“Not for a couple hours, but I wanted to get a head start. I’m going to miss not having you to ogle.”
Even now, his face heats at the compliment. “Really? Because I think I’m about to have the most productive quarter of my life,” he says. “Come here. You’re cute.”
She brings her legs down from his desk, flashing the special podiatrist-recommended shoes she’s wearing, the ones with the chunkiest soles he’s ever seen. “Even in these shoes?”
“Especially in those shoes.”
When she gets up from the chair, he pulls her in for a kiss before he sits down, gesturing for her to slide onto his lap. His first class isn’t until tomorrow, and he’s ahead on his prep work…
“You know,” she says, “I should lodge an official complaint. Winter quarter just started, but I still haven’t gotten my fall grades yet.”
Nick levels her with a serious look, trying his hardest to hold back a laugh.“Ramona.”
“What?”
“They’re in the student portal.”
She heaves a groan, giving his chest a dramatic thump. “You’re fucking kidding me,” she says. “I could have had instant validation this whole time and didn’t even know?”
“I mentioned it in class! Multiple times!”
“I was distracted. By your face. And your body. And that thing you do when you’re pretending not to look at me but youreallywant to look at me.” With a shake of her head, she reaches for her phone. “Now I don’t know if I want you to watch.”
“I promise, it’s not bad.”
The way the anxiety plays across her face as she opens up the portal—lower lip between her teeth, brow scrunched—somehow makes him love her even more.
“Philosophy, B,” she reads. “Reasonable. Some of that readingwas a snooze. Marine biology, B-plus.” Then she meets his gaze over her phone. “Psychology…A-minus.”
“You earned it,” he says. “You did a phenomenal job. Really.”
“But not perfect?” she teases, but she’s grinning, clearly thrilled about her grades. “Tell me that the next time I sleep with the professor.”
“I have something else for you.” When she lifts her eyebrows suggestively, he clarifies: “Not that kind of something else. At least, not yet.” Still balancing her on his lap, he opens his desk drawer and hands her the page he printed on cardstock after spending much too long formatting it.
“You printed out my report card?” she asks when he passes it to her, but then her eyes drop to the paper and her confusion morphs to a soft “…Oh.”
Ramona Wilder Report Card
Antique Collecting
A
