Climb on My Stepfather (Ashley and Alex) novel Chapter 70

2: Stella.

How am I supposed to concentrate on the development of human civilization in Ancient Greece when this man is looming in front of me? Why won't he sit down? He started to take a place beside me on the thin mattress, but made a sound and started pacing with clenched fists.

Yes, I really should have Googled him prior to this tutoring session. Or actually watched one of the division one football games on television. At least that way I would have been prepared for the god—speaking of Ancient Greece—

that walked into my room. He’s well over six foot five, bronzed and...thick.

Everywhere. So muscular that his jeans and grey, long-sleeved T-shirt are struggling not to burst at the seams. His physique would have been enough to render him a distraction, but he had to be handsome on top of being strong, didn't he? His dark hair is windblown, eyes light brown, stubble gracing his jaw.

Aman. A grown man.

The campus hero who will not play in the championship game unless I can get him to pass Western Civilization. That pressure has been weighing down on my shoulders since the dean asked me for the favor. Of course I said yes.

I'm lucky just to be here. Lucky to be attending a university without paying a single dime. Tutoring the quarterback is the least I can do in exchange for my good fortune. So many people will never get this opportunity.

“Do you want to sit down?” I ask, opening the textbook and smoothing out the sheet tucked in between the pages. My notes for our first session.

When he hesitates, raking a hand through his hair, something humiliating occurs to me. What if he thinks I’m...’m hitting on him? Asking him to sit on my bed? What was I thinking?

I shoot to my feet, fumbling the textbook in my hands. “I-I’m sorry. I should have asked you to meet me in the library.”

“No, it’s fine.” He’s staring at me with that strange intensity again. Like he’s restraining himself. From what? “It’s fine, I’m just...I’m trying to calm down first.”

Calm down?

Confused, I lower myself back down to the mattress, noting that his jaw looks ready to pop free of its hinge. “You're not this mad over my roommate, are you?”

“I'm not mad.” He tugs on the ends of his hair. “I'm always mad, Stella. Just not right now.”

The textbook sits forgotten in my lap, his tortured energy holding me in thrall.

He stops pacing and shakes his head. “I’m not putting any more of that on you.” I start to tell him it’s okay. This larger-than-life man must have a million friends who would gladly lend him a shoulder to lean on or a listening ear, but if he wants to confide in me, a stranger, I would listen. Of course I would. But he speaks before I can make the offer. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

I have to slap a hand over my mouth to muffle the laugh.

“What?” He frowns, fingers curling into his palms. “You do, don’t you?”

“No. I don't. I've never...” Why would I volunteer something so embarrassing?

The beginning of my sentence dangles there between us, until I have no choice but to complete it. “I've never even been on a date.” Fire engulfs my cheeks and I flip clumsily through the textbook. “Shouldn't we be s-studying?”

“Yeah. We probably should be.” He plants his hands on his knees and leans down until our faces are even. “So. No boyfriend, Stella?”

Why is he asking? Maybe I’m such an anomaly in his world of television cameras and touchdowns, he’s fascinated by my celibate lifestyle. I shake my head.

His eyelids grow heavy with relief, his shoulders relaxing. “Saves me some time,” he mutters, straightening. Looking around the room. “I have an apartment off campus. You'll have a lot more space there.” This time when he looks at me, his eyes seem a lot darker. “We will.”

“Oh.” I stand up again, holding the open textbook to my chest. That’s when I notice how fast my heart is beating. And my knees are sort of wobbly.

Because of Gage Weston? I've never had this kind of reaction to anything or anyone before. Why does the first time have to be with a nationally admired quarterback? “You want us to study at your apartment, instead?”

A line moves in his cheek and for a moment, he looks almost amused. But only for a moment. Then he’s deadly serious. “I’m going to need a lot of

tutoring, Stella. Day and night. For years. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“No,” I whisper, honestly. This happens a lot. I was raised in a quiet orphanage by anun named Sister Mary Donovan who'd taken a vow of silence. I’m not great at interacting with people, let alone very tall, very good-looking men who smell like fresh rain. “I’m sorry.”

He swallows. “Don't apologize. It's me. I'm going too fast, doing this all wrong. Jesus, you fucking fluster me, honey. You know that?” His laughter is strained. “Let's take this slower, okay?”

I don’t know what else do but nod, sitting back down on the bed. As a matter of fact, I've stood up and sat down so many times since he arrived, I might as well be in mass. I duck my chin into my chest to suppress a laugh—and that’s when Gage drops down beside me. Hard. All of his weight lands on the spot to my left and I go flying, catapulted straight into the air.

“Stella!”

He catches me in mid-air and jerks me down into his lap protectively.

Now, my mouth is right below his. His eyes search mine with a lot more worry than the situation warrants. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. I'm—"

I break off on a moan when his hand lifts to cradle the side of my face. His palm touches my bare skin and...and every nerve ending in my body screams in delight. Screams. Powerful enough to shatter glass. Or me, rather. I’m shattering, shaking. Moaning again.