13. Maddox
Maddox
P rofessor Wheeler’s going through the lesson, and I’m supposed to be paying attention.
Instead, I’m watching Killian, and I don’t think I’m even being subtle about it.
He’s sitting near the front instead of in his usual spot at the back.
I watched him drag his teammate there this morning, not relenting until he was sitting right in my line of sight.
He’s staring back at me, smiling, because of course he is. I flick a finger at Wheeler to remind him to listen, and Killian winks at me before turning his attention to the lecture. It makes my stupid cock stiffen, and I shift in my seat.
I’m losing my mind, and it’s not just because I’m under more stress than I’ve ever been in my twenty-one years of existence.
I want to say it’s because of my thesis.
It’s stressful. I’ve been working on it all year.
I’ve spent many sleepless nights on it and these are the last few months I have to prove that I deserve to continue my studies—to prove that this really is my calling, and that I’m going to be the one standing in front of these huge lecture halls one day.
That’s why I should be losing it.
There’s also the fact that the girls who live next to me are getting even noisier lately, the light bulb in my room is flickering and needs changing, and the rom-com I’ve been hooked on might not be renewed for another season .
There’s so much shit I can blame my stress on.
Unfortunately, I’ve got enough self-awareness to know that the main reason my sanity’s being tested is that I can’t get Killian Schultz out of my head.
The class ends and everyone files out, and I pinch my thigh just to force myself to snap out of it.
Killian beams at me and gives me a little wave as he heads out with his teammate, and I raise my hand back without thinking about it.
He seems way too happy about my response, though, knocking a fist against his teammate’s arm and earning himself a glare from him.
“You and Killian Schultz are getting along, I see,” Professor Wheeler says. I didn’t even notice him standing by the table, and I abruptly get up to help him with his papers. Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I tuck my chin to my chest to avoid his stare.
I do my best to level my voice. “I’m tutoring him.”
“It shows. He’s been more attentive recently and his test scores are improving. You really are a good tutor, if you can get through to someone like Mr. Schultz. You’re going to make a good professor one day.”
I’m torn between being proud of the compliment and also being offended for Killian, because why is Wheeler making it seem as if he’s an impossible case?
He’s not.
I’ve already established that. He has a certain way of learning and, as an educator, Wheeler should be well aware—but it’d be pointless to tell him this. He should already know. Why else would he advise Killian to come to me for tutoring?
I chalk it up to an unfortunate choice of words on his part, and maybe me being too sensitive and defensive for a man my dick is currently very into.
And because I truly have lost all sensibility, I clear my throat to get Wheeler’s attention. “Professor,” I say. “Speaking of Killian. Any chance he could retake the first test? He really has been giving the class a solid effort, and I think he deserves it. ”
He stops packing his bag. Professor Wheeler’s quiet as he peers down his nose at me.
It’s not uncommon for students to ask for a second chance, and I know he’s let at least one other person in class retake a test. For all his strictness, Wheeler’s surprisingly compassionate and relaxes his rules when he sees they deserve it.
Professor Wheeler smiles and his eyes flicker to me. He studies me for a few more moments. “No easy way to ask this, but are you and Mr. Schultz seeing each other? It hasn’t escaped my attention that you two seem distracted by each other during class.”
What? I shake my head and pretend my insides aren’t raging. Even if it’s not something I hide, I didn’t even know he knew I was into men.
“No,” I say, voice leveled. “I don’t date athletes. I just think he deserves a chance to pull his grade up because he really does do his best.”
Professor Wheeler hums and continues packing his bag. “Okay. He can retake the test. I’ll need to give him another version so that it’s fair, so I’ll need some time.”
I rub the back of my neck. “Thanks, professor.”
And when we part ways, I’m left with my mind loudly screaming, what the fuck?
I can’t have my boss thinking I’m fooling around with someone from the class.
Someone I tutor. I’ve never looked up the rules before—because why would I—but that doesn’t sound very professional for a teaching assistant, especially one who wants a job as a professor at the university one day. I have a reputation to uphold.
But because curiosity gets the better of me, I find a quiet corner in the hallway and stick my back to it.
