Ten
Their second tutoring session is not going well.
Wes glances up from his phone, frowning. “No. Start over.”
Charlie grips her highlighter and glares, annoyance bubbling in her chest. “Do you mind putting a pause on your thrilling social life and focusing for an hour?”
Holding her gaze, he slides his phone across the table. She doesn’t point out that it’s still within reach because that argument would be futile.
Charlie rolls her jaw, returning to the question at hand. “As I was saying, approaching each question with those two identifiers in mind actually makes it easier to determine how to reach a conclusion—”
His phone pings, and he immediately reaches for it, but Charlie is faster, snatching it off the table.
“Rogers—”
“I’m not doing this for my sake.” She holds his phone above her head.
He could easily reach for it. Instead, he folds his arms over his chest and scowls.
“I already took the test, and you know what I scored. I’m doing this for you.
Because we made a deal, and you followed through on your part, so I’m trying to follow through on mine.
But you’re making it increasingly difficult by acting like you don’t give a fuck—”
“I don’t,” he snaps.
“Then we’re done here,” she replies. Surprise flickers across his face before his expression of cold indifference returns. “I don’t deserve this disrespect when I am trying to help you, Quinn.”
He tips his head back while flexing his hands on the table, and she’s irritated enough that she hardly thinks about the starring role those hands had in her fantasies a few nights ago.
After another tense moment, he runs a hand down his face. “I’m sorry.” He meets her gaze. “You’re right. You are helping, and I’m being an absolute ass.”
She’s so stunned by his admission that she can’t help softening at his remorse.
A muscle twitches in his jaw as he leans back in his chair. “It’s my Dad.” He nods at the phone. “That’s who I’m texting.”
Charlie sets his phone between them, but Wes only glares at it.
“You wanted to know why I didn’t have him pay for a tutor.” He smiles wryly. “He offered. Because he can buy anything, including the best LSAT tutor so his son can follow in his footsteps and take over his illustrious law firm someday. But I refused.” His words are laced with derision.
Charlie says nothing, afraid to interrupt this rare moment of vulnerability from him. Even when they were friends, he rarely revealed details about his family or his personal problems.
“He controls so much of my life. When I was growing up, he paid for the best lacrosse coaches, the best private school, and now he pays my tuition here. He even pays for my over-the-top apartment at Avalon.” He laughs, but it’s hollow.
“‘Only the best for my boy.’ Because I’m part of his legacy.
And why shouldn’t he pay? With his media company, his firm, his real estate properties, he basically prints money. ”
He flips a page in the LSAT prep book idly before closing the book entirely.
“But it comes with a price, because he believes he’s owed a say in what I do with my future.
We argued last night because he wanted to know who was tutoring me.
He said if I don’t score high enough when I take the test again in April, he will pay for a tutor of his choosing.
” A hard determination crosses his features.
“I didn’t tell him it was you. I don’t want him contacting you and interfering. ”
“It’s just tutoring,” Charlie says quietly, confused by his reticence. “I’m not anyone special. If you want me to speak with him, you can give him—”
“No.” His brusqueness silences her. “Please trust me, Rogers. If he knew it was you, he’d try to control you, too.”
Charlie frowns, puzzled by his insistence. “All right.”
“I just—” He pulls his lower lip between his teeth. Charlie reprimands herself when an image flashes through her mind of her doing the same.
Christ, Charlie, he’s being open with you for the first time, and all you’re thinking about is his mouth?
“It seems like I’m always disappointing him, but I don’t know if I actually want to meet his expectations. It feels like too much.”
Without thinking, Charlie leans forward and rests her hand on his. “He’s your dad.” She smiles. “Don’t you think he’ll be proud of you no matter what?”
His laugh is brittle. “That’s sweet of you to say, but you don’t know him.”
A chill falls over her, and she draws her hand back. Sitting up straighter in her chair, she pulls the LSAT prep book toward her, searching for the page they were on before his confession.
She has always assumed Wes had everything, assumed his social status at Archwood was the tip of the iceberg of his ideal, easy life. But now her image of him shifts and contorts, giving her a clearer picture of who he really is.
His words tug on something in her chest; she understands the weight of parental expectations and what happens when they’re not met. When the disappointment causes a rift so deep it’s irreparable. When the child has to decide to forge their own path, no matter what the parents’ reactions are.
But she doesn’t tell him this.
Instead, Charlie turns the book toward him again and taps the page. “Then we better get focused. I’ll have you know, I make studying fun.”
He laughs softly before releasing a sigh. “I can’t study anymore today, Rogers.”
“But you just said—”
“I know.” He meets her eye, his face lined with fatigue. “I don’t want your efforts to go to waste, but I don’t have it in me to do anything else.”
She bites her lower lip. “If you’re sure.”
He stands from the table. “I’m sure. Are you hungry?”
His tone is suddenly much more upbeat, and she blinks at the whiplash.
“I could eat,” she replies.
He begins going through her cupboards.
“Sure,” she deadpans. “Go ahead. By all means, help yourself.”
“You need to run out and grab more Annie’s mac and cheese before the stores stop selling it.” He opens her cupboard wide, revealing a dozen boxes of her favorite food. “You’re running low.”
“It’s delicious,” she points out.
He closes the cupboard and moves on to her fridge. “It’s hardly a meal.”
She scoffs. “What are you talking about? It has carbs, protein, and fat! All three important macronutrients!”
He lifts his head from behind the door, grinning. “I suppose I should be grateful you’re eating at all. You used to have a terrible habit of forgetting to do that.”
He disappears again, and she’s grateful, because her cheeks flare with heat at the reminder that he knows more about her than she’s willing to admit. The knowledge lingers like a fading bruise.
It’s important to take breaks, he told her one evening in the library freshman year after she nearly passed out and then confessed she hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
Wes shuts the fridge. “We’re going out.”
She balks. “I have food here!”
“Yeah, but I want a burger from Tom’s, and I’m paying.”
Charlie glares at him.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s just food. And it’s free.”
Uncertainty twists in her gut. She’s already spent more time with him than she has in years, already allowed him to touch her in ways no one else has. She’s already feeling things she’s never felt for anyone else.
Except him, of course. Three years ago.
Leaning against the counter, Wes wiggles his brows playfully. Her gaze snags on the evidence of his recent frustration, the messy tendrils of hair she’s always wanted to run her fingers through.
She huffs. “Fine. But I’m getting a milkshake.”
He throws his arms in the air like he’s just scored the game-winning touchdown. “Obviously. I’m not a monster.”