3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Joel's eyebrows rise. My jaw drops. There's one more beat of stunned silence as we stare at each other, and then, like a switch is flipped, Joel's expression becomes cryptic. I hastily employ an equally unflustered demeanor, but a tornado of shock and confusion continues swirling through me.

Why is the world's hottest narcissist sitting at this table? Where is Bryant?

A blink later, I emerge from my shock enough to finish processing the sight of Joel-who-isn't-Bryant. Unfortunately for my sanity, he looks even more attractive today than he did yesterday. He's again dressed casually, this time in a gray, long-sleeved t-shirt, dark jeans, and sneakers—and also as before, his clothing happens to show off his brawny physique. He has a baseball cap turned backward on his head. He still has facial scruff lining his jaw. And he's oozing a laid-back-yet-commanding aura as he sits there in all his muscular, manly, sexy amazingness.

My heart rate ticks up.

"Hello again," Joel breaks the silence, his lips twitching upward.

"Hello." I remain businesslike. "I apologize for interrupting. I'm looking for someone."

Joel lets his smile show. "Yes, I know. You're looking for me."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Could he be any more conceited? His pickup lines may work on others, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of thinking he's flustering me.

Because he's not flustering me. Obviously.

"No, actually," I state coolly, "I'm really here to meet with someone else."

"And like I said: I know." Joel is still grinning. "You're here to meet with Bryant, right?"

I do a double take. "Yes, I am. You're not Bryant, though."

Joel's eyes start sparkling with an amused gleam. "And you're not a barista."

My cheeks flame. "Okay, fine, I'm not. I was here yesterday doing . . . research."

Joel leans back and crosses his giant arms over his broad chest. "Research, huh?"

"Um, yes." I clear my throat. "Of sorts."

Joel chuckles, and to my aggravation, the rich sound sends thrilling shockwaves down my back.

Infuriating man.

Infuriating, alluring, intriguing man.

"I'm not sure what you find so entertaining," I remark pithily. "After all, you haven't been totally forthcoming with the truth yourself. You told my boss that your name was Bryant."

"Correction: when I met with your boss a few days ago, I received her permission to use an alias." Joel's smile widens. "Of course, I didn't know at the time that my tutor would be the fake barista who spilled a drink on my table."

I frown.

Joel laughs again. "Okay, okay, how about this? We'll say you were doing research yesterday, and we'll say that I'm going undercover today."

This is getting weirder by the minute.

"Undercover?" I repeat. "What do you mean?"

Joel doesn't answer. Instead, he checks his watch, motions to the chair that's across the table from him, and inquires:

"Would you like to sit down?"

At this point, my brain is tumbling too haphazardly for me to formulate a coherent response, so I say nothing, plunk myself down across from Joel, and drop my bag at my feet. I then silently pull in a breath while coaching myself to get a grip. Joel may have thrown me for a loop―again―but I won't let him get the best of me anymore. He may be the all-star on the court (and, clearly, in the weight room), but the world of academics is my realm. So I'm not going to get unnerved or intimidated by how famous, athletic, arrogant, or handsome he is. I will stay calmly focused and do an excellent job tutoring him so he can succeed in his classes.

And I'm going to start by taking control of the situation right now.

"Allow me to officially introduce myself," I say. "My name is Danielle Gillespie. I'm a college senior, and I'm majoring in human biology. I've been tutoring for over three years."

"It's nice to officially meet you, Danielle." Joel pulls his laptop out of his bag. "I suppose I don't need to introduce myself, thanks to the research you did yesterday, but I'll introduce myself anyway. My name is Joel Lambert."

He's unbearable.

It's also suddenly clear to me why Joel requested to utilize an alias and meet away from campus. He's so proud that he doesn't want anyone knowing he needs a tutor―as if it's something to be ashamed of. Indeed, Mr. All-Star Hotness can't have anyone seeing him getting help with his schoolwork like a normal college student. He's too superior for things like that. He's a celebrity athlete and a party boy, and he has fans swooning over him wherever he goes. Frankly, it's ironic that a nerdy girl like me―a girl who dislikes sports, never goes on dates, and has no clue how to flirt―knows his type so well.

No matter how snobby he is, though, I'll keep this cordial.

I take off my jacket and hang it over the back of my chair. "So what are you majoring in, Joel?"

Joel turns on his laptop. "Computer engineering."

