Chapter 11
I walk into the library on Saturday morning, pulling off my headphones and instantly cutting off the alternative rock heavy in my ears.
It’s probably the last thing anyone would expect to hear from my playlist, but I like it.
The lyrics mostly. Somehow, they hit closer to home than a Taylor Swift song would.
I breathe in the quiet. The safe space I’ve found myself since I barely have a bedroom much less a place to call home for the next seven months.
The woman at Student Housing already gave me a preliminary thumbs down on another unit next year, with a note that learning to get along with people is part of the college experience.
I’ve got a few things I’d like her to experience.
I didn’t bother arguing. In fact, I thanked her for taking the time to meet with me and told her to have a great day.
For now, I’m grateful for the personal space I have here. My quiet nook in the library.
At least it was my safe space until Kane showed up two days ago, standing merely two feet from me. Nothing between us but the width of a library check out desk.
I may have imagined it, but I swear my pulse stumbled before I even looked up.
I knew he was gorgeous from a distance—even in his hockey gear. But up close, he’s all angles—cut jaw, full lips, sharp eyes made to ruin a girl’s focus. And that deep dangerous dimple when he caught me off-guard…chills.
Did he know? No. He couldn’t. And even if he suspected, one look at me should’ve been proof enough he’s got the wrong girl.
But I don’t need to worry about that.
I read the app’s privacy terms over and over again like a paranoid lunatic.
It’s iron clad.
And the fact that I froze—is exactly why I could never tell him or anyone else that I’m Shadow. Me. The awkward transfer student librarian who lives in a closet because it’s easier than confrontation.
And let’s be real for a moment. How appropriate is that? I was exiled to live in a closet, since I’m always hiding anyway.
Except here, maybe.
I hear Fletcher practically lives here too, when he’s not in class or fixing things all across campus.
I’m thankful he’s off today. It’s quiet on Saturdays.
I move over to the tutoring sign-up sheet, just to confirm it’s empty. If I have a solid three hours to myself—even unpaid, it’s prime time to plow through some reading.
Sure, the reading is a brown-paper-covered smutty romance, but hey, it’s a library and reading romance settles me. It’s an escape from my thoughts. Someone else’s world I get to live in. Pure medicine for my anxiety. Sue me if it’s not War and Peace.
Strangely, the clipboard is gone from the desk.
“Morning Isla,” Mr. Ames calls from the opposite end of the desk.
“Hey. The signup sheet is missing. Is it back there somewhere?”
He types into the computer screen, half distracted. “Nope. I removed it. It’s full.”
“Full? How can it be full? It’s been empty all week.”
Are we talking about the same list?
He looks up at me like it doesn’t matter why it’s full.
The point is that it’s full and the library gets a cut.
“Don’t worry. It’s one student.” He locks the screen and steps closer to me.
“The guy bought the full three hours, so my guess is the Coaches are coming down hard on grades. Not uncommon for athletes to fall behind when the season kicks off.”
“Athletes?” I ask, my voice barely there.
He looks up at me with a smirk, his tone suggestive. “Somehow I doubt you’ll mind.”
I nod on an exhale. “That’s great. I’ll go settle in.” My stomach knots as I turn toward my table in the corner.
It’s fine. There are tons of athletes in this school between football, hockey…wrestling. It could be anyone. And I can handle a simple jock.
Maybe he won’t even show. Besides, what are the odds its—
“Isla?”
My thoughts screech to a halt at the deep familiar voice.
Kane.
Instantly, I level my expression because I’ll be damned if he finds out who I am by my tells.
Not in this lifetime. I know how to throw him off the track that leads to me.
At least I hope I do.
He stares at me with a bored expression, one hand gripping the back of a wooden chair like he’s waiting for an invitation.
God.
The broad shoulders. The ridiculous biceps stretching the sleeves of his t-shirt.
I should look away.
Instead, my eyes continue their slow climb upward, like they’ve developed a mind of their own.
“Hello,” I finally say, my voice even.
He stretches his muscular arm to me. “Kane Andrews.”
My gaze drops to his hand for a brief second, then back up at his face.
There’s no way I’m touching him.
Because everything in me is screaming he’s suspicious. And a touch will undoubtedly give me away.
For Christ sake, get a grip Isla. He’s here for tutoring. This is a coincidence. He’s not onto you.
I’m still having an internal debate on whether to briefly shake his hand because what are my options really? Nonchalantly slip my hand into his—big, strong, panty-melting grip with a small smile and risk electric shock. Or give him the death glare for even considering touching me.
Death glare.
Definitely, death glare.
It appears my intended resting bitch face was five steps ahead because just as I’m about to put on said glare, he jerks his hand back with a smirk. “How about I just sit?” He pulls out the chair across from me and settles in.
“Alright.” I square my shoulders and focus on my laptop screen as if I have any idea what subject he needs help in. “You have me for three hours. What can I help you with?”
He watches me for a moment as if he forgot why he came. Then snaps out of it, sitting straighter. “A lot of things. What are you good at?”
“You’re looking at it,” I deadpan.
He smirks. “You’re…good at you?”
Boy, is he way off.
