Confessions of a Heartbreaker (3 page)

Why the hell is she talking like that anyway? It's a total turn off.

I suppose it's entirely possible that she has some kind of speech issue I've never noticed before because... well, let's face it, Marissa and I don't exactly engage in a ton of verbose conversations when we're together.

"Umm," honestly, I'm not in the mood.

She must sense that she's losing my interest because she starts very gently nibbling at my lips. Something within me loosens. Actually, a lot within me loosens. Okay, now I'm really starting to enjoy this. What I like even more is that she's taking my mind off Beer Girl and the giant asshat I just made out of myself.

Now this,
this
is how my interactions with chicks usually end up. Not whatever sad attempt that was out there by the keg. And they certainly don't call me a man whore and walk away either.

Thankfully she's stopped all that stupid baby talk and is whispering things that are better left unsaid in a public forum such as this. Giving in, because I'm not made of stone after all (well, maybe one part of me is) I finally wrap my arms around her. I feel the smile of satisfaction curve her lips upward as she continues licking and nipping at my mouth.

Ahhh, that feels so good.

"Are you ready to get out of here, Parker?  Because I am."

For some reason my eyes stray one last time to the front door before returning to Marissa.

I’m not going to lie, this has kind of been a weird night for me. So, yeah, I'm definitely ready to go.

Chapter Three

"Parker, honey? Are you up yet?"  Without any other warning, my mom comes into my bedroom and then does the unthinkable... she yanks open the curtains allowing brilliant sunlight to filter through.  Smashing the pillow over my face, I groan before rolling over. I hear the door click shut leaving me to drift back to sleep for a few minutes before it's opened again.

"Parker, we need to talk to you. Get up.
Now
."

That's my dad. He doesn't sound happy. Which, honestly, is nothing new. I'm not even sure why it bothers me anymore. That's just the way things are between us.

Removing the pillow from my face, I blink the harsh sunlight out of my eyes as I squint at the clock. Jeez, it's only ten in the morning!

"Parker!"

Argh.

Rolling out of bed, I throw on a t-shirt and some flannel pants before shuffling my way down the steps to find out what the freak is so important that they had to practically drag me from my bed at what seriously feels like the ass crack of dawn.

Yeah, someone had better be dead or I'm gonna be pissed.

Hitting the last step, I swivel only to find the pair of them sitting in the living room. My mom's hands are neatly folded in her lap. There's a solemn look filling her eyes which, I've come to understand through many years of experience, never bodes well for me. My dad just looks like his normal aggravated, short tempered self. So that doesn't necessarily surprise or impress me. Both of their eyes land on me as soon I walk in. Stopping short, my gaze bounces slowly between the pair of them because it suddenly feels like I've stumbled into an intervention.

Great.  Like I need this shit first thing in the morning...

"Parker, why don't you take a seat.  Your dad and I want to discuss a few things with you."

Clearly nothing good is going to come out of any conversation that starts off like that (I've learned that through many years of experience as well). Unfortunately the neurons in my brain aren't quite firing yet so I'm incapable to coming up with one single, not to mention reasonable, excuse as to why I shouldn't do exactly that.

Damn them for ambushing me before I've had a single drop of caffeine.

Now, if my parents are going to stick to standard protocol, and I don't see why they wouldn't, then my mom will be the first one up to bat (if we're using baseball analogies- which clearly I am). My father will wait on deck and then come in to crack a grand slam towards the end. Although, depending on his irritation level, he has been known to rush things along. So, I guess we'll just have to see how this one plays out.

And trying to figure out what I've done wrong to warrant yet another lecture is a serious waste of my time, so I don't even bother. Hopefully this ass chewing won't take too long. Because I've got better things to do than listen to them yap at me about my grades, or my untapped potential and how I'm not reaching it. In other words- a whole lot of blah, blah, blah...

Because I don't actually want to sit here all day staring at them, I finally ask, "So, what's this all about?"

My mom delves right in.  Just like I knew she would.  "Well, we received your midterm progress reports yesterday.  And your grades aren't where they need to be." 

My eyes slowly shift to my dad. His arms are folded across his chest and, clearly not wanting to waste time either, he's already got his glare on. So I swing my eyes back to my mom. If anyone can sugarcoat this, it'll be my mom. I'm sure she's gearing up to talk about my lack of effort and if I just set higher standards for myself, studied harder...  You know- more blah, blah, blah...

"Parker," she sighs-

Wait for it…

"You have so much potential and you're just wasting it.  It's so disappointing.  You could be doing so much better in school if you just tried a little bit harder."

Even though it takes a supreme effort on my part, I refrain from rolling my eyes because I know the only thing it will accomplish is setting my dad off.  "I am not wasting my potential," I mutter.

"Yes you are, honey.  We just want what's best for you- you know that don't you?"

Again I resist the urge to roll my eyes. "Yes," I ground out.

Okay, so maybe my progress report wasn't stellar.  I'm aware of that. I'm not
totally
oblivious after all. I just need to get a few grades up. I still have a month to do it.  It'll be a piece of cake. They just need to get off my back for once. And really, there's only one class giving me issues.  Damn, but I really hate that class.  It's such a pain.  And the teacher-

"Ms. Fisk called us yesterday."

This has my head snapping up. "What?"

"She's concerned about your senior lit grade. You're at a C-."

"And so she
called
you because of that? She called about a
C-
?  Doesn't she have better things to do with her time than harass me?  It's not like I'm flunking!"  Damn that woman!  She’ll seriously be the death of me.

