Josie
It’s the start of our second week of tutoring, and Van’s right on time tonight. He’s at our usual table, his laptop open and ready to go. He’s got another BU Hockey hoodie on, and his hair is down and still damp from the shower. I will not think about how good he looks or how good he smells. Nope. I will simply sit down and state my intention.
“I need you.” The words fall from my lips before I can stop them or censor them or think about the way they sound. My cheeks flush as Van's lips part. Dear god. Did I really say that out loud?
I close my eyes, take a breath, and start again. “I mean, I need to tutor you. I know it's not ideal. I know you'd probably rather work with just about anyone on campus, but I need these hours. I never talked about my family back when we knew each other, and I don't want to get into messy details now, but my brother and I made a deal, and I owe him so much. Anyway, part of that deal is finishing school as quickly as I can so that Levi can go pursue his dream—the one he put on hold for me. So," I take a breath, fully aware that I'm rambling. “I want us to make this work. The tutoring. If you still need a tutor, that is.”
He slides a paper across the table. It's a little wrinkled, but still legible.
"As of today, those are my grades," he tells me as I scan the printout. "The only passing scores I made last week were the ones you helped me with. So, not to point out the obvious or anything, but yes, Josie, I still need a tutor. Coach expects me to figure my shit out, but I can’t do it alone. It doesn't matter how many hours I spend studying. Nothing gets through my thick skull. Except when you explain it. So, I guess what I'm saying is that I need you, too."
He smiles and I immediately look away, thanks to years of practice in the fine art of avoiding Van's gaze.
"Josie," he says softly, prompting me to look him in the eye. "First, thanks. I mean, I know you need these hours or whatever, but you're smart as hell and I have no doubt you'd figure something out if this fell through. So, thanks. Also, um, I really want to talk…about before. So, tonight, do you think we could?—"
"No," I cut him off, shaking my head. "That's my one condition: no talking about the past. This is purely business. You're a student, and I'm a tutor. That's all this is."
He winces at my bluntness. "And the fact that we..." Unspoken words hang in the air, but I hear them all the same.
"We're here to study, Van," I say, picking up his Medieval History book.
He looks like he's going to say something, but he bites his lip and thinks better of it. He threads his hands through his hair, leans back in the chair and lets out a breath. It’s a little awkward, sure, but getting right down to business is best for both of us.
I’m fairly certain Van agrees, until he shakes his head and opens his mouth.
“Is that really how we’re gonna play this, Jos? Catch me up here. Do we not know each other at all? Am I just a guy you slept with? Just some dumb jock you have to tutor? You tell me.”
My eyes go wide. He’s caught me off-guard. It’s certainly not the first time.
Van weaves his hands through his hair before looking straight at me. “Maybe I should keep my damn mouth shut, but I just can’t. I’m grateful as hell that you’re here and you’re helping me. But spending the next several weeks pretending we’ve never met? That’s a hell no from me.”
My fingers find the amethyst necklace I’ve worn for five years. It was a birthday gift from my dad to my mom. I’d borrowed it a week before the accident so I could wear it for my senior pictures, and I haven’t taken it off since. My cheeks are flushed and I’m sure my neck is, too. “I…of course we know each other, but any previous involvement isn’t really relevant right now. You?—”
“Previous involvement?Jesus. Is that what you’re calling it?”
“What would you call it?” I ask.
“We dated, Jos. I was your boyfriend. You were my girlfriend. And now it’s like you don’t even know my name.”
“We went on, like, three dates, Van. We hardly have some long history,” I answer, my words more flippant than my feelings.
“Four,” he corrects. “It was four dates.”
“No, it was three. I remember.”
Van’s toying with his hair tie, letting the curly blond strands frame his face. “You’re the smart one, I know, but you’re wrong about this. We had four dates.”
That can’t be right. “We went to the movies…”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “We went to the movies and you stole all the popcorn.”
“We shared,” I insist, accidentally letting a smile peek through. “We, um, studied in my room that one time, but…”
“We didn’t study,” he says, smiling at the memory.
I can feel the tips of my ears heat as memories tumble out of their corner in my brain.
“But it doesn’t count. We didn’t leave the room or see other human beings, or say more than ten words that weren’t dirty, so as much fun as that study session was, it doesn’t count as a date,” Van announces, like he’s the line judge or something. I guess he would be, considering he has much more experience than I do.
