Chapter 18
Savannah
My roommate hadn’t seen Dante leave.
I think Lady Luck was on my side completely because I don’t think anyone saw him, and that in itself was a small miracle.
I’d wanted to text him, but I hadn’t because . . . Well, because what would I even say? I’m sorry that I almost threw myself at you. Or the truth? I’m sorry I didn’t?
He’d been right there. Right there. All I had to do was close the distance, taste his lips, and . . . I sighed heavily as I packed my backpack. I’d completely and utterly chickened out.
My head had played the scene too many times since he left. I'd woken up at three in the morning, sweating, panting, thinking about him, which was humiliating enough without having to examine why.
Ugh. I was chicken. So much so, that I had hid in the shed all of Monday on the off chance I may run into him. I’d never run into him in my three years of being here, but I just knew luck was no longer on my side when it came to me being in the same space as Dante.
I grabbed my jacket and headed out of my room.
Bev was in the kitchen and looked up at me with a smile. “I made you a snack pack,” she announced, pointing at the clear Ziploc bag of carrot sticks, apple slices, almonds, and blueberries. “Good for the heart and the brain.”
“Thanks, Bev.” I placed it in my bag, taking out a slim bar of dark chocolate. “Here, the good stuff, courtesy of Wrighton’s benefactors.”
Bev’s eyes lit up. “You always get to sneak the good stuff from those events you go to. Honestly, anytime you want to bail, and your dad allows it, I will happily take your place. I need an evening of fine dining.”
“You willingly want to sit beside Dean Cole in a formal dinner setting?” I asked her, knowing she was shit scared of my dad.
She pretended to think about it. “Is there a kids table?”
I laughed as I headed to the door. “Nope, sorry!” I sang out as she waved goodbye.
Smiling, I jogged down the back stairs and out onto campus. Tuesday morning classes beckoned, and I really, really wanted to engage my brain all day and not think about the smoking hot Lions QB.
Which is how I knew I was being punished by Cupid or some other god of love or, at least, lust, because every single person on campus seemed to be talking about Saturday night’s fight.
There was no escaping from QB10.
If his face wasn’t plastered all over the athletics building, he was on banners that I passed under as I walked to class. Or his name was on every second person’s lips as they spoke about the ‘infighting in the Blues.’
By the time my third class was over, I was ready to hide in the shed again and lose myself in glass cutting and metalwork.
My professor in this class even made a joke about Dante having a mean throwing arm for football and fights. As the class laughed, I’d been biting back my scream.
My phone buzzed as I left the auditorium, and I checked it with a mix of hope and dread. I felt instantly bereft and relieved when I saw it was just Dad.
Dad: I’m in the languages building. Meet me there?
That was almost casual for Dad. I typed back that I’d see him there, and I made my way out of my building to the one adjacent.
I was in jeans, a sweater, and a leather jacket today.
I was sure Dad would be frowning, but it was raining, and jeans were the only things that looked good with my black biker boots.
Even if I didn’t have a bike — good God, I could imagine my father’s face at the thought.
But after a few home truths from Dante on Saturday, I think I was past caring what he thought of my clothes.
If I were parading around naked, then I would expect judgment, but for Tuesday morning classes, I was fine in jeans.
Dad was coming down the steps as I was going up them, and not seeing the point in meeting him in the middle, I stopped.
“Morning,” he greeted me. His dark brown suit and trench coat made him look like he was missing a fedora and a pipe from a 1950s movie.
“Hey,” I said. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?” I teased him.
He sighed. “Budget cuts.” He shook his head as we walked. “You’d think with all the dinners, galas, and endless functions we attend, I’d not have to worry about funds coming into this place.”
“Maybe if we didn’t have as many dinners, galas, and endless functions, you wouldn’t spend as much out of the funds,” I said honestly, with a saccharine sweet smile.
He gave me a look, and I grinned back at him.
The snap of a banner above us sprayed us both with water residue, and Dad glared at the image of The Den like it personally offended him.
“Maybe if I didn’t have to pay for coaches’ inflated salaries, I could keep ancient languages as a full program and not just a summer elective.” He glanced around quickly. “You didn’t hear that,” he said in a low voice.
“Never heard a word,” I promised.
We walked in silence, passing one of the coffee shops. “Coffee?” Dad asked.
“Here?” I blinked. “Um . . . yeah.”
My father, the dean of the whole school, was walking into a franchise coffee chain that sold, according to him, ‘overpriced swill and foam.’
I ordered a latte. Dad ordered a tea and failed to mask his horror as he was handed a to-go cup of boiling water with a teabag floating in it.
“This is what I need to cut,” he muttered as he went off to secure a table, and I waited for my order.
One steaming cup of deliciousness later, with extra foam, I was sitting across from him and wondered what alternate universe I was in where this was my Tuesday morning.
“How goes tutoring?” He dipped the teabag and eventually gave up, pushing the whole thing away from him. I smoothly took over, and he didn’t protest. “Your mother used to do that,” he said with a wistful smile.
“You mean before she was Overlord of the West?” I asked him, avoiding his stare.
“Savannah,” his tone held a reprimand, but it lacked any sting.
“You know my golden rule, Dad. We don’t talk about Eliza Cole.”
“She called last night, wanted to know how your studies were.” He took the ‘fixed’ tea off me, with a murmured thanks.
“And?”
“And I told her you were top of your class, and doing well.”
“And?” I sipped my coffee.
“And that you still didn’t want to talk to her.”
“Thank you.”
We sat in silence until he ruined it. “You know, if she were here—”
“I’d be somewhere else.”
