Chapter Three
Bella
By Thursday evening, I've managed to convince myself that Tuesday's tutoring session was an anomaly—a brief moment of weakness where I confused academic chemistry with actual chemistry.
Ryan O'Sullivan is charming, yes, but I'm a rational person who doesn't develop feelings for people based on one evening of economics discussion and surprisingly thoughtful conversation.
"Punctual again," I say, stepping aside to let him in. "You're really committing to this whole responsible student thing."
"What can I say? You're a good influence." He hands me the coffee, and I notice he's remembered exactly how I like it—oat milk, one sugar, just hot enough to be perfect. "Besides, I brought incentive."
He pulls a small white box from his jacket pocket, and when he opens it, I see four perfectly arranged macarons from Le Panier—the expensive French bakery in Pike Place Market that I mentioned loving exactly once during our conversation on Tuesday.
"You didn't have to do that," I say, but I'm already reaching for the lavender one because I have no willpower when it comes to good pastry.
"I wanted to. Consider it a thank you for helping me understand why the invisible hand of the market isn't actually invisible."
I bite into the macaron and have to suppress a small moan of pleasure. It's perfect—delicate shell, smooth ganache, just the right balance of sweet and floral. "These are from Le Panier."
"You mentioned it was your favorite place for special occasion treats."
"This isn't a special occasion."
Ryan settles onto my couch and opens his economics textbook, but there's something in his expression that makes my pulse skip. "Isn't it? I'm pretty sure understanding basic economic principles counts as a milestone worth celebrating."
I join him at my dining table, where I've already laid out tonight's materials. "Tonight we're covering market equilibrium and price elasticity. Significantly more complicated than marginal utility."
"Lucky for me, I have an excellent teacher."
There it is again—that tone that suggests he's talking about more than just economics. I open my laptop and pull up the presentation I've prepared, trying to focus on the task at hand instead of Ryan.
"Market equilibrium," I begin, clicking to my first slide, "occurs when the quantity demanded equals the quantity supplied at a given price point."
"Like when supply and demand curves intersect," Ryan says, and I'm impressed that he remembered that much from Tuesday.
"Exactly. But the interesting part is what happens when external factors shift those curves." I advance to the next slide, which shows various scenarios where market conditions change. "Say there's a sudden increase in demand for hockey tickets because the team is having a great season."
Ryan leans forward, genuinely interested. "The price goes up."
"Right. But how much it goes up depends on price elasticity—how sensitive consumers are to price changes.
" I click through several examples, watching Ryan process the information.
"Hockey tickets are probably relatively inelastic because there are limited substitutes and strong emotional attachment to the team. "
"So even if prices increase, people still buy tickets because they really want to see the games."
"Exactly. Whereas something like coffee might be more elastic because there are many substitutes available."
"Unless it's really good coffee," Ryan says, taking a sip from his Victrola cup. "Then people might be willing to pay premium prices for the specific experience."
I stare at him, surprised by the insight. "That's... actually a really sophisticated observation. You're talking about brand loyalty and perceived value."
"I'm not just a pretty face, Lawson."
The casual use of my last name sends an unexpected flutter through my chest. "I never said you were."
"No, but I can see you recalibrating your expectations." Ryan grins, and I realize he's absolutely right. "I may not be an academic, but I understand competition and value and strategic thinking."
"Hockey strategy and economic theory aren't exactly the same thing."
"Aren't they? Both involve reading your opponents, anticipating their moves, and finding ways to exploit market inefficiencies.
" Ryan closes his textbook and turns to face me fully.
"A power play in hockey is just taking advantage of a temporary shift in market conditions—your opponent has fewer resources, so you increase your offensive pressure to maximize your probability of scoring. "
I blink at him, trying to process the fact that Ryan O'Sullivan just explained hockey strategy using economic terminology. "That's... wow. That's actually brilliant."
"You sound surprised."
"I am surprised. Not because I think you're not smart," I add quickly, "but because you just connected two completely different fields in a way that most people wouldn't think to do."
Ryan's expression softens slightly. "Most people don't expect hockey players to think beyond the next shift. It's nice to have someone assume I might have something interesting to say."
There's something vulnerable in his admission that makes my chest ache. "Do people really underestimate you that much?"
"Academic types? Yeah, usually. They see the jersey and the GPA and make assumptions about what I'm capable of." Ryan shrugs, but I can tell it bothers him more than he wants to admit. "It's not entirely unfair. I haven't exactly prioritized school until recently."
"Why recently?"
"Because I'm starting to realize that hockey might not last forever, and I should probably have some idea what comes next." He looks at me directly. "Because someone very smart made me think about backup plans and using my brain instead of just my body."
The way he says it makes heat creep up my neck. This is supposed to be tutoring, not... whatever this feeling is that's settling in my stomach like warm honey.
"We should probably get back to price elasticity," I say, but my voice sounds slightly breathless.
"Right. Price elasticity."
But neither of us moves to open our textbooks.
Instead, we sit there looking at each other, and I'm acutely aware of how close we're sitting, how the evening light from my windows makes his green eyes look almost golden, how his fingers are drumming against the table in a rhythm that matches my pulse.
