5. Lark
FIVE
LARK
“I’m here for Ace Mathers,” I say to the security guard at the front gate of the stadium. He asked me to meet him here today so we could get to know each other a little bit before we start working. I did an extensive search on him and found out that he’s actually just a regular guy who happens to play a professional sport. From what I gathered, he was raised by his grandmother and doesn’t have any other family in the picture since her passing late last year. He also doesn’t have any kind of a criminal record, just like he said, and seems to keep his nose fairly clean. I know that sometimes, these professional athletes can be plastered all over the tabloids, partying and hanging with women. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I didn’t find anything of the sort for Ace. It could be because he’s only twenty-one years old, and from our conversation, he made it sound like baseball is his life right now. Either that, or he hides what he does in his spare time very well. I read no less than a hundred articles on everything from his high school life to the beginning of his rookie year in the league, and there wasn’t a single attack on his character. People love him, his teammates speak highly of him, and that’s good enough for me at the moment.
“Name, please?” the guard says, picking up a clipboard.
“Lark Dawson,” I reply, shifting nervously from one foot to the other. I understand that they can’t just let anybody in when it isn’t open to fans, but this feels so formal. Maybe I should have suggested that we meet somewhere on neutral ground where we’d both be comfortable. I’ve watched a couple of games here before, but I’ve certainly never met any of the players. This is his turf.
“Gotcha,” he says, setting his list back down and pulling a set of keys from his belt loop. He inserts one into the lock on the gate and turns, pulling it open for me to enter. “Head toward the right, and when you get to the teal hallway, take your first left. He should be in there waiting for you.”
“Thank you,” I say, shyly pushing a piece of my long blonde hair behind my ear while I move past him. He nods, and I hear him close the gate behind me as I follow his directions. I find the teal brick hallway, making my way to the first door on the left. Before I get there, I stop, smoothing out my sundress and making sure I look somewhat professional before turning and going inside. I spot him immediately, sitting at a round table, looking down at a textbook. He doesn’t see me at first, so I take a second to catalog his features. He looks every bit of twenty-one, with his smooth skin and plump lips. His nose is perfectly proportioned to his face, and I can tell without even looking at them that he has the deepest ocean-blue eyes I’ve ever seen. But what doesn’t look young? His body. I’ve never seen anyone up close that’s built the way he is. His neck and shoulders are thick and muscular, and his biceps bulge with every turn of the page. Wide veins wrap around his forearms, leading down to hands that I swear are much larger than normal.
Sweat beads at the back of my neck, and my mouth goes dry as he swallows, still completely unaware of my presence. I watch his Adam’s apple bob under his tan skin, and I follow the movement, unable to tear my eyes away.
Holy shit, this guy is fuck-all hot. If I were ten years younger, there’s no way I wouldn’t embarrass myself by rubbing on him like a cat in heat right now.
Jesus Christ, Lark. You need to get laid.
It’s been over a year since I’ve had an orgasm that wasn’t self-induced. I didn’t necessarily mean for it to happen that way, but it just felt weird thinking about sex with someone new when I was still married to Ryan. It wasn’t my fault that our divorce ended up being dragged out for more than a year, but now that I’m not bound by my stupid morals, I’m hornier than ever. That’s probably why I’m looking at Ace like he’s a piece of meat instead of the younger guy who’s hired me to tutor him. I need to stay professional here, starting with not thinking about how tightly those long, thick fingers could wrap around my throat while he?—
“Are you Lark?” he says, snapping me out of my extremely inappropriate fantasy. My eyes dart up to his, and just as I thought, the fuckers are ocean blue and so goddamn deep that I don’t stand a chance of looking away.
They certainly didn’t make them like this when I was twenty-one.
“Yes! That’s me!” I say in a high-pitched voice that I’ve never heard before. It has to be my nerves or something. I’ve been all out of whack since I lost my job, and I’m relying on this meeting with Ace going well because I really need the money. I have a small amount in my savings, but with how time-consuming the divorce was, it isn’t nearly as much as I had when Ryan and I first split up. Now that I have to find a way to pay for my tuition, I need all the extra cash I can get. I’ve uploaded my resumé to every career site on the internet, but in the meantime, traveling the country for a grand a week isn’t a bad deal.
He stands, a boyish grin stretching across his face as he makes his way over to me. I wipe my sweaty hands on my dress, hoping he doesn’t notice, before taking the one he’s extended between us and shaking it.
