The Goal
Page 27
“I went to Harvard the other day,” I begin awkwardly. “I sat in the lobby and some student mistook me for a poor person in need of legal aid.”
“Shit.”
I wave off the sympathy. “After I told him I was actually going to be attending Harvard with him next fall, I went to see the professor who’s good friends with my advisor and she told me to buy new clothes. Up until this weekend, that was probably one of the more humiliating events in my life. Well, if you don’t count the day in middle school when I unexpectedly got my period during gym class. While climbing a rope.”
He chuckles. “Ouch.”
“But…you hearing all that shit that my stepdad said?” I pause to shudder. “That’s a scene I’d like to erase.”
“Sabrina—”
I cut him off. “My life is like one horrible episode after another of the Real Housewives of South Boston: Slum Edition. And if I don’t keep getting perfect grades, if I can’t compete—” My voice cracks slightly and I have to stop.
Tucker doesn’t say anything. He’s watching me with an indecipherable expression.
I clear my throat. “If I can’t compete, then I can’t get out of there, which, frankly, is unacceptable to me. So while sex with you is so goddamn amazing, it’s distracting. You’re distracting,” I confess.
He lets out a slow, steady breath. “Baby. You think you’re the only one with an embarrassing family member? My Uncle Jim is literally one of those creepy guys that give the uncle stereotype life. He’s always touching his family members in weird ways. None of my female cousins want to be around him. If I brought you to a family reunion, he’d be making some gross statement and trying to grab your ass. I don’t think you’d hold that against me, would you?”
“No, but…” I start to say that it’s not the same, but we both know that’s not true. It is the same. Ray isn’t my dad. He’s some douchebag my mom married and left behind like an unwanted piece of luggage. Like me.
“And despite what you think, I don’t have money. I’m here on a full-ride hockey scholarship. If Briar hadn’t offered that, I would be at a state school in Texas.” He shrugs. “I have some savings and I plan to use that to jumpstart my post-college life, but I’m not the asshole you think I am.”
“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” I mumble, but I don’t deny that I’m leery of guys with money.
He studies me for a moment. “Let me ask you this. Dean’s trust fund earns more in interest in one quarter than what my entire inheritance is worth. Did his dick feel different when you were with him?”
I cringe for a moment, because my drunken hookup with Dean Di Laurentis isn’t something I like to dwell on. At the same time, the thought of Dean’s money making his dick feel different is so silly, I can’t stop a snort from coming out. “I don’t remember. I was wasted and so was he.”
“Did you feel like a million bucks the next day?”
“God, no.”
“So money doesn’t matter once you get down to it. It doesn’t matter how thin or thick anyone’s wallet is. We all hurt. We all love. We’re the same. And your past, who you live with, where you came from, it doesn’t have to matter. You’re creating your own future, and I want to see where the road forward takes you.” Tucker slides a finger under the strap of my messenger bag. “We should get some food in you. How about I carry this while I walk you to the dining hall?”
Apparently philosophy class is over, which I’m happy about because I’m not prepared to respond to anything he just said.
Instead, I let him take the bag. We walk in silence for a few steps before I’m compelled to ask, “Does nothing shake you?”
He nods solemnly as he hitches the bag higher onto his shoulder. Anyone else would look slightly ridiculous with a backpack strapped to his back and a messenger bag hanging off his shoulder, but somehow, probably because of his massive chest and height, he pulls it off.
“Yeah, all kinds of things, but I try not to let them get me down. It’s a waste of energy.”
“Just name one,” I beg. “One embarrassing thing. One flaw. One thing that bothers you.”
“You not calling me back bothers me.”
“That’s self-effacing, not embarrassing.”
“You’ve turned me down. Twice,” he reminds me. “How is admitting that it bothers me self-effacing?”
“Because we had good sex, so you know I’d sleep with you again under different circumstances,” I argue.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I acknowledge that this conversation is reaching ludicrous levels. I’m arguing with a guy I slept with about how I can’t sleep with him again because he’s too good in bed. My life is officially a farce.
“What’s a normal circumstance for you?” he asks curiously, matching his long stride with my shorter one.
“I don’t know. I can’t see that far ahead.”
He pulls to a stop right before the entrance of Carver Hall. “Bullshit.”
“What?”
“Bullshit. You know exactly where you want to be in probably fifty years, not just the next five.”
My cheeks heat up, because he’s right.
“Listen. Here’s how it is.” Tucker reaches out and grabs a stray lock of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers before tucking it behind my ear. “I enjoyed sleeping with you. I enjoyed hearing those sexy little moans you made when I sucked on your clit, and I enjoyed feeling you shake like a leaf when you came apart underneath me.” His dirty words are in stark contrast to his matter-of-fact tone and the steady way he stares into my eyes. “But I didn’t like the way your dad—”
“Stepdad,” I correct.
“—Stepdad treated you. I hated it, actually. I hate that you live with that and I’m glad you’re making your way out of it, because that’s what you’re doing, right? You’re killing yourself to get perfect grades, top scores, admission to the best schools, all so you can escape.”
His thumb drags along the apple of my cheek. “I don’t want to be a distraction, but I do want you. I think there’s something here, but I’m a patient guy and I’ll take what you have right now. I’m not here to add pressure on you or make things harder. I want to ease your load.”
