5. June #3
I blink, attempting to focus on the computer screen, but I swear it’s like looking at Egyptian hieroglyphics. “Any idea how to do this stuff?” I ask.
His chuckle is low and throaty as he meets my gaze. “Yeah, June. Yeah, I think I can help you out.”
“You sure? Because if you can’t, it’s not a big deal.”
“Pretty sure I can handle it,” he returns dryly.
I’ve always known the guy is cocky, but with the way he says it?
It makes me feel like I’m the butt of a joke, and I can’t put my finger on why.
When he reaches across me for my things, his forearm brushes against the arm closest to him again, and I swear he put something in my sandwich because in all my life, I have never been so intrinsically aware of a person’s movements.
Was that intentional? It wouldn’t surprise me.
He probably loves seeing me spiral out of control like this.
Seriously, this guy’s like a drug. No wonder he sleeps with every girl he meets. One sandwich with the guy, and I’m practically panting.
He grabs my notebook and my pencil, then clicks down some lead. “All right, so the biggest potential issue with this is our order of operations. If you don’t do the right steps in the right order, you’re going to get the wrong answer.”
Math. Right.
“Okay?” I reply.
He glances over at me and smiles. Clearly, he can tell I’m lying because what he just said? Yup. Still gibberish.
“All right, let’s take a step back.”
Forty-five minutes later, my head feels like it’s swimming, but I’m genuinely starting to grasp a few key elements.
To be clear, I still feel like I have about seventy percent of the unit to catch up on if I have any hope of passing my next test. But is this a good start?
Yeah. Yeah, it really is. My pencil scratches against the paper as I try to work another problem from the study sheet.
Ford leans closer, watching the equation unfold at my discretion. “Buh, buh, buh,” he warns when I write a two.
My brows furrow, and I erase the number so I can go back to the prior step. After sweeping away the little eraser shavings from my paper, I continue on.
“There we go,” he compliments. “You got it.”
With a shameless grin, I circle the final answer and look up at him. “Really?”
“Yeah. Nailed it.”
“Yes!” Tossing my pencil onto the paper, I practically melt into the seat. “Okay, my brain is mush.”
I can feel him watching me, but I keep my eyes closed, choosing to revel in my success.
I did it. I finally grasped a freaking math concept. Maybe I’ll be able to pass my class after all.
“You did good,” Ford tells me.
Opening my eyes, I smile back at him. “Thank you.”
“Ready to move on to the next section?”
I should. I know I should. “My brain,” I whine.
“Come on. You can do it,” he encourages.
With a baby groan, I reach for my phone, checking the time. Crap. Disappointment coats my insides as I set my phone back down. “I actually have to go.”
Understanding dawns on him. “Ah, right. Your date.”
Why does it sound weird when he says it?
I ignore the thought and close my laptop. “Yeah.” Silence rings out. I fight the urge to squirm as I gather the rest of my things. When there isn’t anything else for me to do, I take another peek at Ford. “Thank you for today.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“No, really,” I push. “You’re like, really smart, Ford.”
His smile borders on shy. It’s cute and boyish and almost innocent in a way I’d never expect.
“Don’t sound so surprised, June Bug,” he notes, squeezing the back of his neck.
It’s almost like he’s used to being underestimated.
Doesn’t he get it? If he showed people this side of him, that he’s kind of a freaking genius, we wouldn’t be surprised.
But instead, he hides all of these genuinely interesting characteristics behind his womanizing persona, so when we’re finally given a glimpse, we’re shocked.
“I’m just saying,” I bite my bottom lip. What am I saying? My nose scrunches. “I guess I’m just saying I had no idea—”
“And now, you’re just digging a hole.”
My mouth snaps closed as I hold his stare.
I don’t know what to say. It’s like I spent all afternoon with an absolute stranger.
One who is funny and charming and smart and almost…
genuine. But how? Ford Harden is so many things, but genuine?
I didn’t think it was possible. Maybe I’ve had him pegged wrong from the beginning.
I mean, who knows what plans he might’ve had before I showed up on his doorstep, throwing off his entire day?
“Come on. I’ll walk you out,” he tells me.
We make our way to the front, where he opens the door without a word.
Stepping over the threshold, I stop myself from racing to my car and locking myself inside, no matter how awkward the current air is around us.
I scoot my backpack strap a little higher onto my shoulder, forcing myself to look him in the eye. “Thank you,” I murmur. “Seriously. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Make sure you read the rest of the chapter,” he warns. “You have a good foundation, but that last part’s a bitch.”
My mouth lifts. “I’ll keep that in mind.”