Page 93 of Small Town Firsts

Damn you’re smart, and while I’ll never say it out loud, I’m glad you’re my tutor.

-Brock

I read his email twice,my cheeks blushing crimson.Is he really glad I’m his tutor? Or is he just saying that?Thoughts race through my brain, one after another; I’m lost in them until he clears his throat.

“I mean it, Abs. I’m glad you’re my tutor.”

My teeth come down on my bottom lip, slowly rolling over it, and his eyes darken, roaming over my body as if he’s catalogingevery minute detail—from my scuffed-up shoes to my cotton candy flyaways. The hunger in his stare causes my body to remember the feel of him grinding behind me on the dance floor.Gah!Snap out of it, AJ!

“Thanks, Brock.” I’m pleasantly surprised when my voice comes out nice and neutral, because good God, I was prepared for breathy and lust filled.

We fly through the rest of our session, working together to fill in the answers on our study guide. Brock impresses me with his knowledge, which makes me feel extra bitchy for assuming he was a dumb jock. Because really, he’s anything but. It’s obvious he works hard and is fucking smart. So, whydoeshe need tutoring?

Wednesday passes by in a blur,and before I know it, Thursday is dawning, which means…tutoring with Brock tonight. Strangely though, I’m not feeling the usual annoyance or apprehension that comes with thinking of him. No, instead, there’s a swoop low in my belly and tingling in my core. I squeeze my thighs together to alleviate the feeling, but it’s useless.

My alarm blares, bringing the crazy, runaway train that my thoughts have become to a halt. I silence the awful buzzing sound and force myself out of the warm confines of my bed and into the shower.

But there, under the hot spray, my thoughts turn back to my once friend turned arch-nemesis turned…tutee? But that doesn’t seem like the right descriptor for him at all. Friend? No. Hell no. I one thousand percent wouldn’t call us friends. Acquaintances, maybe?

Frustrated with myself, I finish up in the shower only to realize I spent way too much time trying to define my nonexistent relationship with Brock.Jesus.He doesn’t even have to be present to drive me crazy.

Now pressed for time, I fly through getting ready, barely bothering to check what I’m throwing on. I bypass coffee entirely, flying out the door and into my car. My first class today is on the far side of campus and luck seems to be on my side, as I don’t hit a single red light, and I manage to snag a primo parking space.

Clambering out of my car, I snatch my bag off my passenger seat and haul ass down the cobbled path toward my marketing class. Professor Boyce, while sweet as pie, is a stickler for punctuality, and has been known to lock the doors at five after.

A quick glance at the smartwatch on my wrist tells me class technically started two minutes ago, but the door is within sight and another student just walked in—fuck yes,I’m gonna make it!

Until…

My toe snags on the uneven sidewalk, and I’m flying through the air, landing on my face and skidding to a stop, a pair of khaki-clad legs stopping my concrete slide.

“Damn, Abby Jane, I didn’t expect you to go and fall for me like that. And so soon. What will people think?”

No. No. No.Luck, you fickle, prickly, two-timing bitch.

“Larson,” I grit out, scooting back from him.

“You gonna stay down there, or…” He trails off, and I drag my eyes up to his, squinting to block out the sun, which is shining around him like a damn halo. He’s smirking at me, like he’s thinking of all the things he’d like me to do while I’m down here.Ugh.

“Yes, Brock. I’m gonna stay here, right here in this very spot, all day. However did you guess?”

He winks at me and taps two fingers to his temple. “My mom says I’m a smart cookie.”

“So smart you need tutoring,” I grumble under my breath, immediately regretting it. Especially when I see the hurt look on his face.

“Well, fuck you too, Abby Jane.” He turns and walks away, leaving me in a heap of regret and late AF for class.

The rest of my day goes the same way. The arugula in my panini at lunch slipped out and landed on my shirt, bringing a healthy dose of garlic aioli with it, leaving me with an awesome white-ish jizz-looking stain on my black shirt.

My second and final class of the day—Early Literacy—had a sub that was gung-ho on torturing all of us, and on top of all that, I’ve been simmering in my own guilt for how I treated Brock this morning.

I even spaced out during the second half of my EL class, dreaming up ways of how I could make it up to him, which totally backfired because the sub called me out for daydreaming.Like, get a grip lady.

Now, I’m loitering in the lobby of my apartment building, getting ready to head to the library, and the damn sky falls. Literally, it is pouring, and there’s no way in hell I’m going out in that, especially after the day I’ve had.

But! This could be exactly what I need to make up my snotty behavior from this morning.

Inspired and inpatient, I skip the elevator and fly up the stairs to my apartment, where I retrieve my laptop from my bag and fire off an email to Brock, seeing as I don’t have his number.Note to self: Get Brock’s number.

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