"Hey, Professor!" Gavin-he's-damn-gorgeous-Robins bounds into the room with the enthusiasm of a happy puppy, his backpack slung casually over one impossibly broad shoulder. He's wearing a Delta Psi Omega sweatshirt that stretches across his chest in ways that should be illegal, and it’s cut down the sides so I can just see ridges of muscles going all the way down to...Stop!
His hair is damp like he just got out of the shower. Where he’d have been wet and…Oh crap. I’m screwed.
He's so busy greeting the professor that he doesn't notice me, or the fact that he's on a collision course with where I'm sitting. Before I can move, his backpack swings around and knocks into me, sending me stumbling sideways into Professor Harrington's bookshelf.
Several heavy psychology textbooks rain down around me as I try to catch my balance.
"Whoa! I'm so sorry!" Large hands suddenly grip my shoulders, steadying me. Gavin's face is inches from mine, brown eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay? Did I hurt you?"
"I'm fine," I manage, hyper-aware of how easily his hands encircle my upper arms. He could probably lift me with one arm.Not that I'm thinking about that.
"You hit the shelf pretty hard," he says, one hand moving to rub my arm where it struck the bookcase. "That's gonna bruise."
"It's nothing," I say, trying to step away, but somehow I'm trapped between him and the bookshelf, his large frame blocking my escape.
Professor Harrington clears his throat. "If you two are done with the physical comedy portion of our meeting..."
Gavin finally seems to register who I am. His eyes widen even further. "Wait… Doc? From the library? And the mixer?" His face breaks into a delighted grin. "You're the one who needs tutoring? That's awesome!"
"Awesome is not the word I would use," I mutter.
"I see you two have already met," Professor Harrington says, the barest hint of amusement in his voice. "Excellent. Gavin, Sebastian is struggling with some of our core concepts, particularly as they relate to interpersonal dynamics."
"I'm not struggling," I interrupt. "I just have a different perspective on the material."
"The perspective that it's all, what was your phrase? 'Subjective nonsense'?" Professor Harrington raises an eyebrow.
Gavin laughs, a deep, genuine sound that should be annoying but somehow isn't. "Still think psychology lacks empirical rigor, Doc?"
"Don't call me that," I snap automatically.
"Were you at track practice?" Harrington asks, eyeing his damp hair.
"Yeah, we're starting spring training. Got some events coming up next month and a few friendly games with State to keep the team sharp during the off-season."
I glance at my watch pointedly. This small talk is eating into time I could be using to study actual science.
"Right," Professor Harrington says, gathering his papers. "I have another appointment, so I'll leave you two to work out the details." He gives me a significant look. "Sebastian, I expect tosee improvement on your next assignment. Gavin is one of our best. Listen to him."
With that, he ushers us into the hallway, Freud trotting behind him, and closes his office door, leaving me standing alone with six-foot-four of smiling jock that is filling me with confusion.
"So," Gavin says brightly, "coffee? We should figure out a schedule."
I stare at him, still processing. "You're a psychology major."
"Yep. Sports psychology is my focus, but general human behavior is my jam." He starts walking, apparently assuming I'll follow. Annoyingly, I do.
"And you're a football player."
"And track and field," he adds cheerfully. "Shot put, hammer throw, discus, when they need me. Spring semester I'm mostly track, fall is football."
"And you're in a fraternity," I continue, ticking off all the boxes that should make me run in the opposite direction.
"Delta Psi Omega," he confirms. "I'm the recruitment chair."
"Of course you are," I say under my breath.
We step outside into the cool January air. The campus is pretty empty since most students are still in class. Gavin seems unfazed by the temperature despite his damp hair.
