False Start Read Online Shandi Boyes

Categories Genre: Contemporary Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
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Sporty in any way that won’t make him an academic, Cash ‘Milo’ Mancini is living the good life. He’s popular, well-liked, and when he isn’t failing mathematics, the star basketball player for the South Harmon Hawks.
Needing to either improve his grades or be benched for the season, Cash seeks assistance from a supposed shy, demure wallflower.
When McKayla Jones turns out nothing like he’s anticipating, Cash realizes he’ll need more than a cocky demeanor to convince her to tutor him.
He’s set for the game of his life, and for once, it won’t be played on the court.

*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************

Chapter 1

Cash

The exorbitant price tag that was once on my Jordan’s seems nowhere near as pricy when my professor says, “Mathematics and basketball go hand in hand. Achieving the purpose of shooting a hoop includes the use of percentages and angles. By perceiving the most consistent percentages…” Her words trail off when she loses me with the mumbo-jumbo. “In short, your game will improve once your math grade increases.”

Professor Rendell places my latest test results onto her oversized desk, plonks her ass in her chair, then peers up at me. Even with our meeting ramping up my worries that I’m about to lose more than my scholarship, I can’t help but smirk when her head has to crank all the way back to take me in.

I don’t play basketball for no reason. I stand a little over six foot five—a good inch or two below my brother’s NBA recruitment size. He went pro a little over five years ago, and I plan to follow in his footsteps. Well, most of them. I just need to improve my grades by thirty basis points. I have English and sports therapy mastered, but mathematics is dragging me down.

When it comes to money, I love numbers. Anything beyond that is above my capabilities, though.

My focus shifts back to Professor Ren, as the students call her, when she says, “You should consider a tutor.”

My voice is hitched with annoyance when I reply, “I already have two.”

A smirk tilts my mouth high on one side when she asks, “From the student mentoring program?” When I jerk up my chin, she pushes out with a groan, “And you wonder why you’re failing.”

“Your assistant professor recommended them.” Since my reply is barked out with laughter, it is barely audible. I like Professor Ren. She cares about her students. So much so, she would have offered to tutor me if her wife didn’t give birth to their daughter only two months ago.

After shooting me a riled look, Professor Ren’s green eyes dart to her assistant. She sharpens a pencil until it resembles a prison shank, which has me wondering if she is here on a scholarship like me or a prison release program.

“Solander means well, but she’d be suspicious of prime numbers.” My silence keeps her talking, “Because they’re all odd. Get it? Prime numbers are odd numbers.” She shoos off my hiked brow, twisted-lips expression with a dainty wave of her hand before jotting down a name on her yellow-lined notepad. “You need an expert. Someone who’ll tell you you’re being an idiot when you are.”

The low-hanging afternoon sun bounces off the blond locks curling around my ears when I slant my head and ask, “So you’re saying you want to be my tutor?”

Her eyes lift from her notepad. They’re full of remorse instead of the candor I was aiming for. “You know I would, Milo, but Maple has colic and—”

“I’m an ass for even asking.” The dark circles ringing her eyes expose this, not to mention how gaunt her skin has become since she was inducted into parenthood. She thought the IVF stage would be the worst part of the conception journey. I think her newborn is kicking her ass more than the jabs she stabbed into her missus’s stomach every day for months on end. “Who do you have in mind?”

Professor Ren breathes out heavily as she shifts her focus back to her notepad. “She isn’t part of the student mentoring program, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t smart. She’s just…” It is fortunate I’m not holding my breath, waiting for her to finalize her reply, or I would have died by now. “Be nice to her, Milo. She isn’t like the rest of them.”

I’m about to demand further explanation, but the name scribbled across the sheet of paper she hands me stops me. McKayla Jones is too fine of a name to belong to a psychopath. It’s cute—albeit a little average.

With McKayla’s yahoo email stuffed into my pocket, I ask, “Where can I find her? You didn’t put down her cell phone number.”

I take back everything I just said about McKayla not being a psycho when Professor Ren replies, “She doesn’t have a cell.”

“Who doesn’t have a cell these days?” I shake my head to rid it of an image of a short, waif-thin girl in full Amish getup.

Professor Ren shrugs. “As I said, she’s… different.” After gathering the coat she tossed over her chair at the start of the lesson, she squeezes my arm in reassurance, then heads for the door. “If you want to catch her before weekend festivities begin, your best chance would be at the drama squadron.”

Her slow trek slackens even more when I spit out, “She’s a drama geek?”

As if aware I’m holding my breath, she leaves me hanging again for almost ten seconds before she eventually shakes her head. “She’d probably convert for George Clooney, though.” If I didn’t know she is happily married and a verified lesbian, the way she purrs out George’s name almost convinces me she’s bi.


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