Lucian cleared his throat and I blinked.
I’d been staring at him for a very long time. Long enough that he’d taken a seat on the bench at the foot of my bed and was staring back. Expectantly.
“Uh, do you want a soda or something?” I asked, not sure what I’d do if he said yes. My parents were downstairs, and they would be sure to notice me sneaking two root beers upstairs. Unlike the parents on TV, mine didn’t miss a thing.
“No, thanks,” he said, eyeing my trig homework. He picked up the top sheet of paper, the one I’d scrawled “This is stupid. I hate math.” all over.
I snatched it out of his hand and crumpled it behind my back.
I was smart. That was my thing. Put me in an English class or history or science and I was a guaranteed straight A student. But math was a different story.
“I could help you,” he said, reaching behind me and taking the paper back.
“You’re good at math?” I couldn’t quite keep the incredulity out of my tone.
“You think just because I play football I can’t be smart too?”
Actually, I’d been thinking that in this scenario, I should be the hot athlete’s tutor who he couldn’t help falling in love with during intimate study sessions. But this could work too.
“Of course not,” I scoffed.
“Then give me a pencil.” He held out a hand, and for a second, I battled the fantasy of simply putting my hand in his…and then jumping into his lap and kissing him.
But I wasn’t confident in my balance. What if I kneed him in the crotch or knocked the wind out of him?
Good sense won out, and I picked up my pink mechanical pencil from the carpet and handed it over.
“Come here,” he said, sliding down to the floor and patting the spot next to him.
I sat obediently.
“You had the first part right,” he said, retracing my steps with the pencil. “But here’s where you went wrong.”
I sat next to him and watched his big hand move the pink pencil over the sheet. Leave it to Lucian Rollins to make math sexy.
“Wow. You really are smart,” I said when he circled the answer.
His mouth curved ever so slightly at the corners. “Don’t tell anyone.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” I promised.
“Your turn,” he said, handing me the pencil.
He smelled good. Which made me paranoid that he could smell me.
It took me three tries and an infinite amount of patience from Lucian, but I finally got it. I got the next problem on the second try. And when I nailed the right answer on the third problem in one take, I jumped up and spiked the pencil like it was a football in the end zone.
“Yes! Bite me, math!”
I was halfway through my victory dance when I remembered that I had a hot junior audience and sweaty armpits.
Lucian leaned back on his elbows on the carpet, watching in amusement. There was an actual smile on his face. One I’d put there. Something warm bloomed inside me. I was pretty sure it was a hot flash.
I tucked my hair behind both ears and sank back down to the floor. “Um, so thank you for that. I don’t usually get that excited over math homework.”
The smile was still there, and it was turning my insides to mush.
“I take it you’re more into reading than trig?” He nodded toward my bookcases.
“Oh, uh, yeah. I like books. A lot.”
“Are you going to write them?”
I shook my head. “Nah. Reading is just a hobby. I’m going to get a softball scholarship and go into sports medicine.” I had it all figured out. I was what my coach called an “aggressively enthusiastic pitcher.”
“Really?” he asked.
“You don’t think I can do it?”
“It just must be nice to know what you want to do.”
“You’re almost a senior,” I pointed out. “Where are you going to college? What are you going to major in?”
He shrugged, then winced and rubbed absently at his arm. “I don’t know yet.”
I frowned. “Well, what do you want to be?”
“Rich.”
He sounded like he meant it. And not in a flippant teenage boy tired of Aunt Alice asking him what he wanted to be when he grew up way.
“Uh, okay. And how are you going to do that?” I asked.
“I’ll find a way.”
I was disappointed. A guy like Lucian should have big, specific dreams. He should want to innovate hearing aids for babies or maybe run a cool dental practice like my mom. Hell, even aiming for professional football player would be better than nothing.