Series: Smart Jocks #1
jock? This isn’t it.
need to help me pass statistics? If I knew, I wouldn’t be standing in front of
Wes Reynolds begging him to tutor me.
class… these are the things I knew about him. What I didn’t know is that he is
a seriously smart jock.
girl that keeps asking me to tutor her? If I knew, I wouldn’t be staring at her
tan legs and attempting to teach her statistics.
are the things I knew about her. What I didn’t know is that she is all the
things I didn’t realize I wanted or needed.
The Assist is a cute, feel-good YA college romance. While there wasn’t anything I found incredibly gripping between Wes and Blaire, their story definitely entertained me. I liked the spin on this tutor trope: Wes is a brilliant basketball player with a photographic memory, who reluctantly agrees to tutor Blair in statistics. He’s recovering from a foot injury in his senior year (and final year on the court), so a relationship is the last thing he wants… so of course, he falls head over heels for her!
With the exception of Blair’s d-bag ex (who got everything that was coming to him!), I really liked this cast of characters. Both Wes and Blaire’s friends lent enough support to the story without taking away from the main couple, and I felt like I got to know them well enough that I’m interested to see what happens in the rest of the books Rebecca Jenshak has planned for this series.
This was a new-to-me author, and I was certainly entertained enough by The Assist to sneak in a few pages during the car ride to and from church! I received an advanced copy and voluntarily left a review.
I wish I were. My eyes are closed, hat pulled down, but there’s no sleep to be
I do anyway. She’s the most entertaining thing about this class. Open my eyes
and lift the hat, turn it backward so my view isn’t the least bit blocked.
legs, yellow tennis shoes that don’t match but somehow work, and a bracelet
with a little charm around her left ankle. It’s too small to make out, but I
stare anyway. Her brown hair is pulled up in a high ponytail, and she has a
megawatt smile plastered on her face. A big bow on top of her head is all she’d
need to look like head cheerleader of my high school fantasies.
her foot in her mouth, not once, but twice, and damn near insulted the entire
student athlete population, but she keeps coming back. She has determination
and grit. I admire that about her.
that I’m a dumb jock. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised she came right
out and asked who my tutor was, but I know exactly what it looks like. I’ve fed
into the stereotype for years, doing nothing to make it seem otherwise. Well,
nothing but get straight A’s.
looks like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Do you have old study notes or
tests from previous semesters?”
study materials you’re using. I can’t afford to fail another test. What’s your
statistics is my whole world, but I can’t resist messing with her.
saying less offensive. It just makes you feel better about saying something
her. She’s making it too easy.
the team? Anyone have any awesome math tutors who aren’t available to us
non-jock students? I can pay.”
hold their own academically.” I lean in catching a whiff of her hair. It smells
good—like sugar cookies or candy canes or something sugary sweet that I want to
sink my teeth into. “Shocking, I know.”
accepted that I have no answers for her. At this point, I almost wish I knew of
someone to send her to. I don’t exactly travel in circles that clue me in on
secret study sessions and underground tutor societies.
clutched around the strap of her backpack.
campus toward the library. “Dude. That chick . . .”
completely awe stricken.
college basketball fanatic, and Hallmark channel devotee. A Midwest native
transplanted to the desert, she likes being outdoors (drinking on patios) and
singing (in the shower) when she isn’t writing books about hot guys and the
girls who love them.