Chapter 23
Savannah
I had sex with Dante Spence.
It played on repeat in my mind like a mantra.
I scrubbed my hands over my face, but I couldn’t wash away the heat still lingering on my skin, even the next morning.
I sat on the edge of my bed, my hair damp from the shower, yet I still felt his touch on my body.
Could still smell him when I inhaled too deeply.
What the hell was I doing?
I’d kissed Dante Spence. More than kissed. I’d let him into my world, my space, my bed — fine, his bed — but it didn’t change the fact that every line I’d drawn for myself, I’d stepped over without a second thought.
I pulled my sketchbook onto my lap, but the charcoal smeared uselessly under my fingers. Every line I tried to draw turned into him — his jaw, his mouth, the broad shoulders that had crowded me against the desk like I’d wanted to be cornered.
Ugh . . . was I really this predictable? Gullible? Na?ve?
Every girl with half a brain knew you did not sleep with the cocky football player.
You did not fall for his charm, his wit, his intelligence, or his looks.
God, his looks . . . How was it fair for a man to look so effortlessly perfect?
And his body? A man should not look like that undressed.
Not a real one anyway. All those hard muscles — his abs weren’t even defined, they were sculpted.
I mean, he was the quarterback, wasn’t he allowed to be, I dunno, pudgy?
He was irresponsible and dangerous, and I was supposed to know better. He was shady — phone calls in the dark and unexplained pill bottles — and he obviously had anger issues, hello fighting in a parking lot. And yet I’d still stripped my clothes off, lay on my back, and said, Do me.
I closed my eyes and still saw him. Felt the scrape of his teeth against my collarbone, the warmth of his hand on my hip.
His cock filling me, stretching me, making me feel like I hadn’t known what I was missing, because that man knew exactly what he was doing with what God gave him, and he’d been given a lot.
Ugh. Now I was thinking about his technique. I did not need to be thinking about his technique. I had enough problems.
How dare he be a ten in everything? Looks? Ten. Skillset? Ten. Kissability? Ten. Wit? Ten. Charm? Ten. Oh my God, is that why he wore the number ten? Because he knew he was one?
Ugh, he was annoyingly perfect. He was annoying! I felt a surge of wild hope. Surely there were points off for that, right?
And then his reminder that his roommates had seen girls leave his room before. Well, if that wasn’t a slap of cold, hard reality, I wasn’t sure what was.
And yet . . . I didn’t believe him. I mean, was he a virgin? Obviously not. But a manwhore? I doubted it.
Which put me back to square one, and that was the fact I had sex with Dante Spence.
Maybe this was a panic attack? I’d never had one. I hadn’t thought I was the type. Well, buckle up, Savvy, you’re officially fucked. Literally and figuratively.
Damn it, I hated this. Hated that even now, after I’d left him like that, I couldn’t decide if I wanted to scream at him or beg him to drag me back to bed and do it all over again.
Either way, he was a constant presence in my head, and I had no idea how to get him out.
Everything felt . . . different.
It wasn’t just the sex — though that alone had me shaking in ways I wasn’t ready to admit. It was what it meant. Dante already had too much leverage over me. The half-assed tutoring, knowing about my shed, and now this. Having sex with him didn’t even the scales. It tilted them. All the way to him.
I hugged my knees, staring at the floor.
He could have ruined me with a word before I got into bed with him.
One whisper that I was working on an art project, and my dad would be furious.
Worse . . . disappointed. Now Dante could add on that he was sneaking around with the dean’s daughter, and my name would be known for the wrong reasons.
My father would never forgive me. The Academic Association would never look at me the same again.
I was supposed to tutor, not be taught.
I knew all of this. I’d lectured myself so many times since I met him, Do not fall for the quarterback, and yet when he kissed me, I hadn’t stopped him. When he suggested his room was right upstairs, I could have walked away. Did I? No. I’d wanted it — wanted him. That was the problem.
Now I was tangled up in something I couldn’t control, with a man who thrived on control. And for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I was terrified of the fallout or of how much I would risk to do it again.
I stood up and got ready for my day. I needed to focus on my classes, and promised myself that I would not let this rule me. Anymore.
By lunch, I’d convinced myself I could fake normal.
I sat across from Bev in the cafeteria, nodding at her rundown of orchestra drama, but I couldn’t hear her over the constant hum in my chest. The clink of cutlery, the scrape of chairs, even the way the sunlight slanted through the windows — it all felt too sharp, like the world knew what I’d done.
