Chapter Nine
Susie
The minute I walk through the door of my first class at UConn, almost late, I finally feel like an official student. It’s unlike me to be even close to late, but I’m still getting used to sharing the bathroom with the entire floor of twenty girls. My nerves calm down now that I’m here because I’m in my element inside a classroom.
That’s when I spot him. Bryan. Shit.
How is that possible? The classroom is mostly filled, and there must be over thirty students in here. I shouldn’t be surprised because English Comp is a requirement to graduate—or so my advisor told me. I guess that means even Ag majors need to take the class.
He’s sitting at the back of the room, dwarfing the standard-issue desk chair, sitting with his head down, staring at what I’d guess is the syllabus, as if it’s a death notice.
Making my way across the rows of desks, I’m drawn in his direction because I’m… I don’t know—stupid? He gives off those vibes that say come near me and I’ll bite. But we’re friends. We have a special connection.
So why do I feel so uncomfortable around him?
No one else is near him. I take my time sitting. The room must have at least fifty seats, and I might be the last one in the door.
Mentally daring him to try intimidating me—because why should he when we’re on the same team—I sit next to him. He doesn’t look up.
“Hi Bryan. I’m surprised to see you in this class.”
He sighs deeply and slides his gaze to mine for a bare fraction as if to confirm it’s me who’s daring to disturb him.
“Why?”
I’m startled by his question. “Because you’re a senior, so I figured you’d already have taken this class?—”
“I did already take it.”
He’s staring at me now with the kind of expression that makes me wish he’d go back to ignoring me.
“But that makes no—”
Shit. I suddenly realize what he’s saying.
“I failed it the first time.”
He gives me a snarly smirk, like he’s satisfied that he’s shocked and embarrassed me.
I don’t know what to say. It’s not the kind of thing I feel comfortable joking about. Not that I feel comfortable joking with Bryan Granger under any circumstances. My cheeks heat up, and it’s my turn to look away, luckily saved from further embarrassment when the professor walks in and introduces herself.
“Welcome to the fall semester, students. This is English Comp 101, and I’m Professor Yardly. Since you’ve all seen the syllabus kindly distributed by my TA, let’s dive into discussing your first assignment.”
Shit. I missed the syllabus. Professor Yardly surveys the class like she’s looking for a victim. I’m too embarrassed to raise my hand to ask for a copy. Leaning over slightly, I try to peek at Bryan’s syllabus to see what I’m missing.
I had trouble sleeping last night—or rather, my sleep was disturbed. It was the same dream where I’m being chased by that boy in the ditch, and I’m scared and thrilled at the same time, slowing down and facing him at the last minute when he grows into a giant, and then just before my heart is about to explode, I wake up. In a state, with my heart palpitating like mad and perspiration filming my skin.
She calls on someone up front, and I’m relieved as I focus and start taking notes.
Bryan slides his syllabus seamlessly from his desktop to mine, covering my notes. He doesn’t turn his attention away from Professor Yardly, and my mouth twitches, but I hold in my smile as I note the highlights on the syllabus.
When I’m finished copying what I need for the week, I slide the sheet back to him and whisper, “Thank you.”
“I look forward to reading your first essay on the educational value of campus social life and what part it plays in the totality of your college education. It’s due next Monday at the beginning of class with no exceptions. You will be handing in a paper of some kind every Monday of the semester other than midterm exam week.”
She surveys the room. “Can you tell me what type of paper this will be?”
Someone shouts that it’s an essay.
“What type of essay?”
“Persuasive?”
She points to someone else, and I don’t hear their response, but she frowns and looks around the room again, her eyes reaching us in the back row.
“Mr. Granger, tell us all what type of essay this is.”
Her tone has a taunting quality to it, as if she’s baiting him about the fact that he’s taken this class before. All eyes turn to him, including mine, but he doesn’t move his stare from Yardly.
“Personal essay.”
His voice overpowers the room, not because it’s loud, though it carries like he’s had training as an opera singer, but because it’s firm and unapologetic and sounds like the opening salvo of a war.
She nods and then claps her hands to get the students’ attention back on her. She spends the rest of the class telling us about the elements of a personal essay and reads excerpts from a few.
“Aren’t you going to take notes?”
I ask Bryan because, as he listens to her attentively, he’s flipping his pen back and forth in his fingers like he’s a magician about to do a trick.
“No.”
He doesn’t look at me.
Professor Yardly finally concludes her lecture by telling us we should be prepared to do some writing in our next class on Wednesday and then dismisses us.
We stand ready to file out with everyone else when Professor Yardly calls out Bryan’s name. We both look up.
“I’d like a word with you.”
She stands there waiting, expecting him to come to the front of the class. He waits until the rest of the students are gone, gathers up his single notebook with the syllabus slipped inside, shoves the pencil into the back pocket of his jeans, and stalks toward her like a tiger hunting down prey.
I wait for him, hovering at the back of the classroom. They talk quiet enough so I can’t hear them for a couple of minutes, and then the professor looks past Bryan and sees me. She beckons me forward.
