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She nods in understanding. “If I need help, I’m coming to you.” Her finger points at me accusingly, like I would dare to disagree.
“Anytime,” is my automatic response.
We go quiet as we use our remaining time to finish our food. I’m looking forward to classes, but I don’t have my criminology class until tomorrow. College Writing and Sign language One is where my education will take me today.
Zane drops me off at my sign language class inthe humanities building. He frowns at the goosebumps covering my arms. “Cold?” he asks, rubbing his palms up and down my arms.
I give him a little nod. “Yeah. It’s just the air conditioning. I’ll get used to it in a bit.”
Zane frowns at that, and next thing I know, he’s tugging his maroon SU sweatshirt off and pulling it down over my head. He’s got a paint-stained white T-shirt on, and it makes him look even more like the sensitive artist he is.
“Thanks.” I push my hands through the sleeves that are way too long.
Zane grabs one and rolls it up into a cuff around my wrist for me before doing the same with the other. I feel warm and cozy with his giant sweater that covers my butt. He presses a kiss to my cheek before he heads back down the stairs we just came up. I walk into the room and find a seat before I lift the collar of his shirt to sniff. The barest hint of laundry detergent is overpowered by the sharp piney tang of turpentine oil. Not like the horrible smelling cans you can get in the hardware store, but like that crisp pine-scented oil the painters who sell their art on the streets of Milan always smell of.
In the library after class, I’m told to go to table five for my tutoring session. The tutoring center isn’t that big, so it’s not hard to notice the man sitting at table five with his back to me. I come face to face with the guy I ran into this morning at the Sports and Health Center. The one who literally looks like a Greek sculpture come to life. Wavy sandy brown hair is pushed back out of his face like he just runs his fingers through it every morning. Two pools of emerald green stare out at me through his low masculine brow. Everything about this guy is masculine, from his wide jaw to his biceps that seem to be trying to rip through his T-shirt. “Hi,” he says, looking up at me.
I take the seat across the table from him. “Hi.”
He’s silent for a while. “Hi.”
I have to roll my lips in to keep from laughing. “I’m here to tutor you in math and science, but we can work on your vocabulary later, if you want.”
He grins at me and shakes his head, leaning his elbow against the desk to cradle his chin in his hand while he watches me intently. “Sorry I’m being so lame. I promise I’m not usually this stupid. I’m actually an English major.”
My lips tilt to one side as I pull out my notebook and a pen. “Okay. How about we start with your name and what you’re struggling with?”
He nods, leaning forward to see the notebook better. “I’m Sloane McKenna,” he tells me, and I write it down at the top of the sheet of paper. “I’m not really struggling just yet, but I will be soon. I suck at math and science, and my friend who would usually help me is busy this semester. That’s what I get for putting these classes off till my junior year.”
“Have you gotten your syllabuses yet?”
Sloane grabs a blue book bag from the floor, settling it in his lap. He digs through it before he pulls a folder out. When he slides a piece of paper across the table, he points down at it. “This is just for algebra. I’ll get biology’s tomorrow.”
“Okay, that’s great. Just give me a second.” I list the objectives for each week in my notebook. That way, I’ll be able to put it in my planner easier later. “Since we’re doing two subjects, we should meet twice a week for now to see how you do. We can lower it if you don’t need that much help.” I tap my pen against my lips, which my dad always said was an unladylike habit, but I don’t care anymore. “How does Mondays and Wednesdays at this time sound?”
I look up to see Sloane watching my pen tap away with rapt attention. “Huh?” he says when he realizes I’m waiting for an answer.
“Monday and Wednesday at this time?” I say slowly. “For our sessions.”
“Yeah. Yeah. That sounds good. Hockey doesn’t start until October, so we might have to change things around then.” He straightens in his seat. “What’s your name, by the way? You haven’t said.”
Oh yeah. I guess I was forgetting that part. “I’m Viviana—” I stop,instantly realizing what I’ve just done. There was no taking it back now though. It would seem weirder if I claim to have forgotten my own name. “Viviana Russo,” I choke out, collecting my things. If he tells anyone, they’ll just assume it’s a full name and what I go by as a nickname. I pass over a pamphlet on how to improve math study skills. It’s something a tutor gave me a couple years ago, and it really helped me, so I printed a copy for him just in case. “You should read through this. It may help you while you’re studying independently. Next Monday, bring note cards and we’ll make some flash cards. They’ll help you here and at home.”
I go to stand, but Sloane reaches across the table to grab my hand, halting my movements. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he asks suddenly.
I pause. Zane has been acting a lot like how I assume a boyfriend would, but he hasn’t actually asked me out. “I don’t think so,” I reply tentatively.
“You don’t think? How don’t you know if you have a boyfriend or not?” he asks with his brows raised sky high.
I shrug. “He hasn’t asked me out, but he’s acted like he’s my boyfriend the short amount of time we’ve known each other.”
“Good.” Sloane grins. “Until he asks and makes it exclusive, you’re a free agent.” He stands up, leaning over the table so close I can smell his laundry detergent. Something about it is familiar and tingles at the back of my mind. “If he ever gets the balls to ask a beautiful woman like you to be exclusive, let me know. Until then, I’m going to woo you.” He grins again.
I swallow hard. “Woo me? What?” My eyes are probably as big as saucers as he leans down to press a kiss to my cheek on the opposite side from where Zane usually does.
“Yep. Prepare yourself.” He turns and saunters away.
I collapse back into my seat, breathing heavily. When I realize people are staring at me, I grab my stuff and escape. The moment I step outside, my phone is to my ear, and it’s ringing. “What’s up, girl?” Sandy asks.
