MY COCKY BASKETBALL PLAYER

Chapter 4

I couldn't stop thinking about Saturday. Every free moment, my mind drifted back to that room. His smirk. His phone. The way he laughed when I walked out. I told myself I was just preparing. That I wanted to be ready this time.

I spent hours on lesson plans. Different approaches. Simpler explanations. I told myself it was because I wanted to do my job properly.

But late at night, lying in bed, I knew the truth.

I wanted to prove him wrong.

I wanted to walk back into that room and show him that he didn't scare me. That his arrogance meant nothing. That I could sit across from him and do my job without letting him get under my skin.

I rehearsed conversations in my head. Different versions of what I'd say when he mocked me. When he ignored me. When he laughed.

Every version ended with me keeping my cool.

I wasn't sure I believed it.

***

Gemma checked in on me twice.

"You okay?"

"Fine."

"You seem distracted."

"I'm fine."

She didn't push. She knew me well enough to know when to back off. But I caught her watching me sometimes. Like she was waiting for me to c***k.

I didn't c***k. I just... waited.

Saturday felt like a lifetime away. But it came anyway.

***

I stood outside his house again. Same gate. Same white walls. Same driveway that could fit four cars.

Different feeling this time. Heavier.

I remembered last time. The way he ignored me. The way his mother grabbed my hands. The way my hands shook when I walked out. The way I blocked his number.

I took a breath. I knocked.

His mother answered. Her face lit up when she saw me.

"Nora. Thank you for coming."

I nodded. "I said I would."

She led me through the hallway. Same photos on the wall. Same polished floors. I tried not to stare.

"He's already in the study room," she said quietly. "He's been in there all morning."

That surprised me. I didn't know why. I just nodded and followed her.

***

He was already sitting at the desk when I walked in.

No phone this time. No feet on the wood. He was just sitting there, watching the door. Waiting.

I sat down across from him. I didn't say anything about last time. I just opened my notebook.

"Let's start with something simple," I said.

He didn't respond.

I wrote out a basic problem. Algebra. Same level as before. I slid it across the desk.

He looked at it. Then at me.

"I'm not going to do it."

I felt my jaw tighten. But I kept my voice flat.

"Okay."

He blinked. "Okay?"

"We'll try something else."

I pulled out a different worksheet. Simpler. Basic arithmetic. I slid it across.

He stared at it. Then at me.

"You're not going to get mad?"

"Would that help?"

He didn't answer.

I started explaining the first problem. Slow. Step by step. I didn't ask him to participate. I just talked.

He watched me. His expression was unreadable. Not mocking. Not angry. Just... watching.

It unnerved me. I wanted him to say something. Anything. Even a sarcastic comment would have been better than this silence.

I finished explaining. I looked at him.

"Did you understand any of that?"

He shrugged.

"Can you try the next one?"

He looked at the paper. Then back at me.

"Why do you care?"

The question hung in the air.

"I don't," I said. "I'm just doing my job."

"You walked out last time."

"I came back this time."

"Why?"

I met his eyes. "Does it matter?"

He didn't answer. But he picked up his pencil. He looked at the next problem.

I waited.

He wrote something down. It was wrong. Completely wrong. But he'd tried. Sort of.

"Not quite," I said. "But close."

He looked up. "That's not close."

"No," I admitted. "It's not. But it's something."

Something flickered across his face. I couldn't read it.

I explained the problem again. Slowly. Patiently. I didn't push. I didn't react to his silence.

He listened. I think.

But then he put his pencil down.

"I'm done," he said.

"We still have forty minutes."

"I don't care."

I felt the heat rising again. I pushed it down.

"You agreed to this session."

"I didn't agree to anything. My mom made me."

"Then talk to her. I'm just here to teach."

He leaned back in his chair. Crossed his arms. That smirk was creeping back.

"Then teach. I'm listening."

I stared at him. He stared back.

I opened my mouth to say something. To argue. To walk out again.

But I didn't.

Instead, I turned to the board on the wall. I picked up a marker. I started writing.

I didn't look at him. I just talked. Explained the problem again. Walked through every step. Asked questions I knew he wouldn't answer.

He didn't say anything. He just watched.

I kept going.

After a few minutes, something shifted in the air. I felt it more than I heard it.

I turned around.

He was looking at the board. Actually looking. His eyes were moving across the numbers. His arms had uncrossed.

I said, "Do you understand this part?"

He didn't answer. But he didn't look away either.

I said, "I'll do another one."

I wrote another problem. Walked through it slowly. This time, when I asked a question, he almost answered.

Almost.

His mouth opened. Then closed.

I waited.

He shook his head. "Forget it."

"Try," I said. "Just try."

He looked at me. For a second, the wall cracked. I saw something underneath the arrogance. Something tired.

Then it was gone.

"I don't need your pity," he said.

"It's not pity. It's my job."

"You keep saying that."

"Because it's true."

He didn't have a comeback. He just looked at me.

I turned back to the board. I kept teaching.

***

The hour ended.

I packed my bag. Same notebook. Same textbooks. Same pen.

He didn't stop me this time. He just sat there, pencil still in his hand.

I stood up.

"Same time next week?"

He looked at me. Something flickered in his expression again.

"You're actually coming back?"

"I said I would."

He didn't reply. But he didn't tell me not to.

I walked out.

***

His mother was waiting in the hallway. She looked nervous.

"How did it go?"

I thought about it. He hadn't tried. He hadn't learned anything. But something had shifted. Barely. Just a c***k.

"He almost tried," I said.

She blinked. "Almost?"

"I think that's progress."

She exhaled. "Thank you. I know he's not easy."

"He's not," I agreed.

She smiled. I smiled back. Then I left.

***

I walked home. The air was cold. I pulled my jacket tighter.

I replayed the session in my head. He hadn't fought me as much this time. But he hadn't really tried either. He'd almost answered a question. Almost.

And that moment. That brief second when the wall cracked. I saw something underneath. I didn't know what it was.

I told myself it didn't matter. He was still arrogant. Still difficult. Still a job.

But I caught myself thinking about that look in his eyes. Tired. Almost sad.

I shook my head. It didn't matter. I was just there for the money.

I repeated that to myself all the way home.

I didn't believe it.