You Need A Tutor

Miles

Nine Years Ago

“Aaron, there’s nothing else I can do for you. You gotta get your grades up or else you’re gonna lose your scholarship, son. You’re so close...I can see you in the draft, but you’re not there yet. You need another year. You don’t want to blow your opportunity...”

I hear coach’s words leaving his mouth but I don’t want to believe them. I plaster an indifferent look on my face although I’m scared shitless. I know that my grades weren’t the best last semester, but when coach tells me that just one month into my sophomore year, I’m already failing college algebra, I realize that my lax attitude about school is coming back to bite me in the ass.

“Listen Miles, just stop partying so much, cut out the drinking, and get a tutor. It’s early in the semester, you have plenty of time to pull your grade back up. Instead of regular team study tables, I’m going to contact the library and have them set you up with a tutor for your math class.”

I nod and I finally exhale in relief. “Am I free to go now, Coach?”

“Yes, but Miles. I, unfortunately have to bench you until this grade improves. I’ve talked to your professor and she says you all have an exam in a little over a week. If you do well on it, I’ll be able to put you on the field for that week’s game.”

I still. “What about this week?”

“I’m sorry son, my hands are tied. I can’t let you play with a failing grade.”

I fight hard to contain my anger. I’m pissed as fuck, but I already know that going off on Coach isn’t going to change his mind. I’m out for next weeks’ game and unless I can pull three weeks’ worth of algebra knowledge out of my ass by next Wednesday, I’ll be out of another one.

“Fine.” I grumble, pushing myself up from the chair that sits in front of Coach Sampson’s desk.

“So, starting tonight, rather than studying with the team report to the front desk in the library and they’ll take it from there.”

“Hey there gorgeous, I’ve never seen you around before,” I say to the blonde at the front desk of the library. Her bored expression shifts to a stunning kilowatt smile and I think she looks vaguely familiar, though I can’t place her.

“You’re Miles Aaron!” she squeals, her eyes widening. She leans forward over the desk so I can see her ample cleavage over the top of her shirt.

“Where do I know you from?” I ask her, flashing her a broad smile. She blushes.

“I’m Hailey Danvers. Dance team captain. I’m at every game,” she says, flipping her long hair over her shoulder. Her sparkling blue eyes focus in on mine and I lean into her.

“Ah. I thought you looked familiar,” I tell her, relieved that it isn’t because I’ve slept with her and forgot about it.

“Yep. So, what can I do for you?” she asks and I don’t say that I’d like her to do a lot for me.

“I’m here for tutoring. Are you my tutor?” I raise an eyebrow and she giggles.

“God, no. I shouldn’t be tutoring anyone. I just work the front desk. If you’ve had a tutor assigned to you I can check to let you know who it is.”

I watch her stand from her chair and my eyes are glued to her ass as she searches for something. She grabs a sheet of paper out of a drawer and returns to me, not taking her eyes off of it.

“It looks like you have...Monroe Marsailles. She’s a sophomore as well. Here is her contact information and it looks like you’ve set up a standing session with her every day this week and three times a week starting next week. If that changes just contact the front desk and we can update it.” She hands me the sheet of paper and flashes me another gorgeous smile. I watch as she bends over the desk and scribbles something on the paper.

“And there’s my contact information...In case you need anything else,” she says, smirking.

“Thank you, Miss Danvers.” I flash her my biggest smile before turning on my heels and heading toward the staircase.

On the second floor of the huge library, there is hardly anyone here, though it’s a Sunday and a new week of classes begin tomorrow. It takes me awhile to find conference room B, where I’m supposed to meet my tutor. But when I do find it, I open the door and am taken aback when I see a tiny girl who barely looks like a college student, sitting at the long, rectangular table. She turns to me and blinks but doesn’t say anything.

“Hello, I’m looking for a Monroe Marsailles,” I say to the girl. She stands and clasps her hands in front of her. I take in her attire and I’m kind of surprised. She’s wearing black corduroy overalls and a Barding University cardigan in the school colors, maroon and gold. She doesn’t dress like any college girl I’ve ever met.

“It’s Mar-sigh.” She says quietly, pushing her glasses up onto her nose.

“Huh?”

“You said my last name like ‘Mar-sallis’ it’s pronounced ‘Mar-sigh’” she explains. Not in a rude way like she’s offended, but just matter-of-factly. She offers me a small smile, exposing her pink braces and holds out her hand. I shake it.

“I’m Miles,” I say, smiling broadly and she blushes like most girls do when I talk to them. The last girl I fucked told me it was the dimples. Girls love dimples.

“I know who you are,” she says, pulling her hand back and she sits back down in her chair. I follow suit and sit across from her.

“You do?”

She nods. “You’re going to make us SEC champs this year. You broke Barding’s record for most receiving yards in a single season...As a freshman. That’s unheard of. You’re like a freaking legend and you haven’t even graduated yet.

“But even more impressive than that, no one has been able to intercept a pass play since you and Johnson started playing together last year. Sports Center calls you guys a literal match made in college football heaven. It’s like you guys can read each other’s minds on the field or something,” she says sincerely.

One look at her expression and I can tell she’s not trying to flirt or stroke my ego, even though she totally is. She’s just genuinely impressed like only a real football fan can be. And although this girl does absolutely nothing for me physically, I nearly get hard at her words.

“You don’t strike me as the football-watching kind of girl,” I tell her, raising an eyebrow and she laughs.

“I grew up with my dad and older brother. I’ve sat in Barding’s stadium so many times I’ve lost count.”

“Who’s your favorite player from Barding in the last ten years?” I ask her, narrowing my eyes.

“Maddox Lancing. Class of 2003. Barding Hall of Famer and first round draft pick to Philadelphia just after his senior year. Could’ve gone into the draft as a sophomore—he held the record you broke last year—but, he wanted to get his degree first. Graduated summa cum laude in neuroscience. And he’s just about the most handsome man to ever exist on the face of the planet,” she says, sighing dreamily.

I roll my eyes, but internally I’m beaming. I’m half in love with this girl and I haven’t even thought about sleeping with her once. Yet.

“Pssh...Whatever. Your boy was injured all of pre-season and hasn’t been the same since.” Her face falls like I’ve just stepped on her kitten.

“You try playing NFL football for ten years and see if that doesn’t take a huge toll on your body.” She crosses her arms over her chest.

I lean back in my chair and study her. She’s cute in a dorky, school girl kind of way. She’s got a long dark ponytail that falls down her back and the most adorable freckles that cover her nose. She’s also got striking emerald green eyes framed by the longest lashes I’ve ever seen. But she looks young. Really young.

“You don’t look like a sophomore,” I blurt out. She blushes and looks down at her notebook that’s open in front of her.

“I skipped first, second, third, and fourth grade. I just turned sixteen on September ninth.”

Her answer floors me and though I wasn’t necessarily thinking about her in a sexual way before, I’m definitely not about to go there now.

“Well, Monroe. Why don’t we get started on algebra?” I flash her another smile and I’m rewarded with another deep pink, blush.

“Of course, sorry,” she mutters.