“Libraries. I major in information studies, so not a subject in particular. I’m good at research and reading.” I glance at his backpack, trying not to rest my gaze on his massive chest.
“I read too.” He pulls his phone from his pocket and gives it a little wave before setting it on the table with a cocky grin. “Quite a bit, actually.”
“That’s…a start,” I respond flatly. “How about a textbook?”
“Right.” He digs into his backpack and retrieves a thick hardcover.
Intro to Psychology? “You’re taking Psych 101?”
“That’s right.”
I reach for the textbook—because my hands need a job, not because I’m remotely prepared for this. I flip to the table of contents and clear my throat.
When I look up, Kane’s eyes meet mine immediately.
Of course they do. I naturally invite scrutiny.
The corner of his mouth twitches. And suddenly, remembering how to tutor seems significantly less important than surviving eye contact.
“Are we starting with chapter one, or is there a specific section giving you trouble?”
His answer is immediate. “All of it.”
I blink. “All of it?”
He nods once. “Every chapter. Every concept. Pretty much every word in the textbook.”
I narrow my eyes. Then slowly close the book.
“Okay, first, no one needs help with Psych 101—half the class is common sense, the other is showing up.” I fold my arms over the table, suddenly feeling a burst of control. “Second, this is a freshman-level class. So why are you really here?”
The question is out before I can stop it. Which is unfortunate, because my filter usually works a lot better than this. But I’ll be damned before I let anyone play me for a fool.
My aunt and uncle considered me stupid for so long, so this stint is setting off all sorts of triggers.
Kane barely blinks. “You think this is a sham?” he scoffs. “Because I have nothing better to do on a Saturday morning? Because I wouldn’t rather be sleeping or skating laps before tonight’s scrimmage?”
I lean back. He makes a good point. Which is too bad, because I was feeling so badass right then.
Now, I’m one step away from feeling silly.
“And just so you know, I’m not the only senior in the class.
It’s the only science that doesn’t have a lab, which makes it favorable.
But the joke’s on me because I don’t get these concepts.
” He cocks his head to the side. “So, can you help me or not?” He adds a smirk for good measure and it’s amazing how fast it settles my embarrassment.
My lip quirks and I sit up slightly. “Fine.” The word comes out sharp as I flip open the book again. “Let’s start with the topic that confuses you the most.”
His eyes shift downward like he’s searching for the answer in a non-existent notebook. “The part about behavior,” he stretches.
“Behavior? Isn’t that most of the course?”
His grin is so smooth. “Like I said. All of it.”
My shoulders fall with a breath. “Then drop the class.”
“Did that two years ago. That’s why I’m here.” He licks his lips and taps his pencil like this third degree is starting to annoy him.
I roll my eyes but a smile sneaks through anyway. “No offense, but you look like you won’t make it past the first hour. Not to mention, you’re three questions away from walking out of here.”
Apparently, my self-preservation instincts are out to lunch.
He narrows his eyes. “Why don’t we just touch on my biggest problem.”
“Which is…”
“People.”
I blink. “You need help understanding people?”
He leans back, expression unreadable. “For example… why someone might avoid attention.” His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second, making heat bloom beneath my skin. “Or why they hide…” he locks eyes with mine again “behind their phones.”
My pulse spikes so hard it rattles my ribs. “People using phones as a prop to avoid conversation is not uncommon,” I say in one breath.
He sits up, suddenly engaged like we’re having an active debate. “But what if they want the conversation? Why would a person do the opposite of what they want?”
“That’s not a chapter.” I frown, suddenly conscious that I’m running out of breath and I haven’t even moved.
“It should be.”
I lick my lips and swallow. “Well, um…I don’t have the answer key to this non-existent chapter, but for argument’s sake, what makes you think you know what this person wants?”
He exhales, and the sound is just enough to cover the breath I suck in. Kane locks eyes with mine then shakes his head, reaching back for his textbook. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”
I snatch it back, sliding it toward my side of the table. “Philosophy is stupid. Psychology isn’t. It’s science and…art.”
“Art?” He perks a brow.
“The art of understanding people. Human behavior.”
He nods slowly and grins. “Knew I came to the right place. So, where do we start, Professor?”
I huff and shake my head, then flip back to the table of contents. Running my finger down the list like it’s my very own autobiography.
“Introverts vs Extroverts.” I say, then lift my gaze to his. “Why don’t we start there? And then we can go back to my question.”
He brows twitch. “What question.”
“What makes you think you know what this girl wants?”
He cocks his head. “How’d you know this was about a girl?”
I glance away and mutter. “Call it a hunch, hotshot.”
He chuckles. “Well, I don’t need to understand psychology to be able to answer your question, Sunshine. So my answer…” he leans in. “Call it a hunch.”
I barely register his smug response. My brain is stuck on the nickname he just gave me.
It’s not cute. It’s not even accurate.
It’s the opposite of Shadow.
If I had any suspicion that my anonymity’s been compromised, that pretty much squashes it.
Right?
I might hate philosophy, but this…is entirely and utterly…a big, fat coincidence.
Please please please be a coincidence.
If I have any chance at surviving the next two hours and forty-five minutes, I have to believe that.