundred pounds with all the textbooks inside. “Believe me, I would much rather go to dinner with you.”

  “So blow it off.”

  The idea was laughable. At this point, if the college found out I was even thinking about blowing off tutoring, they would kick my ass to the curb so fast my head would spin. “Sorry, Cam. I can’t.” I knew she wanted more of an explanation, but I was too embarrassed to tell her about the trouble I was in with my grades. It sucked being the dumb one in our group.

  “Can’t? Since when do you have a problem blowing things off? Besides, I don’t want to go alone. We haven’t hung out in a few days and I really need to relax.”

  What Cameo meant by relax was she was looking to get drunk.

  “Please, I’ll buy the first round of drinks,” she pleaded.

  For a second I actually considered calling Trent to reschedule the first tutoring session. It wasn’t the same thing as canceling altogether. Of course, I was sure Professor N would feel differently. The image of his disappointed face filled my head. There was no way I could cancel.

  “I really can’t. Professor N is on my ass. Maybe some other time.”

  Cam looked completely taken aback. “Some other time? What does that even mean?”

  “It means not now,” I bit out in aggravation. “I’m on freaking academic probation, Cam. If I don’t get my shit together, I’m out of here.” I pulled on my jacket in frustration and threw a scarf around my neck.

  “Probation? Since when?”

  “Since now. So, no. I don’t have time to go get drunk at Stavro’s.” Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I grabbed my keys and walked out, slamming the door behind me. I didn’t mean to get so mad at Cam, but she wouldn’t stop pressing. Hopefully, after a couple of hours we would both get over it and could talk again when I got home.

  Ordinarily, I put more effort into my appearance before going out, but impressing Trent was the furthest thing from my mind. My plan was to buckle down during the tutoring sessions, figuring the sooner I improved my grades, the sooner things could go back to normal.

  The snow was already coming down more than I’d thought and was beginning to stick. I grimaced when I approached my Jeep and saw the spiderwebs between the tires. Dad would have my head if he knew. The good news was that despite my negligence, Old Reliable started on the first try. I cranked the heat and waited for a few minutes to give it time to warm up before I pulled out. I still had fifteen minutes until T-Doom time, which is what I had deemed my tutoring schedule, so I decided to hit the coffee bar where I worked for some liquid sanity.

  “What’s up, Tressa? You working today?” Ben, one of the other part-timers, asked as I pushed the door open, inhaling deeply. If they could bottle the smell of this place, I’d buy it by the gallon. Working at Javalotta was like coming home to a second family. There was an easy comradeship that stemmed from the owners, Liz and Larry, who ran the coffeehouse like a well-oiled machine. Despite their strictness when it came to the rules, they maintained a lighthearted relationship with their employees.

  “No, I have a studying session that requires a double shot,” I answered, moving behind the counter to fix my drink. “Looks pretty dead today,” I observed, adding whipped cream to top off my concoction.

  “Yeah, it’s kinda been this way since the accident . . .” His voice trailed off.

  His words caused me to nearly drop my coffee. I had momentarily forgotten about David’s death, pushing it to the back of my mind. It was like a game to see how long I could go without thinking about it. Ben had broken the longest stretch yet. I’d almost made it sixteen minutes. Time to start over again.

  “Yeah, I guess I hadn’t noticed,” I mumbled, steadying my cup as I stared blankly at the walls. Ben gave me an odd look that I didn’t acknowledge. For the past three days, I’d been fielding similar stares from Cameo and Derek. It was a what alien species took over Tressa’s body kind of look. I hustled around the counter, suddenly anxious to leave.

  “Catch you later,” Ben called as I walked out without saying bye.

  Climbing into the Jeep, I didn’t know whether I should be pissed or embarrassed that everyone seemed surprised over my reaction to David’s death. Were their perceptions of me really that I was just a party girl with no real feelings? Lost in my thoughts, I made it to Trent’s apartment quicker than I’d anticipated. I sat in the parking lot, stalling for as long as I could before walking to his door. I took a big swig of my coffee before knocking. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. This was just Trent, for crap’s sake. My damn emotions were like a roller coaster lately. Anything I thought I’d felt for him earlier in President Johnson’s office was nothing more than the result of the upheaval I’d been going through the past week.

  I raised my hand to knock on the door before I could chicken out.

  Trent answered almost immediately, like he had been standing by his door waiting for my knock.

  “Tressa?” He greeted me awkwardly, looking surprised when I took a cautious halfstep backward. He pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. I waited for a moment, expecting him to invite me inside, but he stood there like he was waiting for me to say something.

  “Tutoring,” I said, holding up my book bag to jog his memory. Sheesh, I thought he was supposed to be supersmart.

