6. Griffin

" G ood morning, Griffin." Mrs. Potts beams as I walk into the kitchen. "How did your first study session go?"

Yawning, I stretch my arms up and sit down on the barstool at the island. "Good morning. It was really good. I think I found the perfect tutor."

"That's great news." She smiles. "Perhaps I should bake her some cookies."

Thankfully, Mrs. Potts and Chip were at dinner last night when Blair and Lumi came over. It's not that I don't think they wouldn't get along. To be honest, I don't care if they do. I just didn't want to deal with the possible judgment when I would have to explain that I have a chef and maid.

Unless you live in this world, it's looked at as lazy or snobby. But no one would understand that Mrs. Potts and Chip aren't just my staff, they're practically family .

She sets a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon in front of me.

"Thank you very much. And she'd be lucky if you did. They're the best."

"You're too sweet, Griffin," she hums and finishes loading the dishwasher.

A light pitter-patter sounds through the house, growing louder by the second. Chip bursts into the room in his Buzz Lightyear pajamas with the world's craziest bedhead.

"Good morning, Chocolate Chip." I chuckle as he races straight toward the plate of bacon by the stove.

"You must have smelled it, huh?" Mrs. Potts giggles and brushes his hair with her fingers.

He grabs a piece and quickly takes a bite.

He nods and smiles, every inch of his face lighting up with happiness.

Chip has nonspeaking autism. So, we never expect him to answer our questions with anything other than his physical reactions. But he's so expressive that we know exactly what he's communicating.

"What are you guys doing today?" I shovel more of this delicious breakfast into my mouth.

"I'm going to take Chip to the art museum in town to look at the paintings." She glances at Chip with the warmest and kindest eyes. "One day, yours will be in there too, honey. You're so talented."

Chip smiles bashfully.

"Well, take lots of pictures. I want to see them when I get back from practice later."

"You've got it!" Mrs. Potts says. "There's a salad and sandwich in the fridge if you need any snacks or quick meals today."

"You're the best. Thank you," I say genuinely before taking the final bite of my breakfast.

She walks over and takes the plate from me even though I glare at her while she does it. It's an ongoing battle that neither of us will ever win. She always wants to do more for me, and I want her to stop waiting on me.

She's worked for my family since I was born. She is family and always will be. The same goes for Chip. There are very few things I let Mrs. Potts do for me, cooking and dishes being the only things. Other than that, I don't let her wait on me.

"I've got to get to class. But I hope you guys have the best day at the museum." I mess Chip's hair up even more with my fingers before dismissing myself from the kitchen.

Mrs. Potts's sweet voice carries through the house as she continues to tell Chip about the day she has planned for the both of them. She homeschools Chip, and they are practically inseparable—unless, of course, I steal him away for a boys' day. We are due for one of those soon. Once my grades are under control, that will be my next priority.

My morning classes are about as exciting as a dentist appointment. I have Microeconomics first and then go straight into Algebra. My brain is nothing but mush by the time I'm rolling into the weight room to meet with my team.

"Finally, you have decided to grace us with your presence. We're almost done with rep one," Malik teases as I slide my backpack into my gym locker and pull my hoodie off over my head, tossing it on top of my bag.

"Shut up, Malik. You needed the extra rep anyway," I jab back at him.

He laughs in defeat as he switches places with Asher on the bench and slides under the bar. Asher is one of our forwards. His brother, Dean, is a defender. They are a real dynamic duo and completely unstoppable when they are on the ice together.

Malik finishes his reps and hops off the bench. "All right, your turn."

Stretching my arms out, I loosen them up just a little before grabbing a fifty-pound weight and adding it to Malik's set.

"Oh, okay, Griff, you want today to be a competition. I see," he huffs and puffs out his chest, crossing his arms.

Chuckling, I slide under the bar and wrap my hands around the metal. "Not a competition, buddy. It's not my fault that you couldn't handle my max weight even if you tried."

"Yeah, because I wasn't born like a fucking brute," Malik retorts as he moves in to spot me. "Now, let's go. Give me eight."

Tightening my core, I push the bar up and off of the rest and position it above my chest. As slow as I can manage, I lower it to my pecs before gently guiding it back up .

"There's one. Let's go, baby. Now, number two," Malik shouts, pumping me up.

"Ugh," I grunt as I push through my second rep.

"Two!" Malik counts off.

I fight my way through to number seven before I really start struggling. My arms are burning like they're drenched in gasoline and lit on fire.

"Don't quit on me now, Beast. You earned that name; now, fucking prove it," he screams at me, and it's just the boost I need.

"Erghhhh!" I scream back at him as I use every ounce of strength I have remaining to push that bar up one more time.

"Yes! That's what I'm talking about!" Malik cheers as he helps me rack it.

My breathing is rough and ragged as I sit up and take a couple of deep inhales to calm my racing heart. Hopping up, I walk over to my bag and grab my water bottle while Dean moves beneath the bar for his turn.

We spend the next hour or so going through our usual weights routine, hyping each other up and pushing ourselves to our absolute limit. We end the workout with a quick mile run, and by the time we're done, my adrenaline is spiking and pulsing through my veins with vigor.

As we walk to the parking lot, I pull my phone out and text Blair to see when she wants to meet before the test on Friday.

Hey, I'm free tomorrow after six if you want to come over for another session.

"Who are you texting?" Malik bumps into me and looks at my phone. "Ohhh, the new tutor. How good is she during those sessions ?" He chuckles.

Rolling my eyes, I tuck my phone away in my pocket before saying, "First off, we really are just studying. No funny business."

"But that's the funnest business." Malik smirks. "She's cute though—in a sexy-nerd way, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess I haven't noticed," I admit, lying straight through my teeth.

"I'll catch you later." He laughs and walks away, but not before calling out, "Griff, you're full of shit."

Of course I've noticed those big doe brown eyes and how she bites down on her bottom lip when she's focusing on something, but I'm not even going to allow myself to think of her in any way other than my tutor. I don't have time for that, and neither does she. Our relationship is simply a business transaction.

My phone vibrates, and I yank it out of my pocket.

Tutor: Tomorrow at six works. I have to leave by eight, just FYI.

Sounds good. See you then.

If we're meeting tomorrow, I guess I have to study on my own so I don't look like a complete lost cause when she comes over.

After two hours of educational torture, I decide I'm done for the night. My brain is completely dead right now.

Maybe I should do a little digging on Blair; after all, she will be spending time in my home. I look her up on every social media platform, but I only find one account that hasn't been updated or posted on in a couple of years, so that's not very helpful.

I've never met a college girl who doesn't live on social media, so what's her deal? Too focused on her studies?

Stop right there.

Who cares what she does during her free time? She's just my tutor, and it's none of my business.