"Bella," Ryan says quietly.
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"Why did you really approach me at Victrola? I mean, I know you said you needed a fake date to make Tanner jealous, but..." He pauses, seeming to consider his words carefully. "You could have asked anyone. Why me?"
The question catches me off guard, partly because I'm not sure I know the answer myself. "You needed help with economics."
"So do half the guys on campus. Why specifically me?"
I think about it seriously, trying to identify the moment when I decided that Ryan O'Sullivan was the solution to my Tanner Williams problem.
Was it purely practical—his academic struggles making him a willing participant?
Or was there something else, some recognition that had nothing to do with strategic thinking?
"Honestly? I'm not entirely sure." I fidget with my pen, avoiding his gaze. "You seemed... approachable. And you were clearly intelligent enough to understand the arrangement but desperate enough academically to agree to it."
"Ouch."
"That's not what I meant—"
"I know what you meant. It's fine." Ryan's smile is rueful but not hurt. "You saw an opportunity and you took advantage of it. Very economically sound thinking."
"It wasn't just that." The words come out before I can stop them. "There was something about the way you handled the broken mug situation. You were embarrassed but not defensive, grateful but not overly so. You seemed like someone who could handle a complicated arrangement without making it weird."
"And have I? Made it weird?"
I look at him—really look at him—and realize that Ryan O'Sullivan has done something much more dangerous than make our arrangement weird. He's made it feel real.
"No," I say quietly. "You haven't made it weird."
"Good. Because I have to admit, this tutoring thing is turning out to be more interesting than I expected."
"Because you're actually understanding economics?"
"Because I'm getting to spend time with someone who challenges me to think differently about things." Ryan leans back in his chair, studying my face. "When's the last time someone surprised you, Bella?"
The question is so unexpected that I don't have a ready answer. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, when's the last time someone did something or said something that made you reconsider what you thought you knew about them?"
I think about it, going through my recent interactions with classmates, professors, friends. Most of my social circle is predictable—academic overachievers who value the same things I do, who approach problems the same way I do, who rarely challenge my assumptions about anything.
"It's been a while," I admit.
"Well, that's depressing."
"Why is that depressing?"
"Because surprise is one of the best parts of getting to know someone. Discovering that they're not who you expected them to be." Ryan grins. "Like finding out that the economics tutor actually has a reckless streak hidden under all that organization."
"I don't have a reckless streak."
"You approached a stranger at a coffee shop and proposed a fake dating arrangement. That's pretty reckless."
"That was strategic."
"That was brave. There's a difference."
The way he says it makes something warm and dangerous unfurl in my chest. Ryan O'Sullivan thinks I'm brave. More than that, he seems to genuinely like the version of myself that I revealed when I made our deal—the part of me that's willing to take calculated risks to get what I want.
"We should really get back to studying," I say, but I don't move to open my textbook.
"Should we?"
"Yes. You have a midterm next week, and if you fail it, our entire arrangement falls apart."
"Would that be such a bad thing?"
The question hangs between us like a challenge. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, what happens when I don't need tutoring anymore? When my grades are good enough to maintain my scholarship and we don't have any more academic excuses to spend time together?"
I hadn't thought that far ahead, which is unusual for me. I always think ahead, always plan for multiple contingencies. But somehow, with Ryan, I've been taking things one tutoring session at a time.
"I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," I say.
"That's not very like you."
"What's not like me?"
"Not having a plan. Not thinking three steps ahead." Ryan's eyes are bright with something that might be mischief. "I'm starting to think I'm a bad influence on you."
"You're not a bad influence."
"No? Because the Bella Lawson who approached me at Victrola seemed a lot more spontaneous than the one who color-codes her study schedules."
He's right, and that should probably worry me. But instead, it makes me curious about what other parts of myself I might discover if I keep spending time with Ryan O'Sullivan.
"Maybe spontaneity isn't always a bad thing," I say.
"Now you're talking." Ryan opens his textbook with renewed enthusiasm. "So, price elasticity. How do we measure consumer responsiveness to price changes?"
We spend the next hour working through elasticity coefficients and real-world applications, but there's an undercurrent of something else running through our conversation.
Every time our hands brush reaching for the same pen, every time Ryan leans close to look at my laptop screen, every time he makes a joke that makes me laugh harder than it probably deserves, I feel that dangerous warmth spreading through my chest.
By the time we finish our official tutoring session, I'm in serious trouble.
Because Ryan O'Sullivan is smart and funny and surprisingly insightful, and he looks at me like I'm the most interesting person he's ever met.
He remembers small details about my preferences, brings me thoughtful gifts, and challenges me to think about myself in ways I never have before.
Worst of all, he makes me want to be the kind of person who takes risks, who surprises people, who doesn't always have a plan.
"Same time next week?" Ryan asks as he packs up his things.
"Tuesday and Thursday," I confirm. "We'll cover market structures and consumer behavior."
"Can't wait."
But as he heads toward the door, I realize that what I'm looking forward to isn't teaching him about monopolistic competition or behavioral economics.
What I'm looking forward to is spending two more hours discovering what other assumptions about myself Ryan O'Sullivan can make me question.
And that might be the most dangerous economics lesson of all.