“Shit.”
I wave off the sympathy. “After I told him I was actually going to be attending Harvard with him next fall, I went to see the professor who’s good friends with my advisor and she told me to buy new clothes. Up until this weekend, that was probably one of the more humiliating events in my life. Well, if you don’t count the day in middle school when I unexpectedly got my period during gym class. While climbing a rope.”
He chuckles. “Ouch.”
“But…you hearing all that shit that my stepdad said?” I pause to shudder. “That’s a scene I’d like to erase.”
“Sabrina—”
I cut him off. “My life is like one horrible episode after another of the Real Housewives of South Boston: Slum Edition. And if I don’t keep getting perfect grades, if I can’t compete—” My voice cracks slightly and I have to stop.
Tucker doesn’t say anything. He’s watching me with an indecipherable expression.
I clear my throat. “If I can’t compete, then I can’t get out of there, which, frankly, is unacceptable to me. So while sex with you is so goddamn amazing, it’s distracting. You’re distracting,” I confess.
He lets out a slow, steady breath. “Baby. You think you’re the only one with an embarrassing family member? My Uncle Jim is literally one of those creepy guys that give the uncle stereotype life. He’s always touching his family members in weird ways. None of my female cousins want to be around him. If I brought you to a family reunion, he’d be making some gross statement and trying to grab your ass. I don’t think you’d hold that against me, would you?”
“No, but…” I start to say that it’s not the same, but we both know that’s not true. It is the same. Ray isn’t my dad. He’s some douchebag my mom married and left behind like an unwanted piece of luggage. Like me.
“And despite what you think, I don’t have money. I’m here on a full-ride hockey scholarship. If Briar hadn’t offered that, I would be at a state school in Texas.” He shrugs. “I have some savings and I plan to use that to jumpstart my post-college life, but I’m not the asshole you think I am.”
“I don’t think you’re an asshole,” I mumble, but I don’t deny that I’m leery of guys with money.
He studies me for a moment. “Let me ask you this. Dean’s trust fund earns more in interest in one quarter than what my entire inheritance is worth. Did his dick feel different when you were with him?”
I cringe for a moment, because my drunken hookup with Dean Di Laurentis isn’t something I like to dwell on. At the same time, the thought of Dean’s money making his dick feel different is so silly, I can’t stop a snort from coming out. “I don’t remember. I was wasted and so was he.”
“Did you feel like a million bucks the next day?”
“God, no.”
“So money doesn’t matter once you get down to it. It doesn’t matter how thin or thick anyone’s wallet is. We all hurt. We all love. We’re the same. And your past, who you live with, where you came from, it doesn’t have to matter. You’re creating your own future, and I want to see where the road forward takes you.” Tucker slides a finger under the strap of my messenger bag. “We should get some food in you. How about I carry this while I walk you to the dining hall?”
Apparently philosophy class is over, which I’m happy about because I’m not prepared to respond to anything he just said.
Instead, I let him take the bag. We walk in silence for a few steps before I’m compelled to ask, “Does nothing shake you?”
He nods solemnly as he hitches the bag higher onto his shoulder. Anyone else would look slightly ridiculous with a backpack strapped to his back and a messenger bag hanging off his shoulder, but somehow, probably because of his massive chest and height, he pulls it off.
“Yeah, all kinds of things, but I try not to let them get me down. It’s a waste of energy.”
“Just name one,” I beg. “One embarrassing thing. One flaw. One thing that bothers you.”
“You not calling me back bothers me.”
“That’s self-effacing, not embarrassing.”
“You’ve turned me down. Twice,” he reminds me. “How is admitting that it bothers me self-effacing?”
“Because we had good sex, so you know I’d sleep with you again under different circumstances,” I argue.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I acknowledge that this conversation is reaching ludicrous levels. I’m arguing with a guy I slept with about how I can’t sleep with him again because he’s too good in bed. My life is officially a farce.
“What’s a normal circumstance for you?” he asks curiously, matching his long stride with my shorter one.
“I don’t know. I can’t see that far ahead.”
He pulls to a stop right before the entrance of Carver Hall. “Bullshit.”
“What?”
“Bullshit. You know exactly where you want to be in probably fifty years, not just the next five.”
My cheeks heat up, because he’s right.
“Listen. Here’s how it is.” Tucker reaches out and grabs a stray lock of my hair, rubbing it between his fingers before tucking it behind my ear. “I enjoyed sleeping with you. I enjoyed hearing those sexy little moans you made when I sucked on your clit, and I enjoyed feeling you shake like a leaf when you came apart underneath me.” His dirty words are in stark contrast to his matter-of-fact tone and the steady way he stares into my eyes. “But I didn’t like the way your dad—”
“Stepdad,” I correct.
“—Stepdad treated you. I hated it, actually. I hate that you live with that and I’m glad you’re making your way out of it, because that’s what you’re doing, right? You’re killing yourself to get perfect grades, top scores, admission to the best schools, all so you can escape.”
His thumb drags along the apple of my cheek. “I don’t want to be a distraction, but I do want you. I think there’s something here, but I’m a patient guy and I’ll take what you have right now. I’m not here to add pressure on you or make things harder. I want to ease your load.”
