Player's Princess (A Royal Sports Romance) (7 page)

From the corner of my eye, I watch her sullenly taking notes. She's very efficient and organized in her note-taking, using a divided screen to jot down questions and ideas as she goes. I only jot down what subjects Grandolf is covering so I can brush up a bit before the tests.

Anastasia is like steel, hard and brittle at the same time, but there's a softness in her too. Hit her too hard and she might shatter.

Oh stop being a romantic idiot, Jason. She doesn't need a hero.

Doesn't she, though? After all, she is a princess, and I am a knight. Sort of. A Knight.

Grandolf doesn't call on her again for the remaining forty-five minutes of lecture. In fact, she ignores us both. It's odd she hasn't called me, as she usually does once per class, often for the more difficult questions. When she's done, she practically beats the whiteboard to death scribbling down the homework assignment: more dumb review questions.

As the students file out, I rest my hand on Princess Anastasia's. "Hold up a minute."

"I have another class in fifteen minutes."

"You'll make it. I just want to ask you something."

"If it's asking me to sleep with you, the answer is no."

"I do want to ask that, just not this minute. Are you all right?"

She blinks. "All right?"

"You looked pretty broken up earlier."

She tucks the offending paper with its failing grade into her messenger bag and stands up.

"Let me walk you to your next class."

She glances at her guards and chews her lip. Something in my chest swells. She's thinking about it. She's thinking about it.

"Very well," she says. "Hands to yourself."

After I slip my bag on my shoulder, I clasp my hands behind my back and walk beside her. Her guards fall in closer, within listening distance.

Well, that's not awkward.

"If I need a tutor, I can get one from the Academic Affairs Office."

"Me too. I don't want someone from the Academic Affairs Office, Princess. I want you."

She snorts. "I had hoped you were through making lewd propositions."

"I said I want you for my tutor. You're the one that made it about sex."

Bearded Guard growls at me.

Like, literally.

I remain a perfect gentleman right up to the door of her next class.

"I'll consider your offer."

"Good. You've got my number."

She scowls.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to hit your head, seriously. If that was a football, I'd have put it right where I want it."

"Where is that?"

I grin. "Down your shirt."

"Your ball is never going down my shirt, Jason."

She turns and walks into the classroom. I give her a casual wave, and her guards give me red-hot-iron death stares that could melt granite.

I nonchalantly walk away to my next class. Then I break into a full-tilt run, because it's on the other fucking side of campus.

When I get there I check my phone as I slip into my seat. I have one new message.

A
nastasia
: You may tutor me. Text later. Anastasia Carolien Jacobina Katrien De Vries, Princess of Jyvaslka, Duchess of Karin.

J
ason
: You sign your texts.

A
nastasia
: I can't talk now. I am in class.

J
ason
: You sign your texts with your full name and titles.

A
nastasia
: Be quiet, Jason.

J
ason
: You can just ignore me.

A
nastasia
: You will not have the last word.

J
ason
: Yes I will.

A
nastasia
: No you won't.

J
ason
: Yes I will….

T
his goes
on for five minutes until I give up and let her win. I can picture the scowl on her face perfectly. It brings a grin to mine.

I feel like I can fly.

A
na

M
y major course
load days are Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. In the morning I have History 204: American History from 1865 to the Present, then Applied Microeconomics, then after my lunch break, Religious History, and, finally, Creative Writing.

As I walk out of my final class of the day, I begin to forget I have two burly men hovering over my shoulders. I barely pay them any attention as I purchase a bottle of water from a vending machine, having exhausted my squeeze bottle earlier in the day. I gulp half of it down and pull my buzzing phone from my pocket.

I initially labeled Jason's number
Jason
in my phone. Then I changed my mind and decided he should he
Horny Man
instead.

A
re
we going to study now?

H
ow about now
?

N
ow
?

W
hat about now
?

I
'm waiting

I
text him back
.

M
eet
me in the library in half an hour. I must go to the pit stop.

T
he Pit Stop
is a small market store in the dining hall across the street. There are a number of restaurants there, but none to my liking. Or perhaps they would be, if I'd ever bothered to try them.

I still don't know what Sbarro is.

In the minimarket, I find a can of tuna, a box of crackers, a small fried apple pie, a quart of milk, and an orange. I also find Jason buying a hand-held basket full of protein and granola bars sufficient to feed a small army, and a half gallon of chocolate milk of his own.

He looks at my selection and raises an eyebrow.

"Canned tuna?"

I set it neatly on the counter and go back to pick up a chilled packet of mayonnaise and a spork. A curious utensil. I make my purchase and walk to the library.

Jason rushes to catch up to me, carrying his enormous meal stuffed into a bag that strains at the sides to fit it all. "Let's eat."

"I said I will study with you. Not eat with you."

"We'll eat and study."

"You are trying to make this a date."

"Food makes it a date?"

"Food makes it a date," I decree.

"The calendar makes it a date, baby. Come on, I'm hungry as hell and I like watching you eat."

"We cannot eat in the library, whether we wish it or no."

