Gage, p.2
Gage, page 2
“Thank you,” I said, rising from the chair with my eye on the clock. “I have to go grab lunch before my next class.”
“Right. Good luck and thanks for agreeing to the program,” Dr. Brooks said. “Would you mind sending the next student in, if he's here?”
I nodded and headed out into the hallway, glancing around, but there was no one waiting. I walked toward a coffee cart at the end of the hall that would be crowded with students in a few moments when classes were dismissed. I shifted into line behind a guy so tall, with shoulders so wide, I was pretty sure he'd block out my view of the sun if we were outside. He shifted from one foot to the other, his impatience evident. Under his breath, he hummed a familiar Prince song and I had to smile. Prince was my favorite. Probably because it had been my mother's favorite.
I ran through the tutoring plan in my head. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. And Dr. Brooks was right. It was an opportunity to shine in front of the people making the decisions about the Blake Fellowship.
Sure, I would be sacrificing a large portion of my time to tutoring, but it would also be a great excuse to get out of family functions. The less I saw of my father, the better.
He'd been less than enthusiastic about my determination to become a writer. I knew that he could reach out to contacts he had and pull strings that could open doors for me in the publishing world, but he'd dug his heels in and refused. If I wanted him to help with my career, it would be a job he chose at his record label. He'd poured his blood, sweat, and tears into it, and if I wanted to become a writer, I would have to build myself the way he had, without help, because he wouldn't help me.
My heart was set on the Blake Fellowship, and luckily, while it was technically an unpaid internship, the small stipend would help cover my expenses. But New York was an expensive city to live in, and I still had several years to go before I hit thirty and could access my trust fund.
The fund had been set up at my mother's insistence while I was still a teenager, but my father didn't want me blowing through it while I was young, and he didn't want any future husband of mine to get his hands on it, either. So his lawyers had wrapped the money up with lots of red tape, and even a stipulation requiring I get a prenuptial agreement if I ever married. Failure to do so would require forfeiture of the entire trust fund.
My mother had promised me she would work on my father and persuade him to loosen some of the restrictions, but she had been killed in a car accident only a year or two after everything had been established. When my mom died, my father's slightly controlling overprotectiveness had kicked into high gear, stifling me and widening the distance between us.
What I strove for now was space and freedom, both of which the Blake Fellowship would ensure me. But without my father's financial support, I'd need to find another way to pay for my extra expenses while I was enrolled in the program—assuming I got in.
I'd considered getting a part-time job while I was out there, but I would have a difficult time securing something from across the country, and who knew how long it might take me to find something once I got there. But if I could save some money now, I could stash that in a savings account for when I needed it. I was already doing what I could to stretch my monthly allowance, but padding the line items I sent to my father with tampons and pads would only go so far. Adding payment for tutoring could grow my safety net that much faster.
The guy in front of me finally had his organic smoothie and chicken salad wrap from the petite, stocky woman manning the sandwich cart. He turned abruptly and bumped right into me, sending me ungracefully to the floor.
“Oh, shit. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?”
“Uh. Yeah.” Ow, that hurt. Sprawled on my ass, I took the proffered hand and started at the instant electric shock that sparked between us.
“Should have been looking where I was going.”
“Yeah, you shou—” The words fell off of my tongue when my gaze traveled the expanse of muscle that was his arm to his chest, then to that face. Holy hell. Sandy-brown hair in an artful disarray on his head, like he ran his hands through it a lot. The most intense blue eyes I'd ever seen met mine. Pile on the square jaw, intense cheekbones, and a set of surprisingly full lips, and I'd essentially collided with a male model. Recognition spiked.
Oh, God.
It was him. Gage. The guy from the party.
“Uh, I’m fine.”
He frowned, and his voice went low, gravelly. “You're sure?”
I gave him a brusque nod. Stop mooning.
His piercing gaze met mine for a long moment, and I held my breath as warmth spread through me. Was it possible to melt from a look? It had to be. He squinted. Oh, hell. He recognized me.
“Don't I know you?” he asked with a frown.
“Nope. Not at all.”
“You're sure?” He took my hand and helped me to stand.
I nodded and stood there like a deaf-mute, watching as he walked away. Given his height, he had to be a basketball player. And given his sure stride, he was a scorer. I'd spent enough time around alpha males to know this one scored on and off the field, or the court, or whatever. You've already seen him score. I flushed.
“Did you want something, hun?” The woman behind the cart asked, interrupting my reverie.
With a flush, I realized I was holding up the line. One of the waiting girls giggled. “Don't worry about it. You're not the first one at this school to stare at Gage Coulter.”
I held back a groan. Was that the overgrown oaf's full name? No doubt he was used to girls staring at him. And he was likely an overindulged asshole, I reminded myself. Just like whomever you'll end up tutoring.
With a sigh, I stepped forward and made my selection, paying for it quickly. I had the freedom to say 'no' to anyone I didn't gel with. If they wanted me, they'd have to work. I wasn't going to indulge laziness. Of course, I couldn't be too picky, or I would wind up tutoring no one, and I'd have to go back to the drawing board as far as how to make some extra cash for New York. All I had to do was keep my eyes on the prize, and hope I didn't end up tutoring anyone as hot as Gage Coulter.
