Saving the Beast, page 6
He huffs and shows off those perfect pearly whites again. “Ha-ha. Very funny.”
“I’m not a nurse. I’m here to help you with English. I did my part. Now, you do yours and take your test,” I order him and grab my glass of water from his hand, my fingers grazing his as I take it.
He smirks. “Fine. Just don’t slap me again.”
I stand up and head for the kitchen. “I’ll be right back. Don’t cheat.”
He gasps as if I hurt his feelings, but I ignore him and trek onward.
Wandering through the enormous house, I walk into the kitchen and nearly shout as chills race down my arms.
A little blond boy sits on the kitchen island, eating milk and cookies.
“Hello there. Sorry. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here,” I say softly, smiling gently at him. “My name’s Blair.”
I think the kid has to be, like, nine. Maybe ten?
He stares at me with kindness twinkling in his bright blue eyes, but doesn’t respond.
“I’m just going to get some water quickly if you don’t mind.” I grin and stroll up to the automatic dispenser on the fridge and fill my cup back up.
“Chip, are you ready to start the movie?” an overly sweet voice sings through the kitchen right before a woman walks in with a smile stretched ear to ear. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were here. You must be Blair!” she chimes and walks over to me. Without hesitation, she pulls me into a gentle hug. “It is lovely to meet you, dear.”
Embracing her softly while balancing the water in the cup, I murmur, “It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs. Hawthorne.”
A warm spice and honey aroma drifts through the air and invades my nose as she pulls away, chuckling softly. “I am not Mrs. Hawthorne. My name is Mary Pottinger. Feel free to call me Mrs. Potts. I am the Hawthornes’ live-in maid and chef.”
You’ve got to be kidding me.
“Chip, have you met Griffin’s new tutor?” She directs her attention to the little boy watching us with the biggest chocolaty smile.
He nods and shovels another cookie into his mouth.
“All right, Chip, that’s enough for one night. You’re going to get a thousand cavities,” Mrs. Potts says before walking to the kitchen island, pulling the plate of cookies away from him, and stowing them on top of the fridge.
Chip dismisses himself without a word and scurries away. He must be Griffin’s little brother.
As if she can read my mind, Mrs. Potts introduces Chip. “Chip is my son. Don’t take it personally when he doesn’t respond to anything you say. He is nonverbal.”
That makes me feel better about him not answering me. I thought maybe he just didn’t like me. But I suppose I am a stranger who just barged into his kitchen after all.
“That makes a lot of sense as to why he didn’t answer me earlier.”
“He’s a sweet boy. He’s talented, too, with his art. Once you better understand how to communicate with him, you will be able to do so for hours on end.” She giggles. “The hard part is getting him to stop.”
While I appreciate the thought, I can’t think of why I would spend a lot of time with Chip. Once I’m done tutoring Griffin, we will return to our little worlds. Perhaps mine is more little than his.
“So, do you work with many students?” she asks me, and she steals a cookie from the plate. “Shh. Don’t tell Chip.”
My chest floods with warmth at the genuine goodness that exudes from Mrs. Potts. “Your secret is safe with me. And, no, Griffin is my only student.”
She finishes her bite of chocolate deliciousness and whispers, “That’s probably for the best. He never was very good at sharing. Oh my goodness, I couldn’t even count the number of nannies and staff he ran off when he was a little boy.”
I chuckle at her comment. “I don’t know why that doesn’t surprise me.”
She lowers her voice and caresses my arm. “He wasn’t always so … distant. He used to be the type of kid to make friends in seconds. He was outgoing and playful, loving every second of life with the biggest smile always plastered on his face.” Her eyes seem to gloss over as she remembers that time.
My heart aches, and my curiosity is piqued. “What changed?”
“A lot. Sometimes, I wonder if we’ll ever see that side of him again. He’s built so many walls around himself to protect his heart. After what happened with—”
“Yeah, yeah. Enough with the stories.” Griffin’s deep voice slices through the room, and I jump at the intrusion.
The hair on my neck rises as he steps directly behind me.
As I turn around, I take a small step back.
His gaze lowers until it’s locked on to mine, and he murmurs, “I’ve finished the test.”
It wasn’t too invasive of a practice run. But even then, he finished that much faster than I’d expected. Mrs. Potts and I got carried away, talking about Griffin’s childhood. I will need to hear the rest of that story.
“Well, duty calls,” I utter before spinning on my heel with my full water in hand, following Griffin back into the dining room.
“I see you met the rest of the crew,” he says as he finds his seat and kicks back, crossing his hands behind his head.
The motion causes his shirt to lift up and exposes a couple of inches of solid, deeply grooved muscles and his V-line. I knew he was ripped, but holy shit.
He clears his throat, and my eyes fly to his. The corner of Griffin’s lips tip up, and now, the only person I would like to slap is myself.
Get it together. It’s just abs on some boy’s body. Oh well. Who cares?
Squinting in annoyance at his mere existence at this moment and at the damn agreement we made, I set my water on the table and take my seat.
“I did. They are very nice,” I say without meeting his eyes. Grabbing the test, I put it in front of me.
