Chapter 8
Dante
I was sitting on the table in meeting room C, my legs swinging casually back and forth, when she walked in.
“What are you wearing?” I looked her over. Navy dress, navy flats, pearl earrings, and her long blonde hair tied back in a low ponytail. “You’re dressed like my mom.”
Savannah halted as she closed the door, then, shooting me a flash of irritation, she closed it firmly.
“I’d say your mom has excellent dress sense,” she said coolly as she walked farther into the room.
I grinned. She was so easy to annoy, it was rapidly becoming my new favorite pastime.
“My point is, that you’re what? Twenty? Twenty-one? My mom’s in her forties, so . . . you’re dressed like a forty-year-old woman.”
“Again, your mom must have excellent taste in clothes. The classic look never goes out of style.”
I looked at her, saw the narrowed determination in her glare, and shrugged. “Fine.”
She inhaled deeply, and then, in her prim and proper dress, she sat down, her legs crossed at the ankle, and I couldn’t hold back my smirk.
“What?” The now was implied.
“You’re just very . . . conservative this evening.”
“Did you call me out of my father’s dinner to tell me you don’t like how I’m dressed?”
I shook my head. “No, but since you brought it up, I don’t like this dress on you—”
“I don’t care what you like on me, Dante. You have absolutely no input whatsoever into anything I wear!”
“I liked the ripped jeans, the sloppy neckline of that oversized sweater you were wearing, and the beat-up leather jacket.” I carried on, pretending not to hear her.
She was seething.
It was funny.
“You don’t even listen to me, so I’ll say it again, your opinion on my clothing choices does not concern me.”
“You’re really touchy,” I observed casually.
“I swear to God, Dante, you mention my period or time of the month and I will be responsible for punching you.”
I grinned. “I wasn’t even going to go near that, that is so disrespectful to say that to women, but if you’re bringing it up—”
She was on her feet, heading to the door. I jumped off the table and caught her arm. She halted, her gaze on my hand wrapped around her golden skin, then up to my face.
“Don’t go,” I said gently. “I’m only teasing you, Sav. You’re funny.”
“So you like laughing at me?” Her gaze flicked down to my hand once more. “Like a bully?”
I gave her my media smile. “C’mon, Sav, we both know I’m no bully.”
“You can flash your pearly whites at me all you want, Ten. It doesn’t distract me.”
“You think my smiling at you is a distraction tactic?” I asked her with surprise. “That’s interesting.”
“It’s not interesting,” she said simply. “And take your hand off my arm.”
I withdrew it slowly, my gaze on hers, watching as she tried to show it wasn’t affecting her.
I leaned back against the table again, trying to look relaxed even though my head was still running numbers — not the kind on a scoreboard. She’d overheard me the other night. I didn’t know how much, and I couldn’t afford to guess wrong.
It had been bugging me all day; if she’d heard everything, then I didn’t know if she was thinking about what she had heard or, worse, connecting dots.
Or . . . I was being completely paranoid.
“So,” I said lightly, “did you really sneak out of Daddy Dean’s dinner just to see me? I’m flattered.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You asked me to meet you.”
“I did.”
Sav waited. “Are you wasting my time?” she snapped suddenly.
I held her impatient stare, assessing, calculating, filing her tells, like she was the defensive line ready to take me down after the snap.
“I don’t like that you followed me or that you listened in on my conversation,” I told her simply. “What were you hoping to hear when you eavesdropped?”
Savannah looked confused, her brow furrowed, her mouth opened and closed, and then she blurted, “I was not eavesdropping on you!” Once more, she squared her shoulders, and I watched her center herself. “Tell me this is not why I’m here.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “I feel like you’re hiding something from me, Sav.” Her cheeks flushed, and I leaned forward slightly. “Tell me, did you follow me back here?”
She looked affronted at the question. “No!” She saw my look and shook her head. “You arrogant shit, no. I came back for my—”
“Your what?” I gave her my signature quarterback smile. “Your chisel? You expect me to believe that?”
“It doesn’t matter what I came back for. I didn’t know you were here, and fine, I shouldn’t have listened.”
“But you did. Why?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “You were so surly and—”
“You’ve met me a handful of times, how do you know I’m not always surly?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because you’re a pro football player in the making, and the most important thing to you right now, other than football, is image.”
“Wow.” I chuckled low. “You have a really shit opinion of football players.”
Sav laughed, but it held too much bitterness.
“No, I don’t. It’s the way of the world.
