The voice startled me so much that the textbook slipped out of my hands. I scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor, but another hand got it first. A masculine hand. I let my gaze drift up to see Tino’s grinning face staring back at me and my heart kicked up a notch.
“Hey,” I said. My voice came out all breathless and I was sure he was going to notice something was off—the same fear I’d lived with all day Sunday and yesterday—but he didn’t seem to notice it at all.
“For you,” he said, holding out a Heart’s Coffee to-go cup. When I didn’t grab it immediately, he put it on the shelf of my locker and I stared at it, wondering what it meant. Was it a fake dating thing, trying to give the masses something to talk about? “It has an ungodly amount of sugar in it. Like, I genuinely think this is illegal in several countries.”
Despite myself, I blinked up at him. “Really?”
“Really,” he confirmed solemnly. “You weren’t at breakfast, and I know you’re only human after you’ve had about five of those disgusting drinks. I could only carry one drink, but I’ve got some energy drinks in my locker if you need something better.”
A warmth—small, traitorous—bloomed in my chest. It only worsened when he smiled, the soft early-morning kind of grin, the one that made him look younger and irritatingly sincere. His hair was still a little damp like he hadn’t had time to dry it after his shower and whatever cologne he used that made my stomach feel like it was doing cautious backflips. How on earth was I supposed to focus in class when I knew Tino was in the same building as me looking like this?
I tore my gaze away from his face, and my thoughts away from him, by taking the textbook back from his hand. It had fallen shut as he grabbed it and my papers were sticking out at awkward angles throughout the whole thing, probably all bent and rumpled now. I opened it back up to the chapter I’d had it on before, even though I would have much rather grab the coffee and chug it as quickly as I possibly could.
But as my eyes ran over the notes on my page, my thoughts stayed focused on the coffee cup. He hadn’t brought me coffee before class yesterday, but he hadn’t needed to because we sat together for breakfast. In fact, we’d eaten most of our meals together since we started this charade. I hadn’t thought much of it since it wasn’t unusual for us to end up sitting together but…
“I hope you weren’t waiting for me,” I said. “At breakfast, I mean. I just had this quiz this morning and I was worried about getting here late, so I?—”
“I wasn’t waiting,” Tino said, but his voice was a little too nonchalant and he shrugged one shoulder in a way that made me think he absolutely did wait for me and he didn’t want to say it. He leaned his hip against the locker beside mine, peering at the messy textbook in my hand. “So, quiz?”
“Death,” I corrected. “I have a quiz on… everything. Every single thing that has ever happened in the history of biology. Apparently.”
He angled his head, reading over my shoulder. He was close—too close, in the sense that I could feel the heat of him along my arm—and I had to physically stop myself from stepping sideways into him.
He grinned and nudged my shoulder lightly with his own. “You’ll be fine.”
“That’s bold of you to say. I’ve forgotten my own name twice this morning.”
“I can quiz you if you want,” he offered, leaning closer so he could skim the open page.
His sweater smelled faintly of laundry soap and something earthy?
I shook my head. “I think the only thing that can save me at this point is divine intervention.”
“Lucky for you,” he said, sending me a small, conspiratorial smile, “I’m basically a miracle worker.”
I snorted. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Okay, well, at least pretend I’m helping your confidence.”
“Sure,” I said softly, and flipped the page even though I hadn’t finished the previous one. “You’re very helpful. Look at you, motivating me like a supportive boyfriend.”
His eyes flicked to mine, quick but sharp. I saw something shift in his gaze, like a flash of hurt that came and went so quickly that I wasn’t sure if I’d imagined it entirely. Then without comment, he reached up and fixed a strand of hair that had fallen across my cheek, tucking it neatly behind my ear. His fingers brushed my skin, the barest touch, but enough to make a quiet shiver crawl down my spine.
Fake. It was fake. And it still made my pulse stutter.
“You look tired,” he said softly.
“Wow. Romantic.”
“I meant it affectionately.”
“Uh-huh.”
He raised his hands in surrender. “All right, fine. Let me try again.” His gaze dipped to my face, and something mischievous tugged at his mouth. “You look like someone who deserves a good-luck kiss before their quiz.”
My heart did not need to react to that. It truly didn’t.
But it did.
