“Do you mind letting me take a look at your test?” Dean asks, jolting me out of my nerve-induced fog. “I can troubleshoot your mistakes a little better if I know where to focus.”
I give him a tight nod and email him the scanned results link, my stomach knotting up and preparing me for more well-deserved judgment.
His face stays calm as he scrolls through the document, flicking a thick strand of black hair away from his forehead. “So looking at your answers, it seems like youalmostgot most things right, but you lost a ton of points by writing numerals, not characters for the numbers themselves. That shouldn’t be hard to fix.”
Oh. “Really?”
He offers a smile. It’s small, but it does a ton of heavy lifting for relieving my stress. “Yup. I think you’re gonna do well. You got almost everything else right, which is great.”
Shit. Dean’s being nice to me again, and I don’t deserve any of that?—
“And then you mixed up a few characters here and there…” He tilts his head at me, pausing and narrowing his eyes. Sheesh, even hisfaceis kind, even though his sharp cheekbones and dark eyebrows are intimidating as heck. “Nick, are you good? You’re spacing out every time I look at you.”
“I’m scared,” I blurt out, and it’s the truth.
“Of this module? It’snumbers.”
“No. Of you.” I grimace.
Dean smiles wider—it’s casual and unbalanced, which helps undo the bundle of knots in my core. “What, do I look mean or something? Trust me, I don’t bite.”
“No, but I made you mad.”
Sighing, he leans back in his chair and stretches up. “Dude, I’m notmad. Like, yeah, I was pretty annoyed that you were late, but I can let things slide.”
I fiddle with the pen in my hands, only to find I’ve completely disassembled it over the past minute. “Really?”
“Yes, really.” Dean purses his lips and twists one of his hoodie tassels between his fingers, still grinning. “Okay, you’re nervous and sorry and you regret it. I’m not gonna hold it against you, and we can start over. How does that sound?”
“Awesome. Thank you.”
He extends his right hand. “Great. Hi, I’m Dean, and I’m your tutor for the semester.”
I return the handshake, andooh, his hand is warm. “Hi, I’m Nick, and I have no idea what I’m doing.”
That earns me a quiet laugh. “Don’t worry. I can maybe try to help. No promises, though.”
Without thinking, I reply, “No promises? Damn, where’d the team find you?”
Shit. Is it too soon to slip back into joking?
“Two of your team assistants plucked me off the street,” he deadpans.
I scoff. “Deadass?”
“Oh yeah. Not kidding. That’s why I’m not making any promises.” Dean chuckles, and any remnants of my earlier unease are nowhere to be found.
Encouraged, I raise my hands in mock shock. “Woah. Just like that? Did they even check to see if you can speak Chinese?” I’m ninety percent joking, but he haszerotrace of a foreign accent, which piques my curiosity.
He shrugs. “I do. It’d be kind of hardnotto, since I grew up over there and speak it with my parents. But I went to an international school, so that’s why I talk?—”
“—like a frat bro from Connecticut?” I tease, because he really does, with a funny placid drawl and everything.
He scoffs, shaking his head and snickering. “I donot.”
“You totally do.”
“Come on, don’t do me like that.” Dean rolls his eyes, and sheesh, he’s got a great smile—it makes him look approachable and chill, even when I’m ribbing him. “Anyway, don’t distract me. Let’s get your grade up.”