“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m Ace. Let’s sit down and get to know each other, yeah?” I nod in response, walking to the side of the table opposite from where his book is still splayed open. Before I get there, he rushes behind me, pulling the chair out and winking as I step in and slowly lower myself down into it.
Stop it, you charming little shit.
Once I’m settled, he rounds the table, sitting down and leaning back with his legs spread wide. It’s not one of those manspreading things where they just like to take up space to show how dominant they are. I’m pretty sure he just sits like that because he’s gigantic. I can’t get over how toned and muscular he is, but I’m going to need to figure out a way to block it out so I don’t get distracted. He’s hired me to do a job, and that’s what I need to focus on. My only objective is to make sure he passes this class so he can graduate.
“Tell me about yourself, Lark,” he says, my name rolling off his tongue like butter. I internally cringe because if I really tell him about myself, he’s going to think I’m the lamest person he’s ever met. I’m sure he has so many younger friends and teammates that party and have fun. And here I am, thirty-one, jobless, divorced, and trying to start over. I’m in bed by nine o’clock most nights, and I can’t remember the last time I got drunk just for the hell of it.
Wow. I am lame. That sucks. Clearly, being married to a wet blanket who gaslit me into thinking my enthusiasm was an annoyance made me lose my spark. As sad as it is, I don’t even know when it happened, but I definitely miss the girl I used to be.
I clear my throat, trying to think of what to say that leaves out the fact that I’m a boring-as-fuck divorcee who wouldn’t know a good time if she were choking on it. “Well, I’m thirty-one, I live here in Daytona, and I’m working toward a degree in psychology.”
There. That’s fine, right?
“Psychology, huh?” he replies. “You going to be one of those shrinks who makes you lay on a velvet couch and asks how you feel about everything?”
I laugh quietly. “No. I want to be a sex therapist for individuals or couples that are struggling with intimacy, but in order to do that, I need to start with my bachelors. Then, I’ll get my masters.”
His brows shoot up. “Wow. I didn’t even know that was a thing. That’s…pretty cool, actually.”
“Thank you,” I say shyly. I’m used to people reacting much differently when I tell them my plans. Maybe it’s just because of the social circle I was in with Ryan and Gail, but I can’t tell you how many times I heard that it was an unnecessary profession or that it was unbecoming of me to want to insert myself into people’s sex lives. But it’s so much more than that. Too many relationships fail because of things that could’ve been worked on or prevented when it came to intimacy. Sex is such a taboo subject that people are afraid to say when there’s a problem. And even if they do admit it, it’s hard to find help outside of their partner. If I can assist people in feeling comfortable enough to voice the things they want or need out of their physical relationships, I could potentially be changing their lives. That’s all I really want.
“What about you?” I ask. “You seem to already have your career figured out. Why bother finishing school when you don’t need to?”
The brightness of his smile dims a little. “When I was younger, I promised my grandmother that I would be the first in our family to walk across the stage for their diploma. She passed about six months ago,” he says, looking down at his hands clasped together in front of him before shrugging. “I owe it to her to follow through, even if she isn’t here to see it.”
I swallow hard, giving him a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, Ace.”
He shakes his head. “It’s cool. You didn’t know.” We sit there in silence for a beat, mainly because I feel terrible for drudging up something I’m sure is hard for him to talk about. I knew his grandmother had passed, but I didn’t realize she was the reason he was in school to begin with. I hope he knows how admirable that is, especially since he’s probably set for life with whatever he makes playing baseball.
“So,” he says, his adorable smile making a reappearance. “You’ve already taken Human Sexuality, right?” He crosses his arms over his thick chest, every bulging muscle firing off under his sleeves with the movement. I avert my eyes to the book that sits in front of us so I don’t get caught staring like some perverted old lady—even though that’s exactly what I feel like right now. I can’t make out the words on the page, but there’s a small picture in the bottom corner of a man on top of a woman with a bedsheet barely pulled above his waist. My whorish brain immediately goes where it shouldn’t, conjuring up an image of Ace on top of me while I writhe beneath him, begging for more. I only see it for a split second, quickly slamming my eyes shut before opening them again. Swallowing thickly, I attempt to find a non-sexual item in the room to focus on until I can get out of here. I need to take care of the ache between my legs while thinking about anything besides Ace Mathers.
I’m spiraling.
As if he can sense my awkward discomfort, he resumes the conversation. “Hailey said you passed with flying colors and that you’d be the best option to ensure that I get through it.”
