Stone Creek by Davis, Lainey (reading diary .TXT) 📕

will be his only round-about reference to what happened in the library. Although I'm lying if I said I could forget. Shit, I'm in trouble, I think.

I sigh. "Look, you're doing really well on your quizzes and I think you're going to do fine on this test. Let's just go through the problems from the practice exam, ok?"

Neal barely speaks for the next half hour, but he gets each question right with only gentle prodding about which equation he needs for each. I feel proud that he's obviously a good student when he applies himself and I'm smiling ear to ear as I watch him solve the bonus problem correctly. I place a hand on his knee to congratulate him, and I feel his skin sizzle beneath my fingers. Or is it my hand that's on fire? I withdraw my arm slowly, and his eyes meet mine, when I see the trainer poke his head out of the therapy room.

"Sweeney, you're up!"

Neal looks over at him and gives a salute, bending to pick up his stuff. "Guess this is it," he says.

I smile and put my hand back on his knee, giving him what I hope is an appropriate squeeze. "You're going to do great," I say. Except all I can think about is how wide his leg feels under my hand and how his powerful muscles feel under my small fingers. This, of course, quickly leads to me imagining how he'd feel on top of me. As I watch him hobble into the training room, I have to bite my tongue so I don't shout after him, asking him when he'll make good on his promise to make me cum again.

Back in my apartment, I have to touch myself in bed so I'm able to fall asleep. When I cum, I'm thinking of Neal, of me sitting on top of him in those overstuffed armchairs, naked and straddling his waist, bouncing up and down his massive cock.

The next day, I check my email in between classes to find one from my boss. He's asking me to skip my afternoon class and meet him in his office. "Shit!" I shout into the empty computer lab. What the hell could he want that's so important I'm supposed to skip an advanced logic course?

I respond that of course I'll be there, and I dash off to the math building. I'm running through a thousand scenarios in my head, wondering if Neal told Tyler about the library and Tyler ratted me out for some reason. The only other person who knows is Linda, and she would never tell. If I lose my funding, she loses the other half of the rent money.

I've basically got myself in a panic by the time I knock on Professor Meyer's door. His tone sounds chipper, though, as he says, "Come in, Dahlia, come on in!"

I walk in the door and see Professor Meyer sitting across the desk from a man who seems vaguely familiar. He's wearing an SCU polo and khakis, looking out of place in the building full of math professors in shirts and ties. How do I know this guy…I'm racking my brains, but they're both smiling, so I try to tell myself to calm down.

Professor Meyer gestures to the other chair and says, "Coach Thomas, this is Dahlia Ward…I just can never pronounce it. Well anyway, this is the young lady who has been working with your Mr. Sweeney!" My palms start sweating and I rub them frantically along the sides of my jeans, thankful I chose a black turtleneck today to hide the sweat pools seeping from my armpits. "Dahlia, we have just learned that Mr. Sweeney earned an 85% on his math exam!"

I can't help but smile. My whole body relaxes. I'm proud of Neal, but I'm proud of myself, too. I was able to convey math concepts to another person who had truly no interest in learning them, and I did it well enough that he kicked ass on his exam. Professor Meyer continues, "Yes and the class average was a 77 for that test!" He is practically bubbling with excitement. I start to wonder if all along he just wanted Neal to feel excited about math.

Coach Thomas claps me on the back. "We really needed Sweeney to stay eligible to play. You probably saw that his grades are pretty lousy. There's a reason we didn't have him try out freshman math until his senior year!" Coach and Professor Meyer share a hearty laugh, which makes me feel uncomfortable. I start to realize how little control Neal has over his life at this school. Sure, he's here for free, but he practices around the clock, has to eat what the nutritionist says, and can't go to bed at night until he gets his sore muscles massaged. All so he can do it the next day. I guess he also doesn't get any say in what classes he even attempts.

"Neal is a really fast learner," I start to say, but Professor Meyer interrupts me.

"Dahlia, I was telling Coach Thomas how you've been leading the group study sessions since you were a freshman and now you've obviously found your stride doing some one on one tutoring. I also know you're looking to enroll in the PhD program at Penn next year." This conversation is taking a confusing turn for me. Especially considering that up until a moment ago I assumed I was going to get fired for letting Neal diddle my clit in the library.

Coach Thomas nods. "I'm pretty tight with the hockey coach over there in Philly," he says. "We've been division rivals for years!"

Professor Meyer plants his hands flat on the desk and leans forward. "I sometimes hate that this is the way things work, Dahlia, but athletic boosters really bring in a lot of funding for universities like this one. There are