9. Killian #2
Grumbling, I try my best to remember how he did it. I get further this time, though I still can’t put the pieces together and arrive at the same answer he did. Maddox eyes me, and my face heats, and he reaches over and corrects the single mistake I made.
Then he erases it and asks me to do it again.
“Maddox,” I whine.
“I was talking to Nick, and we figured you’re a kinesthetic learner.”
“You talked about me?” I blink at him. “I’m a what? ”
“It means you learn better by doing things hands-on, and by trial and error. Repetition. It’s common among athletes.” He taps the edge of the tablet. “Try again.”
“Fine.”
When I finally get it right on the third try, Maddox flips the page on my book. He taps on the next problem, which is similar to the last except for a few changes. “Do this one, too.”
He’s so fucking bossy, and he’s smiling smugly as if he’s proud that I could do the other problem. Strangely, I feel confident about solving it now, and when I actually do it correctly Maddox gives me a smile that reaches his eyes.
“See?” He holds my gaze. “You got it.”
I resist clutching at my chest. “You’re amazing.”
“That was all you.” Again, Maddox checks his watch. “I need to get something from the mailbox. Do you want to walk with me?”
“I… yeah. Sure.”
Not sure what’s so important that he’d suddenly need to get something downstairs in the middle of a tutoring session, but I could use the break.
I bring the crackers he gave me and pop one into my mouth, and he shakes his head when I offer him one.
By the time we get to the elevator, the bag’s already empty.
I have nothing else to do, so I stare at him closely, trying to read him—but he’s only looking at the floor with a blank expression.
His eyelashes are so thick, and his lips seem so soft—god, he’s so fucking pretty, and the way his cheeks had flared a while ago when I found his toy?
Oh, shit.
I can’t let my mind drift there.
Maddox’s eyes snap to me. “Stop staring.”
Grinning, I shrug. The elevator doors open, and I follow him toward the mailboxes which are near the building’s entrance, not missing the way two guys in the common area swivel their heads toward Maddox as we pass. If Maddox notices, he seems apathetic to them.
Maddox retrieves an envelope with the math department’s logo, then leads the way back to his floor. When we’re in the elevator once more, he opens the envelope and scans over the letter.
“What’s that?” I ask.
His gaze flickers to me. “It’s an application for graduate housing. I didn’t get in this year, but hopefully I will next.”
“Oh, cool. The apartments over there are really huge, right? And you even get a kitchenette?”
He nods. The elevator stops at his floor, and I follow him out.
“It’s really cool how you are into all this… math stuff.”
Oh, god. I sound like a fucking idiot.
Maddox lets out a soft huff and a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It loosens something in my chest. “I do like this math stuff.”
“What are you going to do when you’re done studying?”
“Teach here,” he says simply and confidently. He unlocks his door and steps inside his room, waiting for me to get inside before shutting it behind me. “I’m going to be a full-time professor once I get my doctorate. It’s going to take years, but I’ll get there.”
I study him, loving the way he talks about his future. There’s no hesitance in his words at all, and the finality of his tone is downright impressive to me. It’s… shit, it’s really hot.
“It’s incredible how you know exactly where you want to be,” I tell him.
He sits back down on the edge of his bed, and I take my seat on his desk chair again and turn until I’m fully facing him. Maddox’s eyebrows crumple together, and just when I think he’s going to call me out again for staring, he instead asks, “And you? What are you doing when you graduate?”
I shrug. “Beats me.”
“Shouldn’t you know by now?”
“My dad wants me to play pro hockey.”
Maddox frowns. “Okay. And what do you want?”
Does it matter what I want ?
Dad’s pushing for pro hockey because he says that’s what I’m good at. But… it reminds me of how lonely junior hockey was. And going pro? It’ll be even worse.
Maddox gently taps my ankle with his foot. “Are you okay? I’m not used to you being so quiet. If I’m being nosy, tell me.”
I beam at him. “I like you being nosy.” Makes me think he’s interested in getting to know me. “Sorry, was just thinking about your question. Honestly, I’m not really sure about what I want to do. Any sane college hockey player would say go pro, but… eh. I did junior hockey, and I didn’t love it.”
“Why not?”
I shift in my seat. My knee knocks against his, and I feel way too giddy at how he doesn’t pull away.
He waits for me patiently while I rally for an explanation.
“Hated having to live so far from home. The family I stayed with was great, but I was homesick a lot. Hated being on the road all the time and then heading home to a house that didn’t feel like mine.
And I love hockey, I really do, but it felt more like a job rather than the fun sport I loved because everyone was pushing themselves so hard to excel and get drafted. ”
He tilts his head, eyes widening by a fraction. “You didn’t want to get drafted?”
“I wanted it, but not to the extent that all the other guys were obsessing over. When I didn’t end up getting picked during the first year I was eligible, it didn’t crush me so much because, at that point, I just wanted to move back closer to home so I could see my nephews more often.
My dad was disappointed because he said I was quitting too early, but I couldn’t take it anymore. ”
“And that’s when you went to Camrose?”
“Yes! They were happy to offer me a scholarship. Playing at Camrose is so much better because I can head home on the weekends, and the guys on the team aren’t as intense as the guys I played with back in juniors. I jibe so much better with my teammates now than I did then.”
“I see.” Maddox studies me with an intensity that threatens to make me smile. God, I love having all his attention on me .
“So, yeah.” I shrug. “Dad thinks I should excel as much as I can in my last year and get the attention of scouts. He says with my stats, there’s still a chance I can be a free agent…
but I don’t love the idea. Either way, I don’t know what the alternative is because I’m not good at anything else, so…
to answer your question, I have no clue where I’m going to end up. ”
Maddox says nothing to that. I don't know if he pities me; his face is unreadable. He breaks eye contact and stares at the envelope in his hand, flipping it over a few times. Then he checks his watch.
“Let’s study again,” he says.
I clear my throat. “Is that letter a time-sensitive thing? Like a form you need to fill out right away? Because if you have something to do, we can stop.”
He lifts his chin and levels a stare at me. “Are you bored?”
“No,” I blurt.
“It’s not a time-sensitive thing.”
“Then you’ve been checking your watch because…?”
“I was checking my watch because I want you to take five-minute breaks every twenty minutes so you can clear your head and refocus. It’s supposed to work for restless guys—sorry, I mean kinesthetic learners.”
My jaw drops. “Ah. Shit. You really researched, huh?”
“Of course. I take tutoring very seriously.” His gaze meets mine. “I enjoy teaching and this is where I want to be.”
Then Maddox gives me another one of his smiles that makes my chest thrum, and I press on my sternum to get my stupid heart to calm down.