Then again, he’s the one who chose the location and booked the room, at least according to the email his team sent me.
I can’t do anything but wait, so I pull my phone out and scroll through social media to kill some time. After a few more minutes,the door swings open, sending a blast of stale paper-scented air into my face, and I jerk my head up to find Nick walking in.
He isn’t out of breath, and he isn’t saying anything. He only sends me an upward nod before sitting down across from me.
“Dean, right?” he asks.
“Yup,” I confirm. “You must be Nick.”
“That’s me. Thanks for agreeing to tutor me, man. I’m not doing so great.”
He isn’t doing so great at making a first impression, that’s for sure. Annoyance pricks at my stomach as I try to keep my face from molding itself into something contemptuous, because between the two of us, I’d like to think I can have some kind of decency, even when it isn’t returned.
I take him in a little more, watching as he unpacks his bag and making sure my expression stays expectant, rather than appreciative. Like, sure. He’s nice to look at. Really,reallynice, with short brown hair that’s neat on the sides and a coordinated mess on top, but I’m not the kind of person who lets something like attractiveness make up for him not apologizing, especially when he didn’t evenacknowledgehow he’s wasting my time.
“Right, so…you’re ten minutes late,” I prompt.
Nick widens his eyes ever so slightly. They’re pretty like the rest of him—grayish blue, and dark like how my mood is right now. “Oh, damn. Thanks for waiting.”
That’s it?Not even a scrap of shame?
I don’t know the guy, but if he’s used to everyone else bending to whatever he wants to do just because, I don’t know, he’s popular or hot or an athlete, he hasn’t met me or the majority of the world who don’t care about that.
I grit my teeth, my filter disintegrating faster than I can keep up with. “Look,” I say, crossing my arms. “I’m gonna give it to you straight: I don’t need the cash, and I’m doing you afavorby tutoring you. The least you can do is show up on time, and maybe act like you give a fuck if you aren’t.”
He freezes, and seeing the dejected look on his face makes my resolve soften atinybit.
“Shoot,” he starts, before pausing to scratch the back of his neck. “I’m sorry. I—fuck, uh, I don’t have an excuse or anything. Shit, I’m just…really sorry, man.”
Finally.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Keeping my expression as neutral as possible, I open my own laptop as he continues settling in. “Just don’t do it again, and we’ll be fine.”
While he’s rifling around in his backpack, I sneak a peek over at the contents, and my god, he sure is a ball of chaos. I didn’t think anyone still gave out physical resources in college, but his bag is packed full of loose, wadded-up sheets of paper. Who knows how long those have been in there, and from the sheer volume, I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s where he keeps his birth certificate.
Still, he retrieves a relatively pristine textbook and a tablet without any cracks on the screen—he came prepared.
“Okay, I’m ready now,” he says, flipping his textbook open. “Again, I’m so sorry about being late. That was a total dick move.”
“It’s fine.” My eyes catch on the margins, and they’re full of annotations. Even though I can’t read what they are since I’m on the other side of the table, they’re too neat to be random scribbles.
Huh. Nick might have bombed a test about numbers and family members, and he might have needed a little prompting to be polite, but he’s trying. Maybe heisn’texpecting me to single-handedly save his grade.
And now I’ve seen the tiniest scrap of accountability on his end, I’m seeing—and appreciating—more about the guy.
Especially a dimpled, tentative smile jumping right out at me, making my chest do a little twinge. How predictable.
CHAPTER THREE
NICK
Oh, god. Dean hates me.
He might not be glowering anymore, but he doesn’t like me. That much I know, and it’s enough to make my stomach churn. My friends expect me to be late for pretty much everything at this point, and other than a little ribbing here and there, it hasn’t been a problem, but Dean isn’t my friend. He doesn’t know me at all, and now I look like an asshole.
Hell, I actuallyaman asshole.
Damn it. I fucked up big time, and the worst thing is, he’s not even beingmean. He could have thrown my stupid textbook in my face and stormed out, and I wouldn’t have blamed him, but he stayed, and that’s hitting my guilt a little too hard for comfort.