“You’re a friend of Mr. Granger?”
I dart a glance at him, but his unreadable face is no help, so I nod. It’s not a lie when you nod. Besides, maybe we are kind of becoming friends.
“And your name?”
She’s a no-nonsense type with no smile, so I automatically double up on mine to make up for it.
“Susie Bennett.”
I match her no-nonsense tone, but my stubborn smile stays.
“Bennett…”
She glances down at some papers. “My note says you’re a transfer student from Smith. And also that you’re on the list of volunteer tutors for the department.”
She looks up with interest in her expression.
Bryan gives me an unreadable look, and he turns to leave.
“Don’t leave yet, Mr. Granger. Miss Bennett may be the solution to the problem we were discussing.”
My mouth drops, but I close it quickly because I need to pay attention, though hearing over the loud thumping of my heart may be difficult. Solution to a problem? His problem with this class? I try not to get ahead of myself, but excitement wars with dismay because I think I know what she’s talking about.
He turns back around and raises an eyebrow at the professor, not bothering to agree or disagree.
“Miss Bennett can be your tutor. She’s met the requirements for volunteers, or she wouldn’t be on the list. Since it appears you already know her, the arrangement between you will work better than one with a stranger.”
She eyes Bryan meaningfully, and the look makes me uncomfortable. There’s some kind of undercurrent between them.
Besides, I’m not exactly sure how I feel about tutoring Bryan. Yes, it’s exciting to think about helping my long-lost boy from the ditch, finally. But it turns out he’s an intoxicatingly dangerous man-boy, and most importantly, the object of Liz’s deepest desire.
Underneath all that complication between us, Professor Yardley’s comment about me being better than a stranger has a mysterious ring. Does he have enemies on campus?
He holds her stare for a beat before speaking. “Why do you think an arrangement with Miss Bennett might work better, Professor Yardley? Spell it out for me.”
She thins her lips. I try not to resent that no one’s asking me if I’ll agree to this tutoring assignment while my heart speeds up at the way he’s challenging her. Rebellion and sheer anger are obvious in the set of his jaw, leaping out of him with strangling tension.
“Of course I’ll spell it out. It seems your football accomplishments and resulting fame on campus have caused a frenzy of notoriety for you. If I put your name in to get a volunteer tutor, there will likely be a clamor of coeds lining up, though not necessarily interested in teaching you anything. At least not about reading or writing.”
As I take in her words, my mouth opens like the Holland Tunnel before I realize it and shut it. The way she said football accomplishments with a sneer feels like a slap, and I’m insulted on his behalf, a good cheerleader standing up for the team.
She hates football for whatever reason, and football players. I clamp my jaw tight.
Holding my breath, I wait for Bryan’s response as he stares back at the professor, his expression unchanging.
When he doesn’t respond for a few beats, I blurt out, “I’d be happy to help.”
Then I shut my mouth again to wait for him to say something.
My heart pumps even harder now. My desire to help him, to fight back against this professor on his behalf, could get me into trouble or at least complicate things with Liz.
No, she’ll understand. If he needs help with English Comp—which clearly he does—I can help him. I’m good at tutoring, and I love the satisfaction of helping students. Of course, my only experience is with younger kids, and I prefer tutoring in math, but I can do it if he’ll let me.
His kiss complicated things. A lot. It’s one thing to dream about a guy you never thought you’d see again, and it’s a whole other thing to be confronted with the irresistible male presence of him, especially when he gives you a toe-curling kiss. Guilt flushes my face as Liz pops into my head and how she trusts me and wants me and Bryan to get along.
I doubt very much she means the toe-curling kiss kind of getting along.
Professor Yardly clears her throat, still staring at Bryan. “Well?”
“I’ve tutored before,”
I jump in as if I’m on a job interview and was asked for my credentials—which I wasn’t. I don’t mention that my tutorees were grade school kids. Brightening my tone, I add, “I’d like the opportunity to practice my teaching skills.”
Bryan looks at me with a more relaxed, albeit unreadable expression, like he’s playing poker or something. I’ve noticed when he’s not trying to intimidate others with his full-on scowl, he wears that blank expression most of the time, as if all of life is a risky game of poker and one wrong move will have him losing everything.
Professor Yardly turns to me, not exactly smiling, but not tight-lipped like she’s holding in a scream. “I’ll provide you with some materials that I think will help with Mr. Granger’s particular impediment.”
She turns to Bryan with a dismissive problem-solved look. “Is that acceptable to you? I anticipate an hour twice a week should help.”
“My schedule is?—”
“You won’t graduate without passing this course,”
she says with a hard voice that makes me flinch. Without realizing it, I find I’ve moved closer to Bryan, as if he needs protecting, as if I could protect him from the evil professor. As if I’m his last hope.
He doesn’t speak, doesn’t confirm that he’ll go along with the arrangement.
After an uncomfortable moment, she lowers her voice. “Let me explain the consequences in terms you’ll understand.”
A smile touches her mouth, but it’s a smug smile.
“I spoke with your coach. If, after midterms, you don’t have a C or better, you will not be able to play football. Does that convince you to go along with the arrangement, Mr. Granger?”
