Page 30 of Ruthless Edge

"One second." I finish the note.

"Emma."

I look up.

Owen is leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed and his chin tipped slightly down, which on anyone else I'd read as closed-off, but on Owen I've learned to read as thinking something through. "Would you want to get together again sometime? Outside of the regular sessions?"

"Sure," I say. "I think Priya mentioned Thursday for the ethics module, but I can check the group chat and confirm."

He pauses. "I was actually thinking of something more like dinner."

I consider this. "The library café stays open until ten on weeknights. We could go over the ethics material there. They have soup on Thursdays."

"And maybe a movie after."

I put my pen down. "Movies aren't a great study environment. Too passive. You retain maybe thirty percent of what you review right before passive viewing. We'd be better off with flashcards."

Owen looks at me for a second. Something is working behind his expression that I can't immediately classify.

"What if we skipped the studying part," he says.

"Then why would we get together?"

"To have fun."

"What?"

"When is the last time you went on a date?"

I open my mouth. Then I close it. Then I review the question for any academic angle it might have, and it doesn't have one, and I look at Owen, who is sitting across from me with his arms still crossed and his warm brown eyes doing something I am only now, at this exact moment, beginning to interpret correctly.

"Are you," I say, and stop.

He waits.

"Are you asking me on a date?"

Owen loses the battle with whatever expression he's been holding back. The laugh comes out fully this time, genuine and warm, and he drops his face into one hand for a second before looking back up at me. "I have been asking you on a date for the last four minutes."

"I thought you wanted to study."

"I remember," he says, grinning. "Emma, I'm asking you on a date. A real one. Dinner, something fun after, no flashcards. Just you and me, not for the ethics module."

I stare at him.

Then I do something I don't usually do, which is look around the room to confirm that I am the person being addressed, because the study room is empty except for us and the evidence strongly suggests that I am in fact the person he's looking at, but I want to be certain.

"You're serious?" I say.

"Very much."

My stomach flips. Owen is watching me with this patient, slightly amused expression, like he expected this reaction and he's fine with it, and nobody has ever looked at me that way before. Like they knew the disbelief was coming and came anyway.

"Nobody asks me out," I say. At least not really. The last three guys I’d dated I’d asked out. The others that ask me out… aren’t usually quality guys. They’re just looking for a quick fuck.

"Guys try. I’ve seen it. It’s painful to watch."

My cheeks feel hot. "I mean, people like you don't ask me out."