Jamie (The Wayward Boys #1)

Chapter 1

Jamie

“Failing? How can I be failing? You said to me last time I only had to get a C in my next assessment, and I would be fine.” My eyes glisten as I fight back tears in my professor’s office.

My knees bounce with anxiety under the wooden desk as he explains the likelihood of passing the semester. My mind was racing. Was I about to be kicked out of the school I had left my old life for?

Moving to the other side of the country had been a chance to start over. It’s what I had dreamed of. After living here for three years though, I was falling behind in my academic life since my personal life was a shit-show.

Between classes, studying, and working at night to make enough money to eat, I was in no position to be meeting anyone new, friends or otherwise.

I was lucky enough not to share my dorm with anyone this year. But being constantly on my own had taken its toll on top of the increased workload.

Watching me from across the desk, my professor, Simmons, was giving me a sympathetic, tight-lipped smile.

Apparently, I had missed a deadline somewhere, and between working so late last night and panicking about this meeting. I couldn’t find the fight in me to argue.

“Look, I have asked a tutor to meet you. He should be here any minute, Jamie. I won’t sugarcoat it; Arnie is hard yet fair,” he states in his usual assertive tone.

“Give him a chance. I’ve noticed you don’t seem to chat much with the other students and keep yourself to yourself. He can help you with that, too. However, this will help you get those extra credits before it’s too late.”

“But I don’t need a tutor. I’ve told you before, it’s not the work that’s the issue.” I slump further into the uncomfortable office chair with a groan.

“He will help keep you organised, Jamie. He has significant results with people like you that just need that extra bit of support,” he continues.

I nod with a smile I don’t mean when there’s a knock on the office door. I hug myself as Simmons instructs whoever is on the other end to come in.

My mouth goes dry, and my eyebrows leave my face with shock as I get an eyeful of the hottest tutor, I’ve ever laid eyes on. My head snaps back to Simmons, who has caught my reaction. The corners of his mouth twitched as he got up and collected his coat and bag.

“Jamie, this is Arnie. I will let you two get acquainted. You can use my office. I’ll be back in an hour, just shut the door tight on your way out.”

Simmons smiles at me with a reassuring look, and then he pats Arnie on the shoulder as he passes us both.

As he shows a toothy grin, I have never witnessed before, Arnie mirrors it.

Then Simmons is gone, closing the door with a paltry click.

Leaving us alone together. Arnie’s smile was obviously only for Simmons; he dropped it as soon as he looked over at me.

“So — “

“Hey, I’m—”

Arnie side-eyes me, then strides past and falls into the professor’s chair. There is a confidence I can feel from across the block of wood that now separates us.

At six feet, I’m usually the taller one in a room, but not today. My new tutor is wearing a t-shirt cut off at the shoulder. His two tree-trunk arms are both covered in tattoos, and so is his neck. Where else is he inked?

Swallowing thickly at the images running through my mind, my Adam’s apple bobbed noticeably.

The cedar wood scent that’s wafted over to me is distracting. I chance another look at his neck, at how thick it is, muscular. Intense veins protruding from tanned skin make me want to lick my way from his collarbone to his jaw.

Wait.

What?

Why am I thinking of licking another guy's neck? I’m not into guys.

I shake the thought away and return my gaze to his ice blue intensity. He is studying me with a completely unreadable look as he taps his fingertips on the desk, waiting for me to come out of my daydream.

Shit, how long has it been since one of us spoke? I press my hand to adjust my trousers, trying to will myself to be professional, as he is a total stranger. His eyes catch the movement though and travel to where my hand is doing a terrible job of hiding my confusing arousal.

My whole-body gives off a heat from going red. He smirks before returning to a passive look.

“I uh, don’t need a tutor,” I lie, sounding much dumber than I know I am.

He cocks his head to one side as his brow furrows. Just taking in all my idiocy, I think.

“Look, let’s cut to the chase. You require me to help you; I like to be paid.

Don’t tell me you don’t need me when your grades are this unsatisfactory.

So, tell me now why you are failing, and tell me honestly.

I can then tell you exactly how I will help you and get you through the rest of this year.

And if you don’t listen to me, and you fail, well, you don’t want to know how I punish those kinds of students.

” My eyes widened at his threat. Was this guy for real?

As he waits for my approval, or maybe my argument, he folds his arms and rocks back on the leather chair. I want to smack the smirk off him. I don’t, of course I don’t.

Biting the inside of my cheek hard, I take a deep breath.

“You don’t even know me. While I will take the help since my professor recommended you so highly, I’m only using you until I pass this next assessment.

You don’t even know me, and you already don’t like me.

Don’t expect me to be pleasant to you in these study sessions either.

” My chest heaves, and a thin sweat clings to my neck as I wait for his reaction.

Blue eyes sparkled, lips turned up slightly in what looked like a genuine smile. His lips were plump and full. I fantasise about what they might taste like. Knocking that thought loose with a shake of my head, I question what is wrong with me. Illness? Act of delusion?

“Just listen to me and you’ll make it,” he sighs, looking almost sympathetic to my situation. Where has the tattooed bad boy act gone?

As I finally nod in agreement, he immediately shifts to a businesslike demeanour. We came up with a schedule of times and places to meet at over the next week. Then we pack up to leave the professor’s intimate office.

He calls my name as I am heading for the exit. My stomach flutters as I turn to see him studying me with his brow furrowed.

“You’re not what I expected,” he confesses before returning his eyes to his bag, which he’s stuffing books into.

“Yeah, you’re not what I expected either,” I observe as I struggle to tear my eyes away from his body and leave. Despite telling myself otherwise, I know I’ll be thinking of him later.