My heart nearly stops when I see his face pale. Nothing else about his expression changes—except maybe a slight tightening of his jaw.
He nods. Then he turns to me. “We’ll work something out.”
I nod. “I’ll be as flexible as you need me to be.”
I’m referring to his schedule, but when I notice the slightest twitch in the corner of his mouth and the way his dark eyes dance as he stares at me, I realize he’s not thinking of my flexibility the same way I am.
A chill runs over me—not the cold kind. Sure enough, I find myself heating up deep inside. This is really weird and not something I’ve ever felt before—not that I’m worldly and experienced when it comes to guys—or men. Because Bryan Granger seems a lot like a full-grown man to me.
Professor Yardley nods. “Good. I’ll bring the materials to class in two days.”
She gathers up her papers. I half expect her to ride off on a broom.
I don’t know what to say to Bryan or what to do, but my legs are smart and they automatically take me to the nearest door of the classroom. Bryan’s right there beside me.
We walk together out of the building, where I breathe in the fresh air before I pluck one of the random thoughts spinning in my head from the unexpected talk with our terrible professor.
“You have a dirty mind.”
Shit. Of all things to say first, that’s what comes out? I smirk to temper the comment so I don’t sound like I’m scolding him.
“How do you figure?”
He raises a brow in challenge. “You mean how you’re teasing me with your comment about being flexible? a I’m not a hundred percent sure if he’s teasing. He’s so hard to read, but I take a chance.
“You’re teasing me.”
I grin, my tension easing. Maybe this won’t be so bad.
“You’re easy to tease,”
he says, but there’s still no hint of a smile.
“I’m sorry the professor forced you into having me tutor you?—”
“She didn’t force me. I need a tutor.”
I wait futilely for him to say more, maybe something positive. But then why should he encourage me since I jumped in and volunteered with cheerleader-like enthusiasm?
“Was that true what she said? About all the girls on campus clamoring for you?”
He stops walking and looks at me, forcing me to stop abruptly, and I stumble back. He grabs my arm to steady me. His hand, large and hot and tight, feels like a brand, like he’s taking control. I should, but I don’t pull away from him as I regain my balance.
I stare, prepared to wait him out for his answer.
“Why does it matter?”
Another rhetorical question that I feel compelled to answer. “If I’m going to work with you, help you, I think I should know?—”
“You think I owe you something?”
Not rhetorical, but it’s hard to answer, to admit that I’m wrong. Because he’s right.
“Never mind. It’s none of my business.”
He snorts and starts walking again. “You’ll find out for yourself one way or another if Yardly’s right about all the girls lining up.”
“When we have the first football game. That should tell me something.”
I smile at him because I’m teasing, not because I’m flirting.
“Why are you a cheerleader?”
“Why not?”
I’m aware it’s a juvenile answer, but I have nothing better, not really. I can’t say it’s because Liz dragged me into it and I let her because I felt I owed her.
He doesn’t comment but raises one brow in challenge, not letting me off the hook.
“It’s fun… I… wanted to have some friendly faces, people who I know on this giant campus.”
Shrugging, I turn away in near embarrassment before I start insisting there’s nothing wrong with wanting to belong to a group. I stop short of telling him they’re my new sorority, my sisterhood.
“Afraid to be alone on a campus full of fourteen thousand students?”
Anger sparks. “Why should I be afraid? I’ve been alone my whole life. I’m an only child.”
He nods, but I see a flash of something on his face before he retreats to his cool mask of indifference. He’s not indifferent.
“What about you? You always have that I don’t need anyone attitude? Which is strange for a guy on a football team with forty other guys, by the way.”
“What makes you?—”
“You didn’t go with your team to Rapp’s.”
I watch his reaction. Nothing. He’s so good at not getting rattled, I’m almost envious. He’s content to walk in silence, but I’m not. I need to unravel him somehow.
“You an only child too?” I ask.
He keeps staring ahead, no change in his pace, no stumbling to a stop, no nothing—except when I look at his profile, I see his jaw tighten, clenching slightly. Bingo. I hit a nerve without even meaning to. I wait a few beats before I prod him, but he surprises me with an answer.
“Yes and no.”
“What kind of answer is that?”
“It’s the only one I have.”
He turns to me now, and the sadness in his eyes takes me aback, makes me wish he’d kept his cool because it draws me in, makes me feel… too much.
“What do you mean?”
I finally ask.
“I had a brother. And now I don’t.”
Something about the finality of his statement, the barely banked anger in his tone, makes me drop it. I don’t even tell him how sorry I am because he’s the last one who would want a useless platitude no matter how sincere.
As we walk in silence, stopping when we reach my dorm, I promise myself I’ll find out more, and I’ll find the words or gesture or something to erase that profound sadness I saw in him. The need to make him smile takes on a mission-like level of importance.
“How about if we meet tomorrow after dinner? At my dorm?”
I hold my breath, unsure if he’s actually ready to accept my help or if he’ll make an excuse.
“I’ll come over after practice.”