Harper got to the library forty minutes early.
It wasn’t nerves.
She had told herself that twice on the walk over‚ both times unconvincingly․ It was preparation pure and simple‚ the same instinct that had her color-coding her class notes and outlining her essays before letting herself write a word․ If she was going to spend the next several months tutoring Miles Miller‚ she was going to walk into it with a plan‚ with rules‚ with something solid enough that he couldn’t talk his way around it․ She’d taken a table up in the back corner of the third floor‚ the peaceful part of the library with good light‚ not the ground floor where the place could turn into a food court during finals week․ She laid out two textbooks, a legal pad, and a printed copy of his current grades that she absolutely should not have been able to access but had, because apparently being assigned as someone’s academic lifeline came with privileges nobody had bothered to explain to her.
At 7:04, she heard him before she saw him the low murmur of someone greeting half the people on the floor like he’d personally onboarded every student at Whitfield .
He flopped into the chair opposite hers‚ his backpack landing heavily on the floor between them‚ hard enough that the girl at the other side of the table jumped and looked up at them‚ startled․ “You’re late‚” Harper said‚ without looking up from her legal pad․ “Four minutes.
I consider that early, by my standards.” “Your standards aren’t the ones that matter here.” She finally looked at him, and regretted it almost immediately he’d showered since practice, hair still damp at the edges, wearing a gray Whitfield hoodie that fit him exactly the way it was supposed to, and she hated, with sudden and specific intensity, that she’d noticed any of that at all.
“I made some ground rules.
I think we should go over them before we start.” “Ground rules.” He said it like the words amused him.
“Sure.
Hit me.” She pushed the legal pad across the table towards him and it was all there‚ neat and precise‚ numbered․ She knew that if she gave him an inch of ambiguity‚ he would take the entire library․ “One‚” she said before he could even pick it up․ “We meet here‚ in this section‚ twice a week for ninety minutes․” It’s not negotiable․ And‚ two‚ you bring your own․ I’m not carrying your textbooks for you․ Three․” “Do you always talk this fast when you’re nervous?” “I’m not nervous․” “You are so small․” He leaned back‚ arms crossed‚ studying her with an expression that was somehow both lazy and uncomfortably attentive at the same time․ “It’s cute․” “Three‚” Harper continued‚ feeling as if the back of her neck had burst into flame and she hated that‚ too․ “No phones during sessions.
Four, if you’re more than ten minutes late twice, I’m reporting it to Coach Reyes.
Five.” “Are there going to be more than five?” “There are seven.” “God․” He pushed a hand through his damp hair‚ and the motion did something unfair to the muscles in his forearm that Harper resolutely did not look at․ “You’re serious about this․” “It’s my job‚ Miles․ Yes‚ I’m serious․” She tapped the legal pad.
“Rule six.
We focus on what’s actually going to be on your exams, not whatever you feel like talking about.
Seven,” “What if what I feel like talking about is more interesting than rule six?” “Then you fail your exams and lose your scholarship, and I lose the stipend I actually need, so I’d consider keeping that interest to yourself.” That, finally, got something other than amusement out of him a flicker of something sharper, quicker, like she’d accidentally landed a hit somewhere real.
It was about as long as it took her to look down at her paper again‚ always that easy‚ that unbothered grin back in place by the time she looked again like nothing had touched him at all․ “Open your textbook‚” she said․ “Chapter four․ We’re starting with the reading you were supposed to finish last week․” He didn’t open it․ He didn’t even look at it․ He was looking at her‚ really looking at her․ This was the kind of looking that made the hairs on the back of your neck prickle‚ that made it hard to write․ “Are you always this intense?” “I’m not intense.
I’m focused.” “Is there a difference?” “There is when one of them gets results.” “So now you know what I think?” He turned his head‚ and the light from the lamp reflected something in his eyes she’d not call beautiful‚ nor would she ever‚ but that little part of her brain filed the item away anyway․ “I think you’ve decided exactly what kind of guy I am‚ and nothing I do tonight is going to change your mind․ So why bother?” Because it’s my job” she said again‚ a little impatiently․ “Open the book, Miles.” He didn’t․ Instead he reached across the table slow‚ deliberate and turned her legal pad around to face him‚ moving his eyes over the list she’d written‚ his face impenetrable․ “Rule four‚” he said․ “Phones away․ You don’t have yours out either․” “That’s the point of the rule.” “So you’re following your own rule right now, just to set an example.” “That’s generally how rules work, yes.” Cute‚” he said again‚ quieter this time‚ and something about the way he said it ‚ low‚ almost private‚ like it wasn’t meant for an audience even though they were the only two people at the table ‚ made her pulse do something inconvenient․ “You’re cute when you’re annoyed․ You should know that about yourself․” “I am not cute․ I am annoyed․ There’s a difference‚ and I’d appreciate it if you noticed it․” “I notice plenty․” His eyes dropped‚ briefly‚ deliberately‚ somewhere she felt rather than saw‚ and came back up unhurried‚ like he had all the time in the world and intended to use every second of it․ “Trust me․ Harper was stiff in his spine․ Ninety minutes․ He had ninety minutes left‚ he hadn’t cracked a book‚ he hadn’t written a note‚ hadn’t done anything except sit there looking at her like she was the most entertaining thing that had happened to him all semester and the worst part‚ the part she would absolutely never admit out loud‚ was that some small‚ furious corner of her was enjoying it․ That was exactly the problem․ She closed the legal pad‚ picked her books up with at least a little shaky hand‚ and stood․ “This isn’t going to work‚” she said․ “You’re not taking this seriously‚ and I don’t have the time to babysit someone who’d rather flirt than pass a single exam․ Find another tutor․” “Wait—” Fuck off‚ I have-” The words were out before she’d realized she’d said them‚ faster and sharper than she’d meant them to be‚ a crack in the careful mask she’d been wearing from the moment he’d sat down․ “I have better things to do than sit here while you decide whether tonight’s worth your effort․” She had turned‚ bag already slung over her shoulder‚ taken three steps toward the stairwell‚ when his hand closed over her wrist․ Not hard․ Not even close to it‚ just enough pressure to stop her‚ his fingers warm and careful in a way that didn’t match anything she’d seen from him all night‚ like some switch had flipped the second she actually started walking away․ She turned to tell him what she thought of that too․ “I’m not flirting because I don’t care‚” he said‚ quiet now‚ none of the performance left in his voice at all․ “I’m flirting because if I open that book and actually try and still fail‚ I don’t have anything left to blame it on․ Harper froze.
Whatever she’d expected him to say‚ it hadn’t been that․