“They are,” he responds, and I wait for him to tell me more, but he remains silent.
Where are his parents if that’s the rest of his crew? Do millionaires leave their homes and travel all the time?
Stopping my brain from running rampant with assumptions, I uncap my red pen and begin grading his answers. After going through each page carefully, I’m actually … impressed. He really did study for this, and it definitely shows.
“All right, results are in. You got …” I trail off, and he slams his eyes shut in anticipation. “A perfect score!”
He flies out of his seat and jumps up, his eyes widening and face lifting with excitement. “You’re lying!”
“Nope!” Rising to my feet, I circle the one hundred percent on the top of the page and turn it around to show him. “You did it!”
He rushes forward, and I gasp as he lifts me into the air and spins me around. “Ahh!”
After a full three-sixty twirl, he apologizes and slowly lowers me to the ground with mere inches between us. “Oh shit, sorry.” His cheeks burn bright red, and he shyly smiles. “I got a bit carried away.”
“Yeah.” I grin as I feel my heart racing and my breath quickening. “I can see that.”
Stepping back, I try to ignore the way I liked being in his arms, the way it made me giddy, like that feeling I got as a little girl, dreaming about fairy tales.
I beg that damn feeling to go away. But it’s too late; the cage is open, and butterflies are flying free.
Attempting to disregard the fluttering in my stomach, I say, “D-don’t forget that there will be a short essay part on the test that you will have to do. Have you prepared the bullet points for your final yet?”
He looks away. “Shit. I was kind of hoping you had forgotten about that.”
“Well, I will take that response as a no. But as your tutor, I have to remind you that in order to get your grade up and keep it up, you cannot afford to purposefully forget things,” I say to him as I pack my things up in my bag. “You’ll do great on the test. You’ll do splendidly on the essay portion. Unfortunately, I can’t help you with that because the only person who truly knows yourself is you.”
“That was”—he hesitates—“kind of deep.”
“And true,” I respond, grabbing my phone and throwing my bag over my shoulder.
Ugh. The text notification makes me squirm.
Grant: I miss you, baby. When are you going to stop playing these games? You know we are meant to be together. I love you.
I swipe the notification away the second I’m done reading it and look up from the screen to find Griffin with concern etched into his features.
“Everything okay?” he asks quietly.
Shrugging like it’s no big deal, I grin. “It’s nothing, really. I have to get going though; my ride’s here. I’ll see you tomorrow in class.”
“Yeah, see you then. Good night, Blair.” His voice is lower and thicker somehow, like the emotion that wasn’t there before is now gently tucked beneath every word.
“Good night,” I murmur before spinning on my heel and walking away.
Griffin clears his throat, and I realize he’s trailing behind me.
Griffin’s words spew out of his mouth as he attempts to fill the silence. “I’ll walk you out.”
“Okay, thank you,” I say, slightly distracted by the vibration from my phone in my hand.
It’s a text from Grant—again.
Grant: I miss you. Seriously, I need to see you, Blair Bear.
Absolutely not, especially if I can help it. I ignore the feeling of my skin crawling off of my body, pull open the front door, and step into the crisp fall air.
“Lumi’s not picking you up tonight?” Griffin asks as he follows me onto the porch, stopping beside me and quickly typing into his phone.
“Not tonight. I just got an Uber. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I look up at him and smile, and my breath catches in my throat.
He is aggravatingly beautiful in a way that isn’t fair to the rest of humanity.
He smiles back at me, and I feel a burn ignite in my cheeks. Before any shade of red can shine through, I look away and begin descending the stairs.
“See you tomorrow,” he calls out, but my attention is already drifting to my phone once again.
It’s a notification that Griffin sent my payment—the easiest money I’ve ever made.
The club is packed tonight, but it doesn’t stop me from gossiping with my coworkers.
“Scarlet, it’s been a month. You barely know the guy.” I scoff at what she said.
Scarlet is one of the dancers here and is very popular, earning more than almost everyone else. But she gets too attached to these boyfriends that she dates for a short period and lets whoever her new guy is completely change her personality. The man of the month wants her to stop working here, specifically to stop dancing. For one, she loves it, so screw whatever he wants. Two, she isn’t going to find a job that would pay her nearly the same money she’s making now—at least not a legal job.
She never likes being alone and would rather be with a guy undeserving of her than being single. I wish she could see how amazing she is. Screw any guy who demeans her. I understand that being a stripper isn’t a career that you can keep your entire life. But she’s nineteen and having the time of her life.
Maybe after they’re together for six months and they sit down and discuss it, concluding that he doesn’t want her to do it anymore and she’s okay with it, then quit. But a month? You don’t know anything about someone after a month—at least not anything that counts.
“I knoooow.” She drags the O out while pouting.
“Do what you want, Scar. But make sure that you are the reason you’re making the decision, not him,” I shout over the music.
“You always give the best advice.” She blows me an air kiss and shimmies away, leaving a trail of body glitter in her path.
A cool shiver runs down my shoulders, and the hair on the back of my neck rises, as if someone is watching me. Discreetly, I scan the club with batted eyelashes and a sickeningly sweet smile. I glance at the entrance, and my blood runs cold.