  “Right. Sorry, I was just finishing up some notes for Professor Nelson.” He held the door open so I could enter his apartment.

  “O-kay,” I replied, still not quite believing he’d forgotten I was coming over. What about the text he’d sent me just a few hours ago? Stepping past him, I stood in the middle of his living room, taking in my surroundings. My original assumptions about him were dead-on. I’d stepped into a pimple-faced teenaged comic book lover’s wet dream. Superhero memorabilia littered every available surface in the apartment. The shelves that bracketed a big-screen TV were lined with statues and action figures, much like what my brother was into.
I could tell by the way they were reverently displayed that Trent cared more about his collection than my brother did about his. I moved closer and reached a finger toward a gleaming Superman statue.

  “Don’t touch,” Trent said, stepping between me and the shelf.

  “Wow, chill, Wonder Boy. I was just going to point out that my brother has that same Superman. I think his is missing an arm, though.” Trent flinched. He was definitely strange.

  Backing away from his precious shelf, I took in the rest of the living room. Outside of the superhero universe, the apartment looked pristine. Unlike most apartments around campus I’d been in—including mine, which was made up of nothing but castoffs—Trent’s furniture actually matched. A large leather sofa sat against the wall that shared space with the front door. The matching leather recliner sat near the patio door and was turned to face the television. Matching throw pillows adorned both the sofa and recliner like an interior designer had placed them there. Hell, even the coffee table and end tables matched the elaborate entertainment center.

  His apartment looked like an adult had decorated it rather than a bunch of college kids trying to fill a space.

  “Do you want to sit down?” He looked uncomfortable with my surveying of his territory, like he’d never had a guest before. I guess my actions could have been construed as intrusive, but he was the one who had invited me.

  “Uh, sure.” I walked over to the sofa and sat down next to a stack of papers, which was the only thing out of place in the room.

  “Sorry, I was in the middle of entering data,” he said, stacking the papers into a neat pile before placing them on top of a laptop that was sitting on the coffee table.

  “That’s okay. It feels normal.”

  He raised his eyebrows in response before sitting on the couch cushion he had just cleaned off. “A mess feels normal?”

  Without any conscious thought, I shifted over, putting more space between us. If he noticed my movement, he didn’t comment on it.

  “I’ve been going over your grades in your classes, and I’ve come to the conclusion that statistics is the class you seem to be struggling with the most.” He shuffled the stack of papers, searching for one in particular.

  “You pulled my grades?” My voice sounded shrill to my own ears. Tutoring or not, who the hell did he think he was?

  “Huh? Oh, no. Professor Nelson gave them to me this morning,” he answered, looking confused over my tone. My eyes met his for a moment. The difference was glaring. His look was questioning, while I practically had lasers wanting to melt off his face. It took everything inside me not to snatch the papers from his hands. After a second, when the more rational side of my brain took charge, I realized it wasn’t his fault my grades had been handed to him. Clamping my mouth closed, I silently counted to three to calm myself. Most people thought ten was the golden number, but if I forced myself to count to ten, I’d lose my patience all over again.

  After I was able to form a sentence without biting off his head, I answered him. “Math has been a pain in my ass for years. I’ll be the only senior in history that won’t be able to graduate because I can’t pass some math class.”

  “Not true. Statistically, no pun intended, hundreds of students drop out every year. Most are for economic reasons or a life-altering circumstance, but I’m sure you’re not the only one in history not to graduate because of failure to master a class,” he said in a dry tone.

  I stared at him incredulously. Was he fucking with me? The way he sat, waiting for another response from me, I couldn’t tell.

  “It’s better to analyze it like you would a puzzle,” he continued when I didn’t respond.

  Puzzle? What the hell did graduating have to do with puzzles? I swear, he was the freaking puzzle.

  “Statistics,” he clarified. “It helps people sometimes if they look at the problems like a puzzle that needs to be figured out instead of a complicated math problem,” he said, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

  “Why don’t you get glasses that don’t do that?” I asked, momentarily distracted.

  He looked startled by my question, like I was the one talking in riddles. “What?”

  “Your glasses. You’re always pushing them up. Why don’t you get ones more appropriate for your face?”

  “I like these. They’re retro.”

  I snorted. “Just because they’re ten years old doesn’t mean they’re retro. They’re too big for your face. With your bone structure, you should have smaller plastic frames. Like the stylish ones all the guys are wearing. You look like Clark Kent from the old movies my dad likes. Is that what you’re going for?”

  “You got me. This is just a disguise for my alter ego. Now that you’re onto my secret, I’ll have to lock you away in a gilded cage.” He pulled a Tootsie Pop from a Spider-Man cookie jar that was perched on the end table.