My mother blinks her eyes in surprise. "Well yes, of course, she called.  She sees you wasting your potential just like we do.  She knows that you can do so much better in her class. In all your classes, actually."

I have to admit that I'm almost afraid of what's going to come out of her mouth next. But my dad, as usual, decides to blow his wad early.  Totally typical.

"We've lined up a tutor for you," he cuts in, "Ms. Fisk recommended this person and that's good enough for us. You're going to start meeting on Monday and from here on out, you'll meet three times a week."

I stare blankly at him. Three times a week! Is he crazy? "What about football?"

"What about it?" He seriously looks confused by the question. As if one thing has absolutely nothing to do with the other.

"I have football practice every day after school from three to five, plus games. I don't have time to meet with a tutor."  And furthermore, I have zero interest in meeting with some dumbass tutor either.

"Then maybe you'll just have to quit football." He says this flippantly like it's no big deal which couldn't be further from the truth and he knows it.

This has me jumping to my feet. My hands tighten into fists at my sides.  "Like hell I'll quit football!"  Have they lost their freaking minds?

My dad's face reddens and my mom's eyes flare wide. Okay, so maybe I've gone a little too far but that should show them just how important football is to me. It's my life and there's no way in hell I'll let them take it away.

My dad shoots to his feet as well. We may not be standing toe to toe but we are eye level now. My dad is about six foot and so am I.  He may outweigh me by a good thirty pounds, but I’m more muscular from working out.  I no longer find him as physically intimidating as I used to when I was a kid.  "You'll do what we tell you to do, Parker.  We're your parents and you'll damn well listen to us!"

"I'm not quitting," I ground out again. I won't. I absolutely will not do it.

"Honey, you don't have to quit football." I watch my mom as she silently pleads with my dad. Why does he always have to be such a dick?  It's like he gets off on it or something.  "I'm sure this tutor can work around your football schedule. Let's not get excited yet, okay?  We're just asking that you give it a try."  Again she eyes my father. His gaze is trained solely on me.  My father and I must look like we're in some sort of bizarre Mexican standoff. There's so much tension crackling between us that I'm fairly choking on it.

Not wanting to give in, I jerk my shoulders. "Fine."

A tutor.

A damn tutor.

I seriously want to wring Ms. Fisk's neck right now. I swear she did this just to mess with my life. And it's not enough for her to ruin a weekday when I'm actually at school. Now she has to ruin a perfectly good weekend, too. Unbelievable.

"If you work with this tutor and focus on your classes for the remainder of the quarter, you'll get your grades where they need to be."  Ever encouraging, she adds, "You just have to work a little bit harder. That's all, Parker.  We know you can do it."

"Have you even applied to any colleges yet?"

I drag my hand through my hair.  For just a moment my eyes flick to the window facing the street where it's sunny and cloudless. The sky is painted a deep shade of blue.  As perfect as it looks outside, is exactly the opposite of how it feels in here. The mere thought of quitting football has me seizing up with panic.

And a tutor?

That's such BS.

So of course now would be the time that my father decides to ride me about college. It's only a little after ten on a Saturday morning and already this day has turned to total shit. Honestly, I just want to climb back into bed and pull the covers over my head.

Not that I’m going to admit this to him, but I haven't given much thought to what college I want to attend.  Don't ask me why I'm dragging my feet on this because I couldn't tell you.  I absolutely want to play ball... I just don’t know where.

Trying to calm myself down, I blow out a long slow breath. My dad has a way of setting me off. I guess that's one thing we have in common. We both drive each other bat shit crazy.  It's a totally messed up relationship.

"I'll work on applications this weekend."

"You're damn straight, you will," he bites out.

Can't he just say okay and let it go?  Does he have to say something that will piss me off even more than I already am?  What a tool.

"And if your grades aren't better by semester time, you can forgot about playing lacrosse in the spring."

All I can do is glare at him. And just to piss him off a little more, because he oh-so-obviously takes pleasure in needling me, I ignore his threat. "Are we done here?"

My mother nods, clearly wanting to defuse the situation as quickly as possible.  My dad says nothing. He's such a jerk.

I'm just starting up the stairs when my mother says, "Here's the name and number of your tutor. Hopefully he can meet with you after practice on Monday."

I grab the slip of paper from her hands and start back up the stairs.

"We love you, Parker," she murmurs quietly.

I huff out a tired breath but don't bother turning around.  "I know, mom, I love you, too."

Well this is turning out to be one hell of a crappy weekend. Who would have thought that I'd actually be looking forward to going to school on Monday? Slamming the door to my room, I look at the scrap of paper with the name and number of my new tutor.

Jordan Whitnall.

My tutor's name is Jordan. I can't think of one dude I know at school named Jordan. Whatever. This needs to be done so I'm just going to bite the bullet and do it.  Within moments the text is sent.  I ask Jordan if we can meet at the public library around six on Monday night. That should give me enough time to shower, grab something to eat and get over there after practice.

I blow out a breath. Yep, this totally sucks.

He sends a text back within ten minutes saying that it's fine.

The best thing I can say about this whole situation is that at least the subject of football can safely be taken off the table.

The rest of the weekend passes by in a blur and before I know it, I'm back on the practice field. It feels good to lose myself in the drills. In the physical exertion of it all. And I'm not going to lie; it also feels damn good to knock a few guys on their asses. Freshly showered, I'm just heading out of the locker room when Max catches up with me. Actually, I was kind of hoping to avoid talking with any of the guys. I mean, it's not like I was trying to slink out of there but...