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His gaze flicks to my mug, narrows at the frothy concoction staining the pile of napkins, then turns to the counter and—shifts. Softens.
Ambrose Brent stares at that coffee counter with unbridled longing, like a Shakespearean suitor gazing up at his lover’s balcony. His chest rises and falls on a deep breath, like he’s sucking the scent of roasted beans into his lungs. His pupils expand behind those polished glasses, and lord, this manwants.
But then he clears his throat and drops into the chair opposite mine, all business again. Long, quick fingers clear up the damp napkins, wiping down the table and piling them along one edge like a sandbank.
“No, I had one earlier. Do you have your notes for this semester?”
After that little display? After he practically drooled all over the Brainy Bean floor?I’mjonesing for another caffeine fix after that, and I’ve still got half a mug to drink.
“You can have more than one coffee, you know. It doesn’t break any rules of nature.”
Ambrose’s jaw hardens, and he unfolds a sleek laptop, not bothering to answer. The laptop hums gently, waking at the brush of fingertips over its keys.
My own laptop is wedged in my backpack, ancient and heavy and slow. There’s no point in slamming the horrible thing down on this table—even if there was room, which there’s not—because by the time I get it to boot up, our session will be over, and we’ll both be old and gray.
“So,” my new tutor says. Hazel eyes pin me to the spot, magnified slightly by those glasses. “Astrophysics.”
“Astrophysics,” I agree.
Do my parents realize what they’ve done? Do they know that they’ve paid for the biggest distraction of my college career so far? Seriously: have theyseenthis guy?
“Let’s discuss the Big Bang,” Ambrose says.
I lean forward, propping my chin on one hand. “Oh, yes. Let’s.”
Two
Ambrose
It is far too hard to concentrate when every breath I take is laced with the scent of roasted coffee beans. Far too hard to think at all in here, surrounded on all sides by temptation, with the constant thump of china mugs against tabletops drumming out a sinful rhythm.
As our session ticks away, a caffeine withdrawal headache creeps its fingers around my skull andsqueezes, urging me with its vise-grip to crack and go to the counter already.
To cave and order a large black coffee with an extra shot. To plant myself face-first in a bucket of caffeine and wallow around in it like a pig in mud, groaning with relief.
Meanwhile my new student chatters away about relativity, the last dregs of her drink going cold in her mug, wasted.
Wasted. My nostrils flare as I suck in a ragged breath.
Which drink did she get? Some sugary monstrosity, no doubt, with an extra shot of flavored syrup and a twirled head of whipped cream. An insult to coffee beans everywhere. Lane isclearly that type. She’s too perky for it to have been decaf, so at least there’s that—
“You look ready to suck the spilled latte out of those napkins.” Lane smiles and tilts her head, glossy blonde curls brushing against her shoulders. My new student is the Marilyn Monroe of this concrete campus, and the Physics department must descend into chaos whenever she’s near. “Are you sure you don’t want one? You’ve held off for twenty minutes now.”
Hidden by my laptop, my fist squeezes until my knuckles creak. Am I that obvious? That pathetic?
No, I will not break. Not here. Not now.
Not in front ofher.
“I’m sure. Tell me about space weather, please.”
“But—”
“The weather, Lane.”
“I’m just—”
“I know you understand this.” Pinching the bridge of my nose, I gust out a sigh. Hell, even myeyeballsache. “Believe me, it is painfully obvious that this session is pointless for both of us, but humor me. Tell me about space weather, so I can charge your parents for this hour with a clear conscience.”