Gage
* * *
I fought the urge to look back at the girl. I knew her from somewhere. The last thing on earth I needed right now was to get distracted. Life was complicated enough. Between practices, my classwork, and my family drama, I was stretched thin. If something didn't give soon, I was going to snap. Oh, and I couldn't forget the pressure. Always the fucking pressure to live up to my legacy.
I struggled to walk and eat at the same time. I was starving after my morning practice, and was running late to my advisory session with Dr. Brooks. But there was no way I was going to finish the sandwich before I made it to her office, unless I wanted to end up wearing half of it.
The door was closed when I arrived, and I hesitated a minute before knocking. I took another bite of my sandwich and opened the door to her mumbled request that I enter. I had to smile when I saw her shoving the remnants of her lunch aside.
“I'll let you eat, if you let me eat,” I offered, with my mouth still half full.
“Agreed,” Dr. Brooks said with a smile, pulling her plate back out and taking another bite. She turned back to her computer while I sat down and folded back more of the paper that enclosed my wrap.
“Mr. Coulter,” she said, after taking a few sips of iced tea to clear her mouth. “You are in—well, there's a notification on your account when it comes to your academics. I see here you're on an athletic scholarship.” She turned to look at me.
I sat as far back in the chair as I could, my long legs still bent at a cartoonish angle, as if I were sitting in a kid's chair. “I'm on the basketball team,” I confirmed, before taking another bite of my wrap.
“You might be on the basketball team,” Dr. Brooks corrected. “At the moment, your grades are…well, your grades on the whole are fine. Decent, even, but your English grade is more than a little troubling. Given your academic performance before you started at Billings, it's surprising. I've been emailing back and forth with your coach, and if you continue to perform this way, you may find yourself on the bench from a failure to meet the conditions of your scholarship.”
Fuck. I'd expected as much, but I sure as shit didn't want to hear it out loud. Since arriving on campus in August, I'd been struggling. I swallowed hard, and almost choked on the mouthful. I gulped at my smoothie until I was sure I was breathing properly.
“Can you give it to me straight? How bad is it?” What if I burned out before I ever got a chance to even play? The only Coulter who couldn't keep his shit together. Even Fox had his shit together now. Hell, my brother was about to propose. Time to get your ass in gear, Gage.
“You’re currently failing English outright. The notes in the system from your professor show the grade calculates to a forty-five. Your other classes, thankfully, are keeping your GPA above the C average necessary for student athletes, but there's a second stipulation here at Billings that all student athletes must be at least passing all of their classes, regardless of GPA, in order to play,” Dr. Brooks explained in a detached voice, as though she were reading from a prepared script. “Now, there's plenty of time left in this semester for you to bring that English grade up to a passing level…but I don't see that happening if you don't change your approach to the class.”
My head spun. Failing. Legitimately failing. And it was only weeks into the term. “What…what about my other classes?” I asked.
“You have two high As, a high B, and one low B,” Dr. Brooks laid out. “But those aren't your problem,” she insisted. “English is your problem. It's also a class that you have to pass as a prerequisite for a number of other classes you need to take, to fulfill the requirements of the graduation tracks for whichever major you choose.”
I was floundering. I'd had straight As in high school, and absorbing the reality of anything less was sickening, much less a forty-fucking-five in such an important class. At least the other classes were okay. I needed to raise those fucking Bs. Particularly history. I liked history, and was likely to retain what I'd heard and taken notes on in class, even though I had the same fundamental problem I had with English. I couldn't finish the damn reading.
“Can I talk to my professor? See if there are extra-credit assignments, or maybe some of my absences can be excused? I know I miss my English class a lot because of practice, and I'm not getting the reading done. And there are quizzes I miss,” I mumbled desperately. “I'll do anything.”
Dr. Brooks tilted her head. “I’m not a huge sports fan, but I do pay attention to the emails the school sends around, and like I said, I've been going back and forth with your coach. This isn't high school. Nor can your family name pull you out of this mess. You have to speak with your professor about the days you'll miss class. Find ways not to miss your quizzes. It's not my job to tell you what to do with your time, or to scold you for slacking off. I am here as support. My job is to advise you on course selection, and what you need to do in order to graduate. Right now, you're not doing enough. I don't care if you've been skipping classes because you're hungover from partying, or you want to sleep in. But I have to tell you that if you continue behaving this way, you will not be playing basketball when the season officially gets underway. You will not be given special treatment due to your 'student athlete' status. You will be expected to maintain your grades and work things out with your professors on your own, while you attend practices and travel for games.”
I stared at her, shaking my head. I didn't want special treatment. I just wanted a way to make this work. I didn't like her attitude, but I understood it. I'd chosen Billings because of academics as well as athletics. They didn't give student athletes special treatment, but it was the administration's general policy to help where they could.
