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Shawn smiles at me, and then his eyes fall to the book. I follow suit and begin marking off the pages he needs to read to understand the law discussion for this week.
“Read this,” I say, moving the book in front of him. I sink back in my chair and tap the pen on the table. “I need to see how you interpret the situation described on the next few pages to figure out how much we need to go over before we can begin.”
“All business and no fun,” Shawn says with a sexy smirk, his eyes pointed down at the table.
“All fun and no business is how you ended up in this mess in the first place,” I counter.
He peeks up at me from beneath his brows and runs a hand through his short blond hair. “At least it led me to you.”
My breath catches in my throat, forcing me to cough. “Eyes on the prize.”
“I’m already looking at it,” he challenges.
I raise my hand to Shawn’s forehead and feel his skin. “You must be coming down with something.” As I move my hand from his face, I wink, and he laughs.
“You know, it’s days like this that make me like you even more.”
My stomach knots, the bile rising from the back of my throat. What do I say in return?
Finch always knows the right things to say because guys like him can sweet talk a girl out of their clothes and into their bed as if it’s their job. He says he wants me, but I have trouble believing him.
For now, he just likes the idea of me or even the idea of his masked girl. Like most men, he only wants what he cannot have. And he knows I’m a virgin. That fact alone could make me even more desirable to a guy who wants to add another notch to their headboard. But it’s Finch or should I say, Shawn? In my mind, he’s still Finch, the unattainable football hottie I salivated over from afar. Now, he’s the man of my dreams and the one person who could make me believe in love once again if everything he says is true.
How long could anything between us last? He’ll be off to play in the NFL in no time, and where would that leave me? I’m not trophy wife material. Not that I should even be thinking of things so permanent when all we have done is kiss and make out in the hallway at his house. But I have to think more long term after all the years I spent planning my escape from Hell House.
“What are you doing after this?” He asks when I don’t respond to his comment.
“The usual.” I shrug against the wooden chair. “I’ll hang out here until it’s time to go home, grab a soda at the SAC, and then repeat my nightly routine.”
“Do you want some company again?”
“No, but thank you for asking. Clarissa grounded me until who knows when, and I’d rather not do anything else to provoke my stepmother before she ends my punishment.”
He shakes his head, annoyed, and maybe even a little angry. “You are way too old for punishments. If she paid your tuition for the rest of the year, then why don’t you leave now and get away from your stepmother?”
“I wish it were that simple, Shawn.” He has no idea how much I would love that to be true. “Where would I go? How would I get to school without Clarissa’s money?”
“But it’s your money. Is it not?” He scoots his chair until our thighs are touching and we’re sitting arm to arm. “Couldn’t you use your legal mind to find a way to get some of the money your father left to your stepmother?”
“I talked to some of my law professors about my situation, and they all agree that the estate legally passed to Clarissa, and I am entitled to nothing. I could fight it if I had something in writing from my dad, but he left nothing behind but me.”
He cups his hand on my shoulder, the heat from his skin leeching into mine, as he locks onto me. “There must be some other way. I wish I could help you, Ella.”
“I know you do, Shawn, and I appreciate everything. But some things are not meant to be.”
Like us, I want to say.
Before he can respond, the librarian comes up behind us and clears her throat. “No touching, please. Keep your hands to yourself, Mr. Finch.”
Holding back my laughter, I turn just enough to see Mrs. Potter scowling down at us.
“You should know better, Ella. I expect more from you.”
“Yes, of course,” I say, deflated.
“Sorry, it won’t happen again.” Shawn slides his hand off my shoulder and places it on his lap under the table. But his eyes tell me something different. It will happen again.
The school frowns upon fraternizing with students during tutoring hours. As Shawn’s tutor, it’s my job to help him study—not help him get a boner. He should probably stop wearing track pants when he’s around me. Just seeing his pants tent every time he touches me causes my nipples to harden. I share his desire.
