"I'm full of good advice," she agrees.
"You're full of something," I say. "Anyway, I have to go. Do I look okay? I have to go turn in my resignation to Coach Walker and then teach after that. It's only the second class. I can't fuck this up. I lucked out that Anne got mono."
One of the graduate students a year ahead of us got mono and had to take the fall semester off, which left Professor Richards with no teaching assistant. I was his first call, which was nothing short of a damn miracle, since I'd already typed up my resignation letter to give to Coach Walker. He left a message a few days ago on my voicemail asking if I was still teaching this semester. I felt I needed to suck it up and go quit in person, at the very least. Or in writing.
"Gorgeous, doll," Sable says. "I didn't really like Anne anyway."
"You're a bitch."
"An honest one," Sable corrects me. "You want moral support at the athletic center?"
I shake my head. "I'm fine. Totally humiliated, but what the fuck ever, right? What a bunch of stupid jocks have heard about me doesn't define me."
I sound far braver than I am.
Walking up the stairs and into the athletic center makes my stomach twist into knots. I won't see him. I won't see him. I won't see him. I chant it to myself in my head, over and over, like a mantra.
Coach Walker isn't in his office, which is honestly a relief. I can avoid an awkward conversation about why I'm resigning after only a summer.
I'm moving on.
That's what I'd planned to say. And that's honestly the truth, I think to myself as I slip the envelope under his door and turn to walk down the hallway.
Moving on, going to forget about Colton King.
I run straight into Creepy Guy — literally, as I round the corner. I jump away from him immediately.
This guy is the last person on earth I want to see, much less run into in a deserted hallway.
He grins at me, and I think it's supposed to be charming, except it's not. It's like a version of Colton's crooked cocky grin, except without the magic. I wonder if Colton is around here and the thought makes my heart race faster than it should.
The guy's face is bruised, dark purple on his cheekbone and his jaw. It looks like he has stitches in his forehead.
Colton got into a fight with him?
"You're not still tutoring, are you?" he asks, stepping in front of me, far too close to be comfortable. I step back, aware that if I go much farther I'm going to be against the wall. "Because I could use a little of the kind of help you gave Colton."
He puts his hand on the wall above my head, towering over me, and I consider whether or not I'm able to scoot to the side and get away from him. "Back the hell up," I warn.
Do I have that pepper spray in my bag or did I toss it in my desk drawer? Sable gave it to me, one of the many objects she possesses that can be used to assault people. She practically forced me to take it.
He laughs, leaning closer to his right, angling his body like he knows I just thought about slipping away from him. "Or what?" he asks. "You're going to push me out of the way?"
"Don't touch me."
"When Colton told me you were a virgin, I thought there was no way someone who walks around the way you do — like you're just asking for it — was actually a virgin."
Like I'm just asking for it?
Okay, now my blood is boiling.
What did my brother Daniel teach me? I rack my brain for the ass-kicking techniques my brothers were always forcing me to learn when I was a kid. None of those are going to come in handy with a massive football player.
"Colton wouldn't tell you anything," I hiss.
"Obviously," the creep says. "He blurted it out. Trying to make sure I knew you weren't a slut. Which, well, is clearly not true."
He… blurted it out trying to defend me?
"He didn't brag about nailing me," I say, the realization finally hitting me.
A smile creeps across his face. "You're available now," he points out. "And right here for the taking."
"Fuck you."
He reaches down to my thigh and yanks the side of my skirt up, his other hand pushing my bag aside and squeezing my breast.
"Get away from me, you pig," I say loudly, struggling against him. His face is close to mine, and then I remember.
"Bottom part of the palm of your hand up to the nose," Daniel said. "If someone's bigger than you, you pull that hand back and fucking push their nose into their skull."
"That's gross."
"Whatever, brat," he said. "You'll thank me some day."
I do it. I whip my hand back and I shove my palm upward just as hard as I can, colliding with his nose. I hear a crunch, and he stumbles back a step, his hand over his face.
I make a mental note to call Daniel and thank him profusely.
"You little bitch," he shouts, lunging toward me but I'm already out of the way.