I hurry back to the front of the room and direct the class to open their textbooks. Over the next twenty minutes of lecture, I find myself losing my train of thought as I’m distracted over and over again by my response to Cara. Why now? We’re weeks into the semester, and I’ve never felt even a little bit attracted to her before. What’s changed?
Desperate for a break to rein in my racing thoughts, I give the class a few practice problems to work through. I take a drink from my water bottle and walk around the room, checking on the class’s progress. I don’t go near the back, though. Ihaveto get Cara out of my thoughts.
That proves easier said than done though when we start to review the problems together. I write out the equations on the board and ask for volunteers to provide their answers. No one in the class speaks up, which isn’t unusual. But just as I’m about to pick someone at random, a hand goes up in the back of the room. Cara. She has never once volunteered to answer a question before. Reluctantly, I call on her, and she slowly approaches the board on her crutches. Faster than should have been possible, given what I know of her skillset, she’s written out the steps to solving the equation and provided the correct answer.
I’m dumbfounded, and it takes me longer than it should to react.
“That’s right, Ms. Tanner, good job,” I tell her, struggling to mask my surprise.
“I can do the next one too, if no one else wants to volunteer,” she says, looking over her shoulder.
Her classmates are perfectly accepting of this plan, so she moves a little to the right and completes the next problem. Correct again.
“Well, it looks like somebody is studying,” I say, becoming suspicious. Cara is not this good at math. I don’t care how much studying she’s done over the last two days, there is no way she would have made that much progress. I’m not sure how she’s doing it, but she must be cheating.
“Since you’ve obviously got a handle on these problems, care to try something a little more challenging?” I ask.
Cara shrugs confidently, “Sure.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see her classmates’ eyes pinging back and forth between us. I move to the board, doing my best not to get too close to Cara, but damn, she smells amazing. This time, the problem I write on the board isn’t one from her textbook. It’s one I created for a test in my next class, which is a level above this one.
I’m dumbfounded yet again when Cara flies through the equation without hesitation. How is she doing this? Has she been failing on purpose? If so, why would she do that? A shrill sound breaks through my shock, and I realize I’ve been staring at the board for over a minute. The sound is the alarm on my phone, signaling the end of class, and my students rush for the door. I find myself alone in the room with Cara, who is slowly making her way to her desk on her crutches. I watch as she packs her things and moves awkwardly toward the door. She looks over her shoulder at me before she leaves.
“I can still take the retest this afternoon?” she asks.
I nod, unable to form words just yet. It isn’t until she’s gone and I’m alone that I realize I never gave the class their next homework assignment.
Chapter 3
Lorelei
Last night, I settled in at Cara’s tiny studio apartment and flipped through her calculus book to make sure I still remembered it. After a couple hours of review, I was confident that I still had a handle on the material and her retest would be a piece of cake.
But after attending her class this morning, I’m not so sure anymore. It’s not the math I’m worried about though. It’s the professor. Cara never mentioned that her professor istheGabriel Stewart. So, to say I was shocked when he entered the classroom would be an understatement. He’s basically the rock star of the mathematics world. I read his book when I was in high school and even drew a heart around his picture on the back cover. In the flesh, he’s more handsome than that rakish black and white photo, with his serious brows drawn together over deep green eyes, a strong jaw, and full lips pulled down into a perpetual scowl that could make the devil want to confess his sins. This is Cara’s evil teacher? They say you’re not supposed to meet your heroes, but this is a real blow. And what’s worse is I can’t admit he’s my hero because I’m supposed to be my sister.
I tried to impress him in class by participating and answering questions. Then, he gave me an equation that I know was far too advanced for the class, and I started to wonder if he suspected something. He kept looking at me like a puzzle he couldn’t solve. I was grateful when the alarm went off and class ended.
But now, I’m on my way to his office for the retest, and I’m worried I messed this whole thing up for Cara. She’ll kill me if I not only ruin her chance at passing this class, but let it slip that we’ve switched places. We’ll both be expelled from our universities for sure. When I take the test, I’ll have to figure out a way to make it look like Cara’s work, not mine. I let my ego and desire to show off to my idol get in the way earlier; I can’t afford to let it happen again.
The campus is much bigger than I was prepared for, and my ankle is throbbing by the time I make it to Professor Stewart’s office. I knock on the door and then lean against the wall to get some weight off it, pissed all over again that I got injured in the first place. I’d tried a jump I’ve never quite landed perfectly, and this time, went down hard. The other girls who were on the ice with me had all gasped and gathered around, certain I’d broken something. I had hoped a sprain would have been something I could wrap, then get back on the ice, but the team doctor had warned me I could cause serious damage if I didn’t stay off it for a couple weeks. It’s a huge setback, and it’s gotten me thinking more about my future. What if I get injured again, but worse? What will I do if I can’t skate anymore? I’m majoring in business, but college for me has always been a means to further my skating career. Earning a degree is secondary.
For the last sixteen years, I’ve been laser focused on skating, getting better, excelling. Winning is great, but I’m not happy unless I’m as good asIcan be, that’s what matters. The problem is I always think I can be better. I’m never good enough in my own mind, which is why I keep trying shit I know I shouldn’t.
I have to knock on Professor Stewart’s door again, and finally a deep voice calls for me to enter. The office is spacious and airy with multiple windows and a few hanging plants. Without looking up, he waves me to a small desk by the window. I make my way in, and he gives me half a glance.
“What happened to your ankle?” he asks.
“I twisted it trying to land a triple axel,” I say without thinking.
“Very funny.”
Great, now he thinks I’m being a smartass, but I guess it’s better than him calling me a liar and getting Cara kicked out of school for cheating.
“Leave your bag on that table. Phone too, please.”
His voice is clipped, but the deep bass rumble makes me shiver in a not so bad way. I study him, but since he’s looking at the papers on his desk, all I can see is thick, slightly wavy dark hair. I do as he asks and sit at the desk where a large, sealed envelope awaits. God, this guy sure thinks his little retest is awfully important. I’m surprised he doesn’t ask me to roll up my sleeves to prove I haven’t snuck in an answer sheet.
“Have a seat, please, Miss Tanner,” he says coolly.