I nod my head. “Sorry. Yes, I took it and got an A. I had the same professor as you, and we used the same textbook. I kept my notes, so that’ll be helpful. There’s nothing in the school’s policy saying that you can’t study with them, as long as I’m not giving you test answers or doing your graded assignments for you.”
He sighs in relief. “Okay, good. I logged into the student portal a few days ago, hoping to find some direction, but it was just a bunch of posts showing what we needed to read and the work that was due for each chapter. Even the message boards were empty.”
That’s typical for an online course during the summer. Many times, they’re full of adults who are going back to school but want to do things on their own as opposed to working together like a lot of the younger students. These streamlined summer semester classes are not for the faint of heart. They’re fast-paced, and if you fall too far behind, you’re fucked.
“Were you able to finish the assignment?” I ask. When we talked on the phone, I could sense his frustration, so I’m guessing we’ll need to play catch-up.
“I did the first one, which was basically just a quiz with a bunch of personal questions. We didn’t have to turn it in, but we got credit for checking off that we had done it. The second one was on anatomy, and I started it, but kept losing focus. Then there was another one assigned today that I haven’t even had a chance to look at.”
I reach into my bag, pulling out the notebook I used when I took the course last year. Flipping to the page for the assignment he started—a quiz on the male and female sexual anatomy—I slide it across the table to him. “I can’t tell you the answers, but I will say that they’re all in here somewhere. Professor Stockton allows open note testing, so this should get you through it. The next assignment is a short essay followed by another quiz, which we can work on tomorrow.”
He looks down, taking in the very poorly drawn diagrams on the paper. I’m a visual learner, so I had to draw a penis and a vagina with arrows pointing to the various parts. I should be mortified, but whatever. He’ll be thanking me when he sees how much this’ll help him through the stuff he’s fallen behind on.
“Nice cock,” he says with a smirk. “A little small, but not everyone’s blessed in that aspect, I guess.”
My face heats with embarrassment, and I raise my hands to my flushed cheeks, trying my best not to let my smile break free. “I guess not,” I reply quietly. “But I bet he has a great personality.” We stare at each other for a few seconds before we burst into a fit of laughter, unable to hold back any longer. He throws his head back, running his hands down his face with a groan before looking at me again and flashing a charming grin.
“You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you, Sweets?” he says, and even though it shouldn’t, my stomach flips at the nickname. It’s not like I’m employed by the school, so there’s no reason we can’t have a little fun together while I tutor him, but I also need to remember that I’m newly divorced, and he’s ten years younger than me. The last thing he wants or needs is some older woman making eyes at him. He probably has a different girl for every night of the week anyway, but that’s a good thing. At least it’ll stop me from thinking inappropriate thoughts about him when I see a hot model on his arm.
“I’m worth every dime of that seven grand, Ace,” I reply with a smile. “If you listen to me, you’ll pass this class with no problem. I promise.”
He gives me a tight nod before leaning back in his chair. “That’s what I like to hear. As far as tomorrow goes, we’re heading to Cleveland for two games, and then we’ll be back to play at home. If you’re available to start right away, I’ll get you a plane ticket and a room at the hotel we’re staying at. I’ve already let the team know that I’ll need you with me for the remainder of the semester, and they’re cool with it as long as I don’t get distracted. We can work on assignments after games, since that’s when I’ll have downtime. Sound good?”
“Let’s do it,” I say, cringing internally at my choice of words. “Yes, it sounds good.”
He arches a brow. “You said you’re divorced, but do I need to be aware of any jealous boyfriends before we do this? Or anyone who might need you to be here during the next seven-ish weeks?”
I scoff, shaking my head. “No. Definitely not. I’m single, and I moved to Florida for college, so I don’t have family here. I’m not really close to my parents right now because they hated my ex and didn’t want me to marry him. We’re working on it, but they certainly won’t be randomly asking me to come home for a visit, so I’m all yours until the semester ends.”
“Alright,” he says, standing and rounding the table before stopping in front of me and extending a hand. I assume he wants me to shake it, but when I slide my palm against his, he captures it with his thick fingers, pulling me to my feet. Not expecting it, I stumble into him, bringing my free hand to his chest to stop myself. He looks down at me, his breath hitching before his eyes go wide, and he breaks the connection by stepping back and releasing me.
I clear my throat, looking down at my feet to ground myself before painting on a professional smile. “Call me as soon as you have the ticket info, and I guess I’ll see you in Cleveland.”
“Looking forward to it, Lark.”