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I was also twelve minutes into the class before I realized I was in the wrong one. One that wasn't mine.
Nick Jessop sent me to the wrong fucking class.
Tutoring was going to be fun.
CHAPTER TWO
NICK
Chloe Duke was onehell of a surprise. She was both everything I expected, and nothing like it. Long legs that went on for days at a time to tanned, curved, well-muscled ankles that looked right at home in those pristine white trainers, and the tiny little blue denim skirt she wore. Then she changed after her shower and ended up wearing jeans, and a white tank top... and I swore my heart actually ached for the athlete turned all-American hottie.
That was the girl I agreed to help Professor Reynolds with when he asked me to tutor her.
The almost perfect start for her sport. Even though I wasn’t the biggest fan, I recognized skill when I saw it. After watching her train from the shadows for a bit before I announced my presence to the wall of muscle of her coach I could seewhyChloe Duke, at least, with her slapped on facade, was the Allstars’ highpoint.
It also wasn’t hard to see she was over scheduled, and mentally exhausted enough to fail a class. I suspected she would have blitzed under other circumstances. Not that she’d know, because I doubt she checked her grades. Her agent or coach or someone else who held her tightly scheduled life together probably did the layman tasks, and those chose what information actually made it to her.
So I knew she didn't expect me to know she was failing class. Something I didn't think her coach knew, and I suspected he’d be shitty about that as well. I leaned back in my chair, fantasising about those long legs and what I could do with them wrapped around my head. Not that I ever have a chance with a girl like Chloe. We were from different worlds.
The best I could do was give her a little life coaching on reality on the fun side of campus to go with her engineering tutoring. Honestly, if she was that damn good at tennis, and from the championship she most recently played that was splashed all over the school newspaper as well as ones further afield, it was clear she was heading for a grand slam next year. I didn't understand why she was in engineering at all. I could bet my wisdom teeth she had a kick ass knowledge base in nutrition and sports medicine.
My ruminations took me to the end of the period. I packed up my things, having taken hardly any notes – Chloe Duke was such a delicious distraction – slung my laptop case across my chest and headed out the door, only to find the object of my morning’s fantasy seated across the hall from my class door.
Her blonde head down, she scribbled in a notebook with a holographic cover that reflected a kaleidoscope of shapes doubled in blue light across the floor in front of her.
A brief smile crossed my face as I found myself standing next to her. Planting my butt against the wall, I slid down it until I rested next to her
"What are you doing?"
"Journaling." Her words were muffled behind her ponytail that slipped forward to cover half of her face. On a whim, I reached out and tucked her hair back over her shoulder where it hung just below the middle of her back, bringing her out of her reverie. She looked at me, surprised. “Why did you do that?"
"I wanted to see your face.” I dropped my hand, and she nodded. The air between us fell heavy, pensive. “So, what are you doing?" I dug deep into my pocket and extracted a granola bar I started for breakfast hours ago.
She eyed me. “What about the beer?"
My Professor left the classroom I just vacated, ignoring us.