I open the HR document that was given to me when I started this job.
It’s a document I skimmed on the first day and it all seemed very basic and obvious so I didn’t read it line by line, which…
okay, not very professional of me. I’ll be professional now, though.
I look up the section that talks about personal relationships.
It says that it’s highly discouraged for teaching assistants to engage in romantic or sexual relationships with students in their class or students they tutor because of a conflict of interest and power imbalance. Failure to disclose such a relationship may result in disciplinary—
I lock my phone. No need to read more.
This only supports my decision that we can’t mess around, in addition to my no-jock rule and also my resolve to never get into a casual relationship again.
This is good. It’s brilliant.
Why is disappointment clawing at me, then?
***
What we need is a change of scenery. It’s my fault.
Why did I suggest that we have our tutoring sessions in my stupid dorm room, anyway?
It’s too cramped. Sitting on the edge of my bed with him at my desk makes us feel physically closer than necessary.
It makes all the tension that’s in my head so much louder.
I blame Buffalo in February. If it were another time of the year, we could be out in the yard under the shade of a tree.
Out in public, too, where all the filthy dirty talk would be frowned upon—though I doubt that’d ever deter Killian.
He has issues, and apparently so do I, with how I match his energy.
As a last ditch effort, I suggest the library.
Killian doesn’t even ask me why, just shows up at ten a.m. with his stats book in his arm and a wide smile that makes me return it before I even realize.
He’s already waiting by the entrance when I get there and he holds the door open when I’m still several feet away.
I almost awkwardly speedwalk to him in that way you do when someone holds the door open for you and you’re still too far.
“Good morning,” Killian says.
I don’t meet his gaze. “Morning.”
He lifts an eyebrow at me. Killian doesn’t seem to find my curtness today off-putting, but when does he ever? If anything, it makes him smile wider .
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get a read on this guy.
I lead the way to a table that’s near a wide window, letting out a sigh of relief when I see it’s empty.
It’s my favorite spot because of the natural light, and because it’s near the mathematics section.
The other tables close by are empty, probably because it’s a Saturday morning, and all that surrounds us are tall, white bookshelves.
Killian takes the seat in front of me and cheerfully says, “This is where I first saw you.”
“Huh?” I give him a blank stare.
“Yeah. This exact table. I’m sure you didn’t notice me, though.”
I noticed him, but I don’t tell him that. It makes me smile, though, and he must catch it because he cocks his head at me and grins.
“You good?” I ask. “We can go through the chapter that Wheeler discussed the other day. Were you able to follow along with what he said?”
“Yes, actually! I think it’s because you’re drilling everything into me again and again, so it’s easier to keep up in class. You’re a lifesaver, Maddox.”
Killian flips to the pages without even having to be reminded about which chapters those are. It sends a thrill up my spine. He’s improved so much since the first time we met up. Killian’s so much more attentive and confident now, and he doesn’t second-guess himself so much anymore.
Perhaps he could survive without my twice-weekly lesson reviews, but I don’t want to stop. I don’t even have any excuses. I simply don’t want to stop spending time with him, and that’s it.
We quickly review the chapter together, and he nods along.
It doesn’t go unnoticed that he’s staring at me more than he is looking at the pages, but I simply don’t have it in me to tell him to stop it.
Besides, when we go through a few practice problems, he’s able to solve them with little input from me.
I can’t slap his hand if he’s doing a good job.
I think he’s the type who needs positive reinforcement .
Though, after telling him he did a good job with a particularly difficult problem, Killian’s shoulders vibrate and he hides his face behind his hands. He lets out what I can only describe as a low, pained sound.
“What?” I ask, baffled.
He shakes his head and mumbles, “Nothing. Sorry.”
When Killian uncovers his face and puts his hands back down on his lap, his cheeks are bright red and he’s blinking rapidly. “Next problem?” he asks, his voice an octave higher than it usually is.
“Um… yeah. Okay.”
We go through one more problem before I glance at my watch and realize that we should take a break. I got so caught up with how well he did that I forgot to check. Glancing at him, I say, “Let’s take a breather.”
“Okay,” he says, leaning back.