"You can eat in the study nooks. Come on, live a little. Let's eat in the library."

"I know what you want to eat in the library."

"You know," he says, smirking at me, "you're the one that keeps making innuendos, not me. Then again, you are carrying a can of tuna. That one's too easy."

"I will eat with you in the study nook if you shut up. But it is still not a date."

"Fine with me. Come on, I just need to feed the beast."

We cross the street and walk back up to the Parkman Library, and take the elevator up to the second floor. The study nooks are small rooms lined with couches set up around a table. After I sit down and Jason sits a foot away, Bjorn and Thorlief squeeze in and both fold their arms, staring at him.

"I can't work with them in here," Jason says. "They throw off the feng shui of the whole room."

"He's not going to touch me," I tell them.

"Nope," he agrees.

"If he touches me I'll scream and you'll break his legs," I tell them.

Thorlief gives me a peculiar look I can’t read, and leads Bjorn away.

"Yep," he agrees. "Wait, what?"

I give him a sharp smile and spread a napkin on the table, then open my pocketknife and use the can-opener attachment on the tuna. I drop the wet lid neatly in my now-empty bag, squeeze out the mayonnaise, and mix it into the meat with my spork.

"Are you seriously going to eat tuna out of a can with mayonnaise on it?"

"I like fish."

"It's not even cold. Why do they even sell that in the minimart?"

I shrug and eat small bites from the can, then peel my orange.

When I dip a segment of the fruit in the tuna and pop it in my mouth, Jason makes a disgusted noise, as if he's about to spit out his Super Protein XXXTreme Power Bar 9000.

It actually said that on the label.

He stares in horror. "What are you doing?"

"You don't eat fruit with fish?"

"No!"

I shrug. "I do." I pop the next piece in my mouth, but salt it first.

Jason looks at me as though I have two heads.

"Does this mean you no longer find me attractive?"

"Sugar Buns, I could watch you eat an orange all day. Even if you do put tuna salad on it. Shitty tuna salad. You know tuna salad has onions, right?"

"I don't like onions," I sneer, then wash down my meal with half of my milk carton.

Jason eats his energy bars so fast they seem to disappear as soon as he peels back the wrapper, all the while chugging his chocolate milk.

"You keep looking at the bottle," he says, wiping his mouth on the back of his arm.

"I have never had chocolate milk."

He gapes at me. "Are you sure you're not really an alien?"

I snatch the bottle from him and take it in both hands, and tip it back.

I lower it slowly, swirling the sweet milk in my mouth. I have never tasted such a complex flavor before, so many notes, though the sweetness nearly overwhelms it.

"You're looking at that bottle like you want to take it home."

"I'm more likely to take the bottle home than I am you."

"You're breaking my heart."

"I don't think it's your heart that pines for me."

"Oh it does. The other part gets wood for you."

I roll my eyes. "That was almost clever."

"Thanks. Come sit on my lap and we'll talk about the Gospel of Wealth." He pats his knee.

I start to blush.

Stop it, Anastasia.

"Are you forgetting I threatened to have your arms broken?"

"It was my legs, and you only said that so you could get me alone and ravish me."

"It was your legs, and it was five minutes ago. I have a good memory."

"So you remember this morning when you were sitting on—"

A flush creeps up my neck. I do in fact remember. I remember well. I glance at his crotch and remember very intensely. I look up and he's grinning.

"You are so damn cute. Cuter when you're embarrassed."

"Are we going to study? If not, I am leaving."

He lets out a long sigh. "Yeah. Do you want to go first, or should I?"

"We shall study your subject first. Show me where you are having trouble."

He sits up and spreads out an exam paper on the table. I slide it over in front of me and look it up and down. He is going through these geometry problems all wrong. I tap the page with my pencil.

"You don't know what you're doing."

"Right. That would be the problem, Princess."

"You weren't paying attention to the fundamentals."

"Right, right."

"Are you listening to me, or am I just here to be ogled?"

"I'm listening, seriously."

I sit up. "Each one of these problems builds on a simpler exercise. Let's us consider the cylinder. What is a cylinder?"

"My—"

"I'm leaving," I tell him and start packing my things.

"Okay, okay. A cylinder is a round thing that's flat on both ends."

"Good enough. Does it have anything in common with other shapes?"

"Yeah, a circle."

"Good." I draw a rough circle on a piece of scratch paper. "A cylinder's two-dimensional basis is a circle. Now, how does one calculate the area of a square?"

"Length times width." He rolls his eyes. "Are we going back to grade school?"

I ignore his sally. "How do we transform a square into a cube?"

"Depth."

"Depth or height, yes, and we multiply the length times the width times the height. In effect, we stretch the square into a cube and measure it that way. Does that make sense?"

"Wait, you do the same thing with a cylinder? Just stretch it?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't they tell me that?"

I shrug. "That is not how they wish to teach you, I suppose."

"Show me how it works. Take me through it step by step."

For the next hour, he is perfectly serious and a perfect gentleman. I take him through the volume and surface area of a cylinder, cone, and pyramid.

