Chapter 1

This was the part of being a college athlete that Gabi Chaffey hated.

"I really don't want to do this," she grumbled, toweling off in the locker room shower. Another particularly grueling Central State volleyball practice had just ended.

"Well, then don't go," Chantelle said.

Chantelle Ford was Gabi's best friend, a relationship that was the product of years of on-the-court cooperation. Through two-plus seasons at Central, preceded by years together on various junior national teams and summer camps, Gabi's setting talents had fed Chantelle's thunderous spikes.

Chantelle was just as tall and leggy as Gabi, but while Gabi was a perky, short-haired blonde, Chantelle was a sleek African-American. And now, in their junior year, they and their teammates were as close to being female athletic celebrities as you'd likely find on any college campus.

So Gabi considered Chantelle's opinion, but couldn't bring herself to ditch her appointment.

It was her own fault, she thought. She was a good student with an ambitious course load, and was carrying a GPA somewhere between an "A" and a "B." But when the faculty rep who was in charge of monitoring the academic progress of the volleyball team had stopped by, Gabi had made the mistake of mentioning she was in danger of dropping into the "C" range in a couple of courses. Nothing that would have made her ineligible to play, of course. But it was enough to set off alarm bells with the faculty rep, and the next day she'd received an e-mail that she had been set up with a student tutor, one of the perks of being on an athletic scholarship.

"They weren't going to take the chance of losing their all-conference setter," Chantelle smirked. "I just hope you don't end up with the same chick Marissa had. Hey, Marissa!"

Marissa Carlton, Central's defensive specialist who was at the moment hooking her bra, turned around at her locker. "Yeah?"

"Didn't you have some problems with a tutor last semester?"

"Oh, you mean that Goth bitch they overpaid to try to help me with biology?" Marissa said, laughing. "What a 'tude on her. She kept mumbling about how she had to work nights at the Burger Shack to pay for school, while I was getting a full ride for slapping a ball around."

Gabi sighed. "That's exactly what I don't want to deal with. It's bad enough that so many of the guys I hang around with are dumb jocks, I just don't want to deal with someone who assumes I'm one, too."

"Jesus, I hope you don't get the one that Marissa had," Chantelle said. "Marissa, you remember her name?"

"Nah, if I think about her at all, I just think of her as Goth Bitch."

Gabi pulled a sheet of paper out of one of her textbooks. "His name is Tom Cassidy."

"Doesn't sound like Goth Bitch to me," said Chantelle. "Look, you can either go for one session tonight and say 'That's it, ' or just call and cancel."

"No, I'll go. Guess it can't hurt. See you tomorrow." She tossed on a sweat shirt, grabbed her books and headed out the door.

Roughly 30 minutes later, Tom Cassidy was running his finger over a row of books on a shelf in his apartment, finally finding the calculus text book for which he'd been searching.

"Another athlete?" Brendan asked, gathering his own books.

"It is indeed," said Tom, still preoccupied at the shelf.

"You know what a real hardship it is for me to go study at the library every time you do the tutoring thing, don't you?"

Tom turned and shook his head at Brendan. They'd met freshmen year, struck up a friendship, and after the umpteenth class they'd shared, they figured they might be able to put up with each other in sharing an apartment.

"You know, about one out of every three dollars I make on tutoring goes to buying pizza that you get to share..."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," said Brendan, smiling. "Who'd you draw this time?"

Tom picked up the paperwork the athletic department had sent him. "Looks like ... a Gabrielle Chaffey."

"No way! Gabi Chaffey?"

"Ummm, I guess so."

"Man, I saw her play last week. She's pretty amazing to watch. Good volleyball player, too."

Tom looked at him blankly.

Brendan shook his head. "Jesus, you don't pay attention to anything that goes on around here, do you? They went to the Final Four last year. Got one game away from the championship game."

"You go to volleyball games?"

"Well, yeah," said Brendan. "When the football team sucks as bad as ours does..."

Tom laughed. "Okay, I'll take your word for it. I'll give her your best."

But Brendan, rather than hurrying to leave, suddenly became preoccupied with re-filing the papers in his backpack. Tom frowned at him for a minute. "Okay, you can stay and say 'Hi, ' as long as you promise to not be completely embarrassing."

"Don't know what you're talking about, man," said Brendan.

The door bell rang.

"Okay, I'm ready to go."

"Of course you are," said Tom, grinning, before opening the door.

