“That doesn’t sound convincing.” I am determined to get her to at least one of my games this semester. “What do you say we make this tutoring thing a bit more interesting?” I suggest, smirking and leaning farther into the truck, crossing my arms and ankles.
Her brows pinch together. “What do you mean?”
“How about we make a bet?”
She looks at me skeptically. “And what kind of bet are you thinking about?” she asks, a hint of a challenge in her voice.
“If I do well on this next test, you have to go to the homecoming game.”
She purses her lips thoughtfully, nodding. “Define well.”
“I have to get a C.”
She shakes her head. “C plus,” she counters.
“Fine,” I agree. “C plus and you come to the homecoming game . . . and wear my jersey.”
Her eyes nearly bug out of her head. “No way.”
“Aww, c’mon, Finch,” I plead, laying the charm on thick and giving her my best puppy dog pout. I push up off the truck and take two steps to be toe-to-toe with her. “You’d look really good in my jersey,” I say softly, almost seductively.
I hear her sharp intake of breath, and she takes a step back. “Bronx . . .”
“Please,” I beg, batting my lashes.
She nervously chews the bottom corner of her lip. “Okay,” she says slowly. “Fine.” But before I can victoriously pump my fists in the air she cuts in and adds, “Only if you get a C plus on the testanda C on every lab quiz until then.”
I feel myself deflate, shoulders slumping. I’m about to negotiate, but the look she shoots me says her decision is final.
I sigh. “You drive a hard bargain, Finch, but you got yourself a deal.” I stick my hand out to shake on it, and before she can let go, I playfully jerk her forward and she stumbles into me. Her palms land flat on my chest to stabilize herself. “You’re going to look great in my jersey,” I whisper huskily into her ear.
Those honey-colored eyes widen in shock as they look up at me, and her cheeks burn red. She quickly regains her balance and takes a step back, clearly flustered, making me chuckle.
She clears her throat, tucking some hair behind her ear. “Don’t get too cocky,” she says, trying to humble me.
“Don’t act like you’re not dying to wear my jersey,” I tease, advancing on her.
Her eyes widen and she takes a step back, ready to bolt.
In a playful mood, I lunge forward, and a surprised squeal escapes her lips. On bare feet, she turns and runs up the pathway to her front door. Before she can reach the porch, I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her back into my chest and lifting her off the ground.
“Bronx!” she yells, laughing uncontrollably.
I can’t help but chuckle, setting her back down on the porch. She turns around, almost eye level with me now that she’s a step up.
“Good night, Finch,” I say, backing away slowly to the truck.
“Good night,” she says, smiling. “Get back safe.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, taking the keys out of my back pocket and spinning them around my finger. “See you Monday.”
“See you Monday. Feel free to study,” she calls, making me laugh.
She stands on her porch until I’ve backed out of her driveway, giving me one final wave goodbye.
As soon as I’m about to pull out of her subdivision my phone chimes with a text. I quickly glance at the screen to see it’s from Chase.
Chase:Yo, you coming to Goldman’s party or what?