Dr. Brooks's current attitude told me that she had a problem with my name, and not just my athlete status. And there wasn't much I could do about either. I’d have to figure something out, because this woman wouldn't be helping me. “I guess I'll see what I can do.” There wasn't really any other choice.
She pursed her lips. “Now, I don't expect you to be able to recover from this, academically speaking, on your own. You're not the first student, forget student athlete, who's found adjusting to college life and balancing academics difficult. And heaven knows you won’t likely be able to crawl out of this mess alone.” I ground my teeth together. I needed to keep my cool.
“I have a list of tutors here.” She held up a piece of paper. “I strongly advise you pick one for English. Your coach agrees with me. There's the tutoring center on campus as well, but they're not as flexible in hours of availability and consistency. Working with a single tutor is preferable in your situation, as you have a lot of ground to make up. Go ahead and talk to your professor about extra credit, and if he's amenable, see if he can give you some advice on where you should start with your tutor, what your big problem areas are, that sort of thing.”
Dr. Brooks held out the list for me to take. I grasped it with numb fingers.
“I think it would be helpful for you if we meet up again in a few weeks.”
“Uh, yeah,” I said, distracted, as I glanced over the names on the list in my hand. First thing I'd do was get a new damn advisor. I didn't need to be coddled. But I did need someone fair and unbiased. Next, I was going to call a freaking tutor. The humiliation burned, but it was nothing compared to how I'd feel if I had to tell my father I was flunking out. Especially my father. With everything else the family was going through, I wasn't going to add that. No fucking way. “Thank you.”
“Get your grades straightened out, and then we'll have a better starting point.”
I rose from the chair as Dr. Brooks spoke, but little of what she said made it through the fog that had settled over me. I had one way out. Failure was not an option.
3
Becker
“Hey, how'd it go with Dragon Lady?” Avery handed me my latte as we walked out of the student center. Grabbing coffee after our history class had become an early habit for us. “And we never got to finish our conversation after the party Saturday.”
I flushed. Yeah, that ill-advised party. The last two days I had been trying to avoid what everyone called athlete village. The dorm situated smack-dab in the center of campus next to the University Center was the most prime-location housing. And of course, it was crammed chock-full of athletes.
Not that I wanted to live there. I loved my place. And even though I was sometimes lonely, I actually quite liked having a single. It allowed me lots of time for studying. Yeah, okay, I needed a life. Still, it would have been nice to not have to schlep my entire day's worth of books and essentials around with me, morning ‘til night.
“Yeah, well as we were running out of that party, that guy stopped you. And well, he was cute. So I let you do your thing.”
Avery shook her head, and then took a long sip of her mocha. “Do not deflect. Something happened up in that room, and I want to know what it was. We can talk about my boy shenanigans after. Come on Becker, inquiring minds want to know.”
I sighed. “Fine, if you really want to know how well it went with my advisor…” I teased Avery.
Avery shoved me playfully. “You are impossible. I do want to know how that went. And I want to hear about the Blake Fellowship, and what she thinks your chances are. But first, I would hear about boys.”
I flushed. “Do we have to talk about this?”
“Yes. We need to talk about it. I'm a bad friend because I didn't even get to decompress with you about your first party. And I had that crazy astronomy exam. So now I have time, and you have time, and you can tell me all about it.”
“There's not much to tell. I went to go pee. I found an empty room, used the bathroom, and as I was about to leave, this couple came in. I really didn't have much choice, except to hide.”
Avery laughed. “Oh, my God. This would only happen to you.”
“Tell me about it. If I opened the door any wider, the room would've been flooded with more light. If I tried to close the door even tighter, they would've heard that and found me. And then I really would be the school's laughing stock.”
Avery waved me off. “You are not a laughing stock.”
“I would have been. Yeah, well. So, I was stuck in the bathroom watching the two of them—”
Avery leaned forward. “Yes?”
I flushed. “She, well, she was giving him personal attention.”
Avery's brows lifted. “So you were standing there, watching some girl give this guy a—”
I scanned the area, to make sure no one was in earshot. “Avery!”
My best friend smiled. “What? I just want to make sure I have it right. So like, this girl sinks down to her knees. And you do what? Watch?”
“When you say it like that, it sounds like I was being dirty. But I was sort of trapped.”
Avery laughed again. “Right, trapped. Wait… Who was the guy? Was he cute?”
I flushed again. “Does it matter? I mean it's not like he and I had some love connection or something. You know, as another girl had her mouth on his man parts.”
“Hell yes, it matters. Because you're blushing. Which means the guy had to be totally hot. Who was he?”
“No. I don't care. Remember, he was getting a blow job from someone else.”
Avery rolled her eyes. “Yes, okay, but it was a party. Maybe she was a hook up?”
I shrugged. “I don't know. He didn't seem that into it, though.”
Avery groaned. “Oh, so he's gay, you think?”
I nearly choked on my coffee, as I thought back to that night. The way his gaze had locked on me. And how he became a lot more enthusiastic when I was watching. I swallowed hard. “No, I don't think so. He turned his head, he definitely saw me.”
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