What we’d done.
Bev asked me a question about next semester’s electives, and I blinked at her like an idiot before mumbling some excuse about needing more coffee. Her confused frown followed me all the way to the buffet table.
Even there, between carafes of orange juice and fruit salad, I wasn’t free. Not when I heard two students whispering about the football team having a huge party, and campus security had to break it up.
My stomach dropped. The party got broken up by campus security? What if we’d still been there? Dante wasn’t just reckless — he was reckless with my future, whether he meant to be or not.
I carried my coffee back to the table and pretended I wasn’t coming out of my skin, as Bev carried on her one-sided conversation, and I pretended I was listening.
Later, in my art shed, I tried to weld it out of me. Sparks hissed and danced as I pressed the torch to steel in order to fuse across the metal. But every lick of heat reminded me of his hands on my body. Every curve I bent into shape reminded me of his mouth.
The grinder’s hum had only just faded when my phone buzzed against the workbench.
It was Kylie, the coordinator for Academic Affairs.
Kylie: Just checking in to remind you that your students’ progress reports need to be sent by midweek. Catch you later!
Fuck, I’d forgotten. I never forgot. See! This is what he did to me!
Quickly, I pulled out my notebook and sat right there in the middle of my shed floor, hurriedly typing up all the notes for each of my students. Thankfully, I was experienced at this, and it didn’t take long; I knew the format.
I uploaded the first two through the portal, but Dante’s resisted. “Of course you’d be difficult,” I grumbled at the document, ensuring it was saved in the right format.
The error message popped back up.
“Oh for God’s sake.” I hit the number for the liaison office.
“Hi there, it’s Savannah Cole, I’m trying to upload my students’ tutoring progress reports, but the site’s glitching on my end. Is there a known problem?”
“Hi, Savannah, nothing wrong on our end that I know of. Do you have them saved in the right format?”
I bit back the snarl. “Yup.” I forced out a laugh. “I double-checked and everything. Two have gone through, but one’s resisting. Okay, I’ll try later.”
“Well, that’s strange,” the woman on the phone answered. “For two to go through and one not.”
Yes, I know, that’s why I’m calling.
“Which student are you having difficulty with?”
Oh, how long have you got?
“Dante Spence.” Had my voice sounded as shaky to her as it did to me?
She laughed. “Oh, that’s fine,” she told me cheerfully. “You don’t need to worry about his. Coach Sutherland has already assured us that Mr. Spence’s academic eligibility will remain secure.”
“Excuse me?”
She cleared her throat. “You don’t need to upload that progress report, these guys usually get what they need to pass.”
What was she saying? It didn’t matter if he showed up for sessions? Was the work I logged just a formality? Or did I not have to log it at all? Was my role to polish the image of their star quarterback the same way I polished steel — buff out the imperfections until the shine blinded everyone else.
“Anything else I can help you with today?”
“Um, nope,” I managed, though the words tasted like rust. “All good.”
“Excellent. Thank you for calling.”
The line clicked — dead.
I set the phone down, but my hands wouldn’t stop shaking. My stomach felt queasy. Her words lingered — these guys usually get what they need to pass.
I had a horrible thought: had he known all along? Is that why he was so laid back? I’d told him he could pass this class without me, and he said he knew that. I’d thought it was arrogance. I’d accused him of being too lazy to do the work. I’d thought it was just the way he was.
Or was it because he knew they’d pass him anyway?
These guys usually get what they need to pass.
Was having sex with me part of that? Or was I an added perk?
“Am I really such a fool?” I asked the empty shed. “For a jock?” But the name-calling didn’t help my anger. It just made me angry with myself. Some of these guys had a better work ethic than most; just because they were jocks didn’t mean they were dumb.
Dante was most definitely not dumb. But was he a conniving, backstabbing asshole?
Fuck, I didn’t know.
I’d never tutored anyone in the athletic program before. Dad didn’t like me ‘wasting my time’ on them. Was this why? Did he know?
I sat with that for a moment.
It would explain a lot.
It would explain why he disliked them so much. They weren’t working to get their grade; they were being assisted. More than assisted.
They were coasting through their degrees.
What did this mean for me? On one hand, it meant I no longer had to tie myself in knots worrying about seeing Dante again. On the other hand, there was no freaking way I was letting this pass.