“What I was going to say was that she could have this talk with you.” His gaze was shifting all over the place, anywhere but at me.
“What talk?” I asked suspiciously.
“I understand I asked you to be involved with the football program, for . . . reasons. But had I known that you would be so openly attracted to—”
“Don’t do this.” My head was bowed, my hands in fists, and my eyes screwed tight. “Please.”
Dad had that tone. The one that made me feel about twelve years old, even though I was twenty, holding a coffee cup, and technically a grown woman.
“Savannah,” he said evenly, sliding the paper cup of tea aside. “You seem to be overly familiar with the football player.”
I forced a smile. “I’m tutoring him. That’s my job.”
“That’s your cover,” he corrected, his eyes pinning me like a bug on a card.
“But don’t mistake me, Savannah. Those boys — especially Spence — aren’t your friends.
” The level of disgust with which he said ‘Spence’ was enough to make my fists clench.
“They’ll take what they want and leave a mess behind. It’s what they do.”
The warning wasn’t new. My father hated distractions, and football was distraction incarnate. But the way he said Dante’s name? I wasn’t okay with that.
Heat crawled up my neck, betraying me, and I hated that. He didn’t know him the way I did. He didn’t know the way Dante’s smile, his real one, lingered on his mouth longer than the one he flashed for the media and the fans.
“I think you’re exaggerating,” I said carefully, keeping my voice light. “I tutor him, and he is nothing but respectful and willing to learn. He’s a good student.”
“Mmhmm, tell that to campus security on Saturday night.”
I sipped my coffee. “Did, um, anything come out as to why they were fighting?”
Dad’s nostrils flared. “According to their coach, they were boys being boys.” His voice dripped with abhorrence.
I’d seen Dante, and that was a lot more than just blowing off steam. “Huh.” I sipped my drink again. “What happens to him — them?” I corrected myself, but it was too late; Dad had heard my slip.
“Spence has a few privileges revoked. The bigger one, the linebacker . . .”
“Noah Matthews,” I supplied softly.
“Yes, him. He was going to be kicked out of the program, but Spence and the Defensive Coordinator both vouched for him.”
Dad was not impressed with the punishments.
“They were the only two fighting?” I probed.
“The others were assisted off campus.”
Holy shit. “What? Really?” I asked.
“They were packed and gone before morning,” he said, looking at me. “So, you see, Savannah, I know these types better than you.” His eyes softened slightly. “They . . . he is not who you think he is. Saturday proved that, no?”
“Dad, can you not have the boy talk with me?” I asked him softly. “I’m twenty years old.”
“Well, if your mother were here right now—”
“She wouldn’t have noticed, or been interested.”
“Savannah,” my dad said, giving me that look again. “She is very busy and incredibly talented. You know she loves you.”
“I think I prefer you telling me you know better about boys,” I muttered. He looked at me for a moment like he didn't know what to say to that.
“I do know better.” He shook his head slightly, like he was also uncomfortable with the conversation, but plowed on anyway. “You’re intelligent, Savannah. You have a future. Don’t let a boy who throws a ball for a living drag you down with him.”
“Dad, I’ve tutored him for what, two or three weeks?” I rolled my eyes. “What exactly do you think could have happened?”
The flat look I received made my insides squirm with embarrassment. “I was twenty years old once too, remember, Savannah.”
“Ick.”
He actually chuckled before becoming serious again. “I saw the way he looked at you at the Benefactors Booster.”
I stared down at my lap. What did I say? It wasn’t like that? Because I think it might be exactly like that. Or, what I wanted to say: You don’t know him, you don’t really know me, but that stuck in my throat.
“Well, this has been hideous, and on my list of things never to do again,” I said instead, and this time my dad did laugh.
“I’m going back to my office, where Roberta actually knows how to make tea,” he said, pulling his coat back on. “Will you think about it?”
“What?” I looked up at him, feeling rebellious. “Think about not doing the quarterback?”
He closed his eyes as he let out a loud sigh. “Fine. I deserved that.” He bent and kissed my head. “I know that’s because I mentioned your mother, but please, think about what I said.”
“I’ll see you later.”
“Thursday,” he confirmed. “A gallery showing in the arts building. Finally, one of the events you might enjoy.” He squeezed my shoulder as he spoke, and then he headed out the door.
Might enjoy? The gallery showing, in the arts building, where my work would never hang. I'd be there as the dean's daughter, same as everywhere else.
I finished my coffee and contemplated another as the rain got heavier outside. I picked my phone up when it dinged.
QB10: You look like you want out of here
My head snapped up, and he was there, in the doorway, his eyes on me. He didn’t give a damn that people were staring at him or his bruises.
Dante jerked his head to the door, and I grabbed my backpack and went and joined him at the door.
His hoodie was up, ballcap pulled low, but still unmistakably Dante. His jeans were wet from the rain, and his boots were causing puddles.
“You ready to get out of here?” he asked me, pushing the door open without waiting for an answer.
“Yeah.” I looked up at him. “Where are we going?”
“Somewhere we can talk?” he asked, looking down at me, hardly moving as someone came through the open door, muttering about idiots blocking doorways. “Your shed?” I licked my lips uncertainly and saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “It’s closest,” he reasoned.
I hesitated, he noticed. “Okay, but don’t touch anything.”
Dante leaned down to speak in my ear. “What if the only thing I want to touch is you?”
The air between us crackled like a live wire. I looked up at him, eyes wide, and was greeted by that killer smile. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the coffee shop, and we ran through the rain toward my art shed.