  His words made me laugh. Who knew Nerd Boy would have a sense of humor. It was dry, but it was still there. His eyes sparkled behind the overly big glasses as he responded to my laugh. He pulled the wrapper off the lollipop and stuck the orange sucker into his mouth. His eyes never left mine. My laughter instantly dried up. No guy had ever looked at me like he always managed to. His intensity sobered me.

  He held out the jar filled with suckers. “Want one?” I wasn’t a big hard-candy fan, but I reached for one.

  “Thanks.” I pulled the wrapper off the Tootsie Pop and cleared my throat. “Okay, so are you going to teach me how this mumbo jumbo in here is a puzzle?” I asked, pulling my book out of my bag.

  My words had their desired effect. Trent abruptly switched his focus from me to the textbook in my hands like someone had hit a button. Within minutes, he was explaining problems that for the first time ever started to make sense. We worked for more than an hour until I felt I had a good enough grasp to take the first practice test online when I got home.

  During the second hour of tutoring, Trent set up a study schedule for me on my laptop to help me catch up on my other classes. He gave pointers that would help me cut my missing-assignments list in half. The schedule was grueling, and a week ago I would have nixed the idea of cutting into my social life, but things were different now.

  I was shoving my books and laptop in my bag when Trent switched the conversation from my dismal academics to food. “It’s past dinnertime. How about a pizza?”

  “Dinnertime? What are you, forty? We’re in college. We don’t follow any dinner bell. We eat when we’re hungry, day or night. Haven’t you ever been on a two A.M. taco run?”

  “An irregular diet is bad for your body,” he answered before blushing. “Not that there’s anything wrong with your body.” He looked away quickly when I caught his eyes drifting down my midriff.

  “You need to get out more often,” I mocked him, standing up with my bag. I kept my voice neutral so he wouldn’t become more embarrassed. “I need to run anyway.”

  “You run? Maybe we can go together one time.”

  My jaw dropped at his words before a laugh bubbled up through me. The way he took everything so literally was a bit adorable. Quirky, but adorable. We were as different as night and day. It was easier that he was like this. It would help remind my hormones that I should be keeping him at arm’s length.

  “I meant I have things to do. The only time I run is when someone is chasing me,” I joked, pawing through my bag for my keys.

  “I know. I was teasing you,” he said in a deep, husky voice.

  My eyes jerked up and I felt my pulse quicken. You’d think I’d never heard a sexy voice before. In my defense, that smooth, deep voice coming from his mouth was a bit of an oxymoron. The fact that he continued to surprise me was throwing me off guard. I was fine when I could put him in a box and tell myself he wasn’t for me, but keeping him there was proving to be harder than I expected.

  I had to get away before I did something stupid that we would probably both regret.

  “Just stick to what you’re good at,�
� I said. I threw out the snarky comment, pretending I didn’t notice the way his face fell as I walked past him. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” he answered as I closed the door.

  I berated myself during the short drive home. Why was I letting him get to me? If I was going to get through this mess, I needed to pull my head out of my ass.

  9.

  For the next few days, I was able to stick to my guns and focus on the actual tutoring. It was only occasionally that I noticed small things like how his forearms were more muscular than I’d realized, or the way he liked to hum game show theme songs while he waited for me to answer a question. Holding our tutoring sessions at the library provided a more formal setting, which seemed to help. Although Trent’s humming garnered continuous looks from anyone sitting around us. Between that and his Tootsie Pop obsession, he was driving the library staff nuts. He’d been warned more than once that there was no eating or drinking in the library. Each time he was reprimanded, he would inform them that, technically, he was sucking on his lollipop, not eating or drinking it. Different staff workers would approach him each time, but their reaction was always the same. They would stand for a moment, trying to figure out if he was serious or just screwing with them. Eventually, they would walk away. I would laugh, but I empathized with them. Half the time I didn’t know if his dryness was real, or if he just liked effing with people’s heads.

  On Friday I arrived at the library before Trent, which was nothing new. I’d quickly realized that he was never on time. His brain, which was so brilliant in some respects, seemed oblivious to time schedules. It was ironic considering he was helping me become more organized.

  I was working on an assignment for my business management class when he finally showed up.

  “Late again,” I mocked. “You need an alarm clock superglued to your forehead.”

  “My eyes don’t roll up that high,” he answered, sinking down in the chair next to me.

  My eyes zeroed in on his mouth. I’d noticed the other day that his lips quirked slightly when he was teasing. It was the only tic I had picked up on to tell if he was screwing with me. “You need some new material. You know how some people go to fat spas or relationship camps? You need a sense of humor makeover,” I said.