He falls silent for a moment. “Okay,” he says. “I just know that most of it from her side is jealousy.”
“Jealousy?” I ask.
He nods. “She doesn’t want to be the third wheel.” He taps the table. “Alright. Well, can we still be friends?”
I look at him and nod once. “Yeah, sure.”
He folds his hands together. “Good. You’re the best tutor there is, so I can’t lose you.”
Our eyes lock for a second.
I inhale, not enjoying the compliment. “You could definitely find a better math tutor than me, and he or she would come with fewer problems.”
“What if I talk to my sister?” he asks suddenly.
I swallow. “What?” I’m taken aback by that. “We barely know each other.”
“Yeah, but––” he looks at me through hooded eyes. “Are you coming to the Hawthorne House tonight?”
“Are you inviting me?” I whisper.
He nods. “You’re always welcome. You always have been, but G always said it wasn’t your thing.”
I flush. He’s asked about me before?Don’t be so flattered at the first sign of attention. My God.“She invited me this morning.”
He opens his arms. “Invitation from the host, and the host’s sister. Looks like you have to come.”
I reach for my laptop and pull it open. “Do you need tutoring today, or do you want to work on something else?”
“We did most of the work yesterday.” He pulls his bag onto the table and takes out his binder. Then he looks at it sideways. “Something else.”
“Okay.”
We turn to our laptops, and for the life of me, I keep my eyes strictly on the screen. Mara was right last night about the staring. If given the opportunity, I would sit here and stare at Benson Reeve. I have my eyes on the screen, but my mind’s focused on what he’s doing in my peripherals. He looks consumed in what’s on his screen with a furrowed brow and his eyes darting back and forth. I blow out hot air.
“Anything I can help with?” he asks after a beat.
I stare at my screen. Did I externally groan out of frustration? I don’t blame him for assuming it was an academic sigh.
“Real Analysis?”
I say, “Do you want to try?”
He stands and walks over. My heart slams against my ribs with every step he takes, and then I inhale him in when he hovers over me. My heartbeat crawls up my neck. He reads the problem with a focused expression, and then he says, “Yeah, I don’t know if I can help you with that.”
I look at my screen and pull my notebook closer to me. I start writing down the correct formula, teaching him how to begin answering the problem. He pulls the chair next to mine and sits in it. His long legs accidentally bump mine under the table.
“Excuse me,” he says at the contact, and then, to prolong the joke, he presses his leg against mine.
I glance at him, bumping him back. “Excuseme.”
His eyes flick to mine as his warm leg is flush against mine. “Excuse me.”
I pause, turning my body to him. “Benson.”
He smirks, leaning further down, stealing more of my space. “Lucy.” He looks at my lips.
My nerves tangle in my chest as my heart gallops. “Continue,” he says nonchalantly, pointing at the notebook. He’s not going to move his leg, and I don’t know what to do. I’m frozen. I can’t concentrate with him this close to me.