He was taken aback by the person waiting there, a long-legged woman with short blonde hair, a cute button nose and sparkling blue eyes highlighting an adorable face. She had both arms down in front of her, holding her books in a defensive posture.

Tom held out his hand. "Gabrielle Chaffey? I'm Tom. Tom Cassidy. Come on in."

She smiled. He seemed nice after all. She stepped inside to find another man looking at her expectantly.

"And this," said Tom, "is my roommate, Brendan McWilliams. He's apparently a big fan."

"I saw you guys play Fresno last week," Brendan said, pushing past Tom and enthusiastically shaking her hand. "You guys were awesome."

Tom sighed. "Remember the part about not being embarrassing?"

Gabi grinned and thanked Brendan, who Tom then hustled out the door. "I've set up a couple of chairs over here, so let's get started."

There were two padded chairs facing each other in the living room, and Gabi sat down in one. The whole situation was much more comfortable than she'd been anticipating, but she had to get something off her chest.

"Look ... I appreciate you helping me out, Tom, but I don't want you to think ... I mean, I'm not..." She looked up at him, hoping he understood. He simply looked at her with a helpful smile on his face.

"I mean, I'm a real student. I'm not just taking pointless classes to keep my average up."

He shrugged. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yep. Okay by me. Do you want to go over the calculus today?"

And he smiled at her, and she suddenly felt just fine about everything. Not to mention that he looked really cute when he smiled.

She no longer worried that she wouldn't be taken seriously. What bothered her now that she was relaxed was that she couldn't help but notice him, his thick brown hair, and baby blue eyes, and the cute dimples when he smiled. He didn't have a particularly athletic body, but he looked like he was in good shape. Twice she had to silently reprimand herself for paying more attention to the man than what he was saying. But within minutes, that wasn't a problem. Because it turned out that Tom was a very good tutor.

All of the material that had been confusing seemed to magically come into focus. He explained everything so evenly and simply, and everything made sense without him making her feel any the less for not having understood it before. Professor Mazzante always seemed to make everything in the class so confusing, but now it was all coming together, and she was enjoying it. It was like one long conversation with a friend, rather than a boring lesson.

And he really was quite good looking, she decided. In fact, after an hour and a half, she suddenly realized she was staring at him, rather than listening to him. She realized it when he got a funny look on his face, waved two fingers in front of her eyes and said "Gabrielle? Are you in there?"

She blushed, and then suddenly had a sense of unease sweep over her. Tom merely smiled and suggested that they'd probably been at it too long.

"Now, let me give you a clue about Mazzante's tests," he was telling her, as she collected her books. "You know how they say it's important to show your work? It's doubly important on his tests. That's the root of all partial credit. And he doesn't trust neat. Don't make your test page too organized.

"And judging by what I see," he said, handing her notepad to her and grinning, "that's part of your problem."

She smiled back, looked down at her impeccable penmanship, and nodded her understanding.

"How do you know all of this?" Gabi asked.

"I've had Mazzante a couple of times. I took this course with him, actually."

"Last semester?"

"Ummm, no ... freshman year."

"Ah!" said Gabi.

She turned to go, but Tom said "Gabrielle?"

She spun around to face him.

"I didn't assume that you weren't a serious student. I would have known from your course load that you were, but I don't automatically assume that about anyone."

And he smiled that smile that seemed to so easily get under her skin, and Gabi found herself biting her lower lip and smiling coyly back at him. "Okay," she said, softly. "Next week, this same time?"

"Philosophy, right? I'll be expecting you."

Gabi walked away from the apartment with her books snuggled in her arms and a smile on her face. The experience hadn't been anything like what she had been dreading. She'd enjoyed being treated like an intelligent person. Maybe the male student-athletes she'd been hanging around with were a little too heavy on the athlete, too light on the student. Tom wasn't like anyone she'd ever met.

"Maybe Philosophy 101 won't be quite so boring," she thought.

Suddenly, though, she remembered how uncomfortable she'd felt moments before, and realized why: he continued to call her "Gabrielle." No one ever called her by her full name. She'd been "Gabi Chaffey" her whole life. It had been in headlines in the local newspapers. She had never been one to trade on her relative fame, but for the first time in her life, it bothered her that someone didn't know who she was.

"But maybe that's a good thing," she mused.

Tom's first act after Gabi's departure was to plop back down in his chair and stare off into space. She'd been ... intriguing. And he could have sworn that a few times she was actually flirting with him.