Your eyes are already on the prize of the payday waiting for you, and why shouldn’t they be?
” she asked, and there was no malice in the question.
“You work hard to get where you are, not just you, before you tell me I’m complimenting you again.
” She leveled me with her hard, no-bullshit stare.
“Athletes get scholarships to D1 colleges because they worked hard to get there. And in three to four years’ time, it’s time to cash in on that hard work.
My opinion of athletes, including football players, isn’t low; it’s well-formed.
” She held up her hand. “Playing your best.” She lowered a finger.
“Keeping your grades up.” She lowered another finger.
“Looking good for your fans while doing it.” Another finger went down. “What else is there?”
I held up my hand with my thumb, pinky, and ring finger down. “Fun and—” I raised an eyebrow — “sex. Lots of it.” I lowered my fingers, happy when she flushed as she broke my stare.
The room became silent for a moment before Savannah regarded me with an assessing look. “Why am I here? No BS, Dante.” She held up her hand. “And don’t even bother saying sex just to fluster me.”
“Me mentioning sex to you flusters you?” My gaze ran over her one more time. “Or does thinking of having sex with me . . . fluster you?”
“Wh-what?” She looked up at me with her blue eyes wide and her mouth parted in surprise.
Fuck me if I wasn’t tempted to lean forward and take a taste of that perfect pout.
“You’re thinking of me fucking you now, aren’t you?” I watched her regain her composure. Or try to.
She ignored my taunting. “You said we need to talk, and while you do love the sound of your own voice, you haven’t said anything that warrants pulling me out of a dean’s dinner.”
“I’d say we’d covered a lot in such a short time.” I pushed myself back onto my spot on the table, consciously casual.
“They provide chairs for that,” she murmured.
God, she was such a square.
“I’m all the things you think I am,” I told her honestly. My hand came up, checking off the items as I spoke. “Hardworking, football focused, image conscious, fun, and—” I winked — “a pain in the ass sometimes.”
“But?”
“No but,” I told her honestly. “You were snooping, and I want to know why.”
“Why?” Her gaze sharpened with curiosity. “What are you scared I overheard?”
“The why and the what don’t matter,” I told her. I’d decided before she got here that truth sprinkled with a whole lot of bullshit and vagueness was the way forward.
“Then what’s the problem?”
She was smart. I needed to remember that.
“I don’t like people being in my business.” I held her attention. “Or repeating what I’ve said in a private conversation.”
“Who would I tell?” she asked, leaning back in her seat. “Maybe you hijacking my day and my dinner is the only thing that keeps reminding me about it.”
Interesting point. It didn’t fucking matter.
“Maybe,” I said, my lip curling upward. She was so transparent. “Or maybe, you’re a really shit liar, Sav.”
We sat in silence, our gazes locked as we ran routes and passes on how this conversation was going to end.
“I won’t breathe a word of it,” she said finally. I nodded, sliding off the table, ready to leave. “But—”
“No but.”
She smiled, and it was sharp with intent, maybe the most genuine smile she’d given me yet.
“But you have to do something for me in return.”
“That so?” I kept my tone lazy, bored.
“You don’t actually need me to tutor you.”
“That’s not what your little report to the Academic Committee would say.”
Her jaw tightened — just enough to let me know I’d hit close to something she didn’t want touched. “You could pass without me.”
“I know.” I shrugged. “But then I’d miss out on your charming company.”
She didn’t bite. “If anyone asks, we meet here twice a week. You pass your class, I get to work on something I care about without having to look over my shoulder. You don’t ask questions about it, and I didn’t . . . hear anything I shouldn’t, and you didn’t stalk me after it.”
There it was — the flash of steel under all that polished composure. Dangerous in her own way.
“Stalk you?” I held her stare. “You followed me, remember?”
“Do we have a deal or not?”
I studied her, letting the silence stretch until she shifted her weight. “No. I don’t make deals.”
“Wh-what?” She tugged on the bottom of her ponytail. “Why am I here if you aren’t willing to make an offer. You don’t want me digging where I’m not supposed to, and I don’t want you near my business. We both get what we want.”
“What I want?” I held her stare. “I don’t make deals with people who think they can corner me.” I tilted my head slightly as I watched her react.
Her chin lifted, and her eyes didn’t leave mine. Looks like she had a spine. “This is my offer. We say it’s twice a week, but we cut it down to once a week. You do your . . . thing, and I’ll pretend to tutor you as scheduled.”
“Fine.”