"How is it you had difficulty with this before? Were you faking being unable to complete these assignments to get closer to me?"

"No," he says, smirking. "I don't need tricks to get closer to you. Okay, it's your turn. Let's do you."

I raise my eyebrow and press my trembling lips tightly together. Do not smile, Anastasia.

"I meant do your studies, not something perverted. Why would you think that? You have such a dirty mind for such a pretty girl."

I start to blush again and will myself to stop. It only makes my cheeks burn hotter. I try to distract him by pulling out my textbook.

"I'm behind on the reading. I need help with it. I…." I can't finish the sentence. I look down at the floor.

He brushes my arm with the back of his hand. "Tell me."

"I have trouble reading English."

"That's okay. I can't even try to read… whatever you speak."

"No, you can't," My voice chokes a little. "That's different. I'm expected to—"

"Hey, calm down. You don't need to get so upset. It's not that important."

"Yes it is," I shout.

"Hey, library. Shush."

I sink into the seat and sigh. My eyes burn with tears. "It is important."

"Why does it matter so much? I'll get you through it."

I look at my feet. I always look at my feet when I'm nervous.

Unless Mother snatches up my chin.

I look up abruptly.

"Princess? Ana?"

"I didn't give you permission to call me that."

"I don't need permission. People call each other by name when they're friends. I'm tired of the princess. I like Ana better."

I bite my lip. "Mother attended this institution," I tell him. "She never failed a class, or an exam, or a paper, or an assignment. She did it all perfectly. She mastered English before she even arrived. I don't know how she did it. It is such a difficult language to read. I keep jumbling things up."

"I'll help. Come here."

I glare at him.

"I mean it, I'm not making a dumb joke about sitting on my lap. Sit next to me and we'll read and talk about the book. Come on. It's just you and me, and I don't care if you stumble."

I consider it for a moment, then slide along the seat until I'm next to him, hip to hip. He is true to his word and doesn't throw his arm over my shoulders or try to take me into his lap. I am overwhelmed by his presence anyway. He's so big.

He pulls my book into his lap and spreads it open.

"You said you're behind. The marker?"

I nod and he opens the book.

"Read aloud."

I freeze. "I can't."

"Would it help if we close the door?"

My eyes narrow. "Why?"

He puts up his hand. "I swear I won't touch you unless you invite me to. You have my sworn oath. I swear on my love of Rice Krispies Treats."

"You're joking," I snap. "I'm done."

"I mean it, Ana. I want to help."

I sit back a tiny bit, and look at him. Hard. "Why?"

"I saw a damsel in distress. I'm a Knight. It's what I do."

"I am not a damsel."

"You're pretty much the definition."

I groan in annoyance. Then I stand up and swing the door shut, closing out not just my bodyguards, but the rest of the world too.

Hesitantly, I sit down next to him. When I breathe in, his scent fills my nostrils. I can feel the heat of his body pulling me in, like the heat of a fire on a freezing day.

Quietly, I start to read aloud, then with more confidence. When I stumble over a sentence, he breaks it down for me, reading it aloud. I am a fluent speaker, so it goes that much easier for me. When I have questions he always knows the answer. What should be a reading of about forty pages, perhaps an hour, turns into three.

By the end of it, my head is resting on his shoulder. He takes what should be boring, dusty, old American history that even Americans don't care about and brings it alive. He does voices, he gestures, he sweeps me up in stories of battles and triumphs and defeats, of life and loss.

I enjoy listening to him talk. He becomes so animated, so engrossed in the telling of it that he doesn't notice that I'm pressed against him, or that my hand rests on his arm.

Finally he realizes what's happening and sits back.

"I think that about covers it. You should have an easier time with the next assignment. Bring me your review questions before you turn them in and I'll help you proof them. Grandolf docks points for grammar."

"She would," I huff.

He starts to pack up.

"I need help with something else," I say quickly.

"I have practice in the morning. It's seven o'clock already."

"Please?"

He sighs, and the look in his eyes begins to melt something inside me. I can feel the heat of it spreading through my chest.

"Well, since you asked like that. What is it?"

I draw out
The Great Gatsby
and show it to him, holding it in both hands.

"Sit down," he sighs.

I join him by his side again. He opens to the first page.

"What are you doing?"

"Ana, if you have that much trouble with a history book, you're not ready to read this. There's nothing wrong with that, but we need to accept it. You're going to have to take a hard exam on this book and you need to know it. We can help you with your reading another time. I'm going to read it to you. Just listen, then we'll talk about it. Okay?"

He begins to read.

I listen.

I fall into the words as they leave his mouth. He reads neither slow, nor fast, but his voice breathes life into the words in a way I never could by reading them on my own. My eyes drift halfway closed, and I let his voice carry me off, lift me up and bear me into the world of the story. Again he never says a word as I lean on his shoulder, or slip my arms around his great, thick bicep. I don't even know why I do it, except that I enjoy the warmth of him, the way his body shifts when he takes massive breaths. After two hours we have only read the first two weeks' assignments, and he stops.