Grant.
This isn’t the first time he’s been here. He and his football buddies come by occasionally, stay for a few beers, then leave. Usually, I don’t care when he comes in because he knows the rules and mostly minds his business. He knows that pissing me off at work isn’t in his favor of winning me over.
The Fallen Petal has one rule that must be obeyed above all else—the no partner rule. Of course, we are allowed to date, but our partners cannot show up at the club and make a big scene. It often deters the clientele and is unprofessional. There is zero tolerance, and if it happens, you are fired on the spot.
Grant’s presence isn’t what makes me feel uneasy; it’s the anger in his eyes that I don’t recall seeing there before that chills me to the bone, like staring into a dark forest, not knowing what monsters lurk in the shadows.
Ihave more nerves this morning for my test than I do for most of my hockey games. I want to do more than pass; I want to ace it. Proving not only to myself, but also to Blair that I can succeed in this class.
I even looked up things you should do before an exam to mentally prepare. I went to bed at a decent time and made myself eggs, sausage, and toast for breakfast. Now, I’m rolling into class ten minutes early. I’m not exactly sure how this is supposed to help, but I’m not in any position to question the test gods right now.
If I don’t pass this exam, my ass is going to get benched for who knows how long. I can’t afford that, and neither can my team. We are a perfectly well-oiled machine; if one part is removed, we will fall apart. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but you get the damn point. Perhaps the team would be just fine, but I definitely wouldn’t be.
“Mr. Hawthorne, you’re not late today. I’m glad to see your tutor has been rubbing off on you.” Dr. Schrute greets me with a big smile as he writes on the whiteboard.
“Yeah, she’s good at her job,” I tell him truthfully as I walk toward the stairs to take my usual seat.
As I walk up the first couple of steps, I glance up and lock eyes with Blair. How have I not noticed her the last few months that we’ve been in class together?
I think even if I were blind, I would know how stunning she is because her beauty radiates from every pore of her being, like a force you can’t help but be drawn to.
Locking my gaze on to hers, I continue to climb the stairs until I reach my row and stop. Her face warms, and her lips purse while she holds my stare, seemingly refusing to be the first to break the staring contest.
Oh, it’s on.
“Excuse me,” someone whispers behind me, and without blinking, I scoot into my row while looking straight at Blair, who’s talking to Lumi.
Lumi leans over and whispers in her ear, and Blair’s cheeks redden immediately.
“Is there a reason you are eye-fucking your tutor right now? Can I join?” the deep voice says in my ear, not nearly as quiet as I would like.
“Fuck off, Malik. It’s a simple stare-down, nothing more.”
Proving my point to him, I break the eye contact and find my seat.
Blair’s smirk falls when I end our little game, and I can’t ignore how my chest twists in pain at her disappointment. I want to know what she’s thinking right now. I’m two seconds from going up there and finding out, but Dr. Schrute has other plans.
“Good morning, class. You know what today is, and for your sake, I hope you have prepared thoroughly.” He chuckles like he doesn’t hold my entire future in the palm of his hand. “Before we begin, phones, study guides, and everything else must be cleared off your desk, aside from a pen. Thank you.”
Checking my phone one last time, I see a text from Blair.
Tutor: Good luck. You’re going to do great.
With a shit-eating grin warming my face, I shove my phone in my backpack and tuck it beneath my legs. I take a deep breath and exhale. I’ve got this. I went through Blair’s study guide until I had it practically memorized. The only part I’m semi-nervous about is the essay question, but I guess I’ll worry about that when I get to it.
“Take one and pass it down your row, please. When you are finished, bring them up front. Good luck,” Dr. Schrute announces to the class as he hands a stack of tests to the first person in each row.
“Thanks,” I mumble to Malik as he hands me the stack, and I take one off of the top and pass them along.
“You got this, man.” He hypes me up, and I’m grateful for the mini pep talk.
After filling in the top of the test with my name and the date, I read question one.
What did one toilet say to the other?
Is this seriously a test question? At least he has a sense of humor.
The multiple choice options include, You look like shit, You’re full of shit, or You look flushed. All of the answers seem like they could be correct, so which one do I pick?
“There isn’t a wrong answer for question one; don’t panic. I want you to pick which answer you would finish the joke with. It’s just for fun.” Dr. Schrute chuckles.
If I wasn’t failing this class, I would think it’s funny. But I’m too stressed out to think about a toilet joke right now; I’ll come back to it.
Reading the following question, I know the answer before I finish reading the choices. Pride and joy pump through my veins as I circle the correct response and move on to the next question.
Before I know it, I’ve finished all of the multiple choice and fill-in-the-blank portions, and now, all that remains is the essay. I wish coming up with the words were my struggle. I don’t have a lack of ideas. I have a lack of vulnerability. Why couldn’t Dr. Schrute pick any other damn thing to focus on this semester that isn’t ourselves?
Tell me about a childhood memory you will always cherish and how that moment still impacts you today.
I had the best childhood with loving parents and the sweetest little brother, but that doesn’t mean I want to share anything about them with a professor who won’t understand how even thinking about them burns a hole in my chest.
