Page 17 of Love is Angry

“Yeah. They’ve been doing the same thing for years, and they’re impressively adept at making everybody else think thatit’s some kind of voodoo magic or hidden science or something,” I chuckle. “Leave me your emails tonight, and I’ll send over the model for you to look at and have for reference. But you still need to up your game on the subject matter, so that’s what we’ll focus on tonight. Mr. Manning teaches chemistry, if I remember correctly. Did you bring your textbooks?” I look to the sophomores and the juniors. “This is valid for you, too. Mr. Manning will pull a surprise on you sometime soon. Don’t think it’s just the seniors who get the short end of the stick.”

That gets a dry chuckle out of the group, along with their full cooperation and undivided attention. For the next half hour, their minds are blobs of putty which I get to shape in whichever way I want. During sessions like this one, I often reach the same conclusion—I enjoy teaching, I like passing on all this knowledge, but I cannot stand an entire class of snot-nosed teens. That’s too many people for an introvert like me. Even tonight’s ten almost feel like too much, but they are manageable. Especially because they’re respectful. Here, I don’t have to worry about spitballs and gum in my hair. Here, everyone in front of me is willing and ready to learn. In a full classroom, it’s never that way.

Just as we’ve got our heads down, smack in the middle of an introductory chapter on polymers, the door to the dining room opens and the magic flies out the window. Suddenly, it’s eleven people that I’m supposed to deal with. And it’s not that that one extra person makes this massive room any smaller, it’s just that that one person seems to make this massive room a heck of a lot smaller. It’s not the number. It’s him. Rhue Echeveria.

He’s tall and so handsome it should be illegal. Insanely handsome. And those eyes… His gaze scorches as it pierces right through me. It takes everything in me to sit still, to not react in a way that would spread my thoughts wide open.

As he crosses the room, Rhue keeps his eyes locked with mine, the beginnings of a smile ticking his lips up just a little. There’s a dimple forming where that smile ends. It’s not deep enough to get lost in, but somehow, finding my way out is still impossible.

No eighteen-year-old should be able to look at people the way Rhue does. No eighteen-year-old should be as breath-stoppingly gorgeous as Rhue is. All of that beauty, though, it doesn’t come without power. Rhue sports dominance both on the surface and beneath. Son of Julian Echeveria, one of the richest men on the eastern seaboard and one of the most influential figures in Washington, Rhue’s bloodline practically owns half of Rochester.

“Are you the teacher?” he asks, sizing me up. I feel like a donut in a pastry shop display. There is hunger in his dark blue eyes, and the way he licks his lower lip tells me if he came to eat, he’s not going to leave famished. What scares me the most is that I’m not immune to his presence. I don’t know what sort of chemistry this is. I can explain the clash of pheromones and other sex-related hormones in the human body, but I cannot possibly make sense of what is happening in this very moment. I only know that I have no control over my own body anymore. Not now. Not while I’ve got Rhue Echeveria’s undivided and smoldering attention.

“And you are?” I ask, then clear my throat and hope to God he doesn’t know I’m already familiar with who he is.

“Rhue. Julian Echeveria’s son,” Sarah replies, putting on the most languorous smile. Oh, she’s got the hots for him. She’s melting all over the dinner table, leaning forward so that he might see the bumps beneath her dark green turtleneck. Sarah has been growing boobs these past few months. She’s what they call a late bloomer, and she comes from money—prime beef for someone like Rhue, yet he pays no attention to her whatsoever.His eyes never leave mine, and I feel tiny and insignificant despite my position of relative power as tutor in this specific equation. The last thing I want is for this guy to think he’s got some kind of hold over me.

“I don’t know who Julian Echeveria is,” I say, lying through my teeth, “but you’re late, Rhue. Group study started forty minutes ago. We only have one hour and twenty minutes left for tonight’s session. You’re behind.”

Rhue shrugs. “That’s fine. Consider this my introductory hour, then. I’ll sit in and listen and see if I like your tutoring style.”

“So, you’re testing me, is that it?” I reply, slightly insulted.

Oddly enough, I’m inclined to perform as well as I can—not necessarily to impress him, but to further establish myself as the alpha in the room. It’s all I can do as an introvert to not crumble into a fetal position under Jamie Tancredi’s dinner table.

“No, not testing you,” Rhue replies, smiling dryly. “Just wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Consider me already… intrigued.” That last word doesn’t drop without direct eye-contact, or the stench of his self-confidence marking every syllable.

Perhaps if Rhue looked his age, this would be a lot easier. An alpha male in the making isn’t as deadly or as intimidating as an alpha in training. But Rhue, with the stubble on his blade sharp jaw and defined muscles threatening to burst free from his button-up, he looks like he wrote the damn book on alphas.

“I’m not sure I’m following,” I tell him, happy that my voice doesn’t tremble. “It’s not like I advertise my services, and you certainly don’t strike me as the scholarly type.”

“I still need good grades if I’m to make it to my college of choice,” he says. “And you’re more popular than you think. Your students speak very highly of you.”

I glance at the table and notice the faint nods of approval. A smile sneaks onto my lips. It’s almost a reflex, a beam of pride shooting through me like glorious sunshine.

“I’m gonna go ahead and assume that he heard about me from one of you fine people,” I sigh, then nod slowly. “Very well, Mr. Echeveria, you’re free to join us and… observe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and it’s hard not to take note of the fact that he’s teasing me. Mocking me for how stern and professional I’m trying to be.

“Oh, no ma’am, please. I’m Madison.”

“Yes, Maddie.”

“Not Maddie,” I shoot back. “Madison. Maddie is for friends and family only, and you’re neither.”

It doesn’t upset him. If anything, judging by the gleam in his eyes, Rhue is fascinated. Curious. Likely determined to sit through the entire session if only to get further under my skin.

“My apologies, Madison,” Rhue says.

There is something in the way my name rolls off his lips that makes the back of my neck tingle. I take a deep breath and point to the last empty chair at the other end of the table.

“No worries. Have a seat, please. We’re currently going through the chemistry curriculum.”

He frowns as he looks around the table. “Well, that doesn’t make much sense. There are different years here. Right?”

“You’re right. But your younger schoolmates have high academic performances. Sammy over here,” I say, pointing at my favorite junior, “is about to skip a grade. Letitia, on the other hand, is willingly paying to be one year ahead of her class. She’s remarkably competitive. You see, everyone has a particular reason to be here. The seniors, much like you, need better grades. The others wish to up their game or are simply determined to enrich their education. From the moment I agreed to do these study groups––which, by the way, requireactive participation––we determined that each meetup would cover specific chapters across different subjects. Tonight, for example, we’re doing—”

“Manning’s chemistry curriculum,” Rhue cuts me off with a dry chuckle. “Figured that much after the pop quiz carnage.”

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