Tutoring the Bad Boy

It's All A Matter of Leverage

A/N oh boy guys

have fun with this one

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*Kaitlyn MacDonald*

Swallowing any doubts that pop into my head, I head over to where Asher is sitting and slide into the chair across from him.

"Kaitlyn," he blinks, seemingly taken by surprise. "What a pleasure. What brings you to my table?"

"Cut the chitchat. Where's Beth, and what happened to her?" My hands fidget, and I still them by twisting around the bracelets on my wrist.

"Oh, of course. Mack called you, did he?" When I nod, Asher places both elbows on the table and folds his hands. "When Beth fell, Mack called an ambulance. There was a doctor here dining with her husband, so she administered first aid to Beth to try and stabilize her condition. Mack saw me, and came over to me after he called you. He told me to wait for you, so that I could tell you what happened."

During Asher's recounting of Beth's injury, my head starts spinning and my heart racing. I know how serious head injuries can be, and coupled with the fact that it's my best friend, I can't think straight.

"Mack. Did he go with Beth to the hospital?" I gasp out, trying to calm down. I've already lost one important person in my life; I'm not about to lose another.

"Yes, he did. In fact, he even said that I should drive you there so you could be with her. I don't think it's a good idea for you to drive right now. Kaitlyn, you're shaking."

He's right. My hands are shaking, badly, I might add, and I can't seem to get them to stop.

"O-okay, yeah. I think that's a good idea. Let's go now." I rise, shouldering my purse as I wait for Asher to get out of his own seat. We walk out of the restaurant together, the host telling us to have a good night.

I frown. "Asher, why am I the only person freaking out about Beth's injury?"

He shrugs. "The restaurant staff want to keep it professional, because they don't want to lose business. As for everyone else, would you want your nice dinner ruined because somebody slipped and had to go to the ER?"

I fall silent in understanding.

Asher unlocks his car, and holds open the passenger door for me. I climb in, noting the leather seats.

"This is a really nice car," I comment as Asher starts the engine.

"Yeah, I know," he chuckles, maneuvering the car out of the parking lot. "It used to be my grandpa's car, before he passed away. He left it to me in his will."

"That's...nice," I say.

"Isn't it?"

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The whole car ride, I stare down at my hands, afraid that if I look at Asher or out the window, we might not make it to the hospital because of some distraction.

When I feel the car stop, my head shoots up, but when I look at our surroundings, my brows furrow.

"Asher," I start, clutching my bag protectively. "This isn't the hospital."

"Oh, you're right," he grins, but the grin is a maniacal one. "This isn't the hospital. But you're going to come inside with me anyway."

"What makes you think I'm getting out of this car?" I ask, slyly unlocking my phone to call for help.

Asher draws something out of his pocket, and I freeze when I hear a click.

"I think this might convince you."