I slide another sheet toward him. “Let’s see if you can keep the streak alive.”
Pencil scratches fill the quiet. Without the swagger, he looks younger, focused. I catch myself staring and look away.
“Question,” he murmurs. “Third problem—magnitude or vector?”
I lean in to see and instantly regret it. He doesn’t move back. Warmth rolls off him, clean soap and detergent, steady breathing.
“Vector,” I manage. “Magnitude comes later.”
He nods, like that’s how he saw it too.
“Right.” His gaze lifts from the worksheet to my face—close enough that I catch the flecks of gold in blue. “Thanks.”
I should lean back. I don’t. Every nerve is aware of the inches between us.
“Wren.”
“Yeah?”
“Your eyes don’t stay one color,” he says quietly. “They go dark when you’re thinking, and then, when the light hits them just right…” His mouth tilts up. “They turn green. Like you’re letting something dangerous slip.”
Heat floods my face, too fast, too sharp. My stomach drops, as if I missed a step I didn’t see. “That’s—you can’t just?—”
“Can’t what?” he says lightly. “State facts?”
“That’s not tutoring.”
“No.” His voice lowers, softens. “It’s not.”
Something in my chest stutters, then slips out of rhythm entirely. For one suspended second, the room feels weightless. I’m aware of how close he is, of the air between us thinning, of the way I’ve forgotten how to breathe properly.
I think he’s going to kiss me—actually kiss me—and the realization hits so hard it makes me dizzy. I can’t tell if I want it, or if I’m terrified. Maybe both.
His gaze drops to my mouth. His breath changes—deeper, slower.
He hesitates. Long enough for me to notice. Then his fingers find mine, barely there.
A shiver ripples up my arm, uninvited. I don’t move, but my body does. Before I can stop myself, I lean in.
“Tell me if this crosses a line,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the inside of my wrist.
My thoughts scatter. Every word I had lined up evaporates. That single touch is a short circuit—pulse loud in my ears, skin suddenly too aware of itself.
Before I can argue with myself, before I can rememberthe rules, my hand turns on its own, letting his palm settle over mine. Our fingers lace together, natural and wrong and perfect all at once.
Pretend. It’s just pretend.
Except my eyes close anyway. My shoulders loosen. My skin drinks in the warmth of him like it’s been waiting.
Then his phone buzzes on the table, shattering the spell.
He stills. Blinks once. Runs a hand through his hair like he’s grounding himself…and lets go.
“Where were we?” he asks.
“Torque,” I manage, even though I’m pretty sure all the torque in the room is currently twisting my insides.
“Right. Torque.”