I barely manage not to reveal my surprise. Computer engineering? Computer engineering is one of the hardest majors that the university offers. Not many people attempt the degree―especially not athletes who frequently miss class and otherwise have their schooling disrupted due to their sport. I never would have guessed that Sexy Athlete Man is also a computer geek . . . and I find it immensely attractive.

A breath later, I mentally slap myself to my senses. I must stop crushing on Joel. We move in totally different circles. He's a famous athlete. I'm a study-o-holic. I don't have time for romance, and even if I did have time for romance, I wouldn't be interested in someone like him. Besides, it's not like Joel would ever be interested in a girl like me, anyway.

"So what are you going to do with your human biology degree?" Joel looks up from his laptop.

I hesitate. I've lost count of the number of times when I've told a guy that I'm planning to become a doctor and he abruptly begins acting intimidated, defensive, or as though I'm a weird alien creature.

"I'm pre-med," I confess, bracing myself for Joel's response.

"Cool. What specialty do you want to go into? Or do you know yet?"

I wait for Joel to tack on a snarky or condescending comment . . . but he doesn't. It's like he's not intimidated or bemused by what I told him at all.

I wasn't expecting that.

"I hope to go into OBGYN." I tuck a loose strand of my hair into my ponytail.

Joel's eyes shift to my hair while I work on it and then return to my face. "It's impressive that you're willing to tackle so many years of training and education."

I observe him closely, attempting to determine if he's subtly mocking me, but to my astonishment, everything about Joel's demeanor suggests he's being genuine. A spark flickers in my abdomen, but I ignore it and quickly change the subject:

"So how can I assist you with your coursework?"

Joel shifts his laptop so I can see the online class syllabus that he has pulled up. "I'm looking for help with the classroom portion of my inorganic chemistry course, which runs until the end of this month."

I breathe a little sigh of relief. At least he's not looking for help with computer engineering. That's definitely not my forte.

"Great." I show a smile, making sure not to convey any judgment. I never want someone to feel self-conscious about seeking help with their studies. "Is this your first chemistry course?"

"No." Joel retrieves a textbook from his bag. "I'm a chemistry minor, and this semester I'm taking an advanced chemistry class."

I need another moment to wrap my mind around what I heard. Computer engineering with a chemistry minor? Joel clearly isn't just hot and athletic―he's brilliant, too.

This is not exactly a recipe for helping me to crush on him less.

Joel opens the textbook as he goes on. "I'm getting so busy this semester, and missing classroom time as a result, that it's becoming tough to keep up on my own."

I nod. "You're busy with basketball and volleyball, right?"

Joel stops what he's doing. "So you know I play sports."

"Yes, I do know," I reply evenly. I'm not about to let him assume I'm some fangirl who's crazy about him because he's an athlete. "I didn't know this about you until yesterday, however, when someone mentioned it to me. I actually hate athletics. I don't follow them at all."

Okay, so perhaps that came out a tad more harshly than I intended, but from the scrutinizing way Joel is studying me, it's too late to backtrack my comment.

"You hate athletics, huh?" Joel is peering right into my eyes. "Do you hate athletes, too?"

"Yes," I state. "I mean, no! I mean, of course not. That is . . ." I trail off, my face exploding with heat. I wonder how long it'll take Rebecca to fire me for insulting one of the most celebrated students on campus. "What I mean is that my brother played a lot of sports, so I was around athletes all the time. My brother and his friends were cool, but there have been plenty of jocks who've made it clear that I'm not in their league."

Joel's brows snap together. There's a sharp break in the conversation. I groan to myself. This discussion has gone totally off the rails. Yet I'm determined to salvage it. So I refresh my smile, bolster my unbothered tone, and add:

"Anyway, the point is that I grew up going to my brother's games and practices all the time, and I do attend sporting events here on campus . . . I just don't actually watch them."

Joel stares, and then he breaks into a smile that nearly causes me to fall off my chair. The next thing I know, he has started laughing. My heart spins at the sound, and before I realize it, I'm laughing along with him.

You're his tutor! Stay focused!

The voice in my brain restores me to reality. I fall silent. Joel stops laughing, too, and his expression morphs back into a blank slate.

I clear my throat. "Well, let's get started, shall we?" I scoot my chair closer to the table. "Before we do, though, just one more question: would you like me to use your alias during these tutoring sessions?"

Joel shakes his head. "No, feel free to use my real name. I'm putting the alias on the tutoring schedule simply to help keep interruptions to a minimum."

"Interruptions?"

Joel uses one hand to rub the back of his neck. "Yeah, when I'm out in public, I'm often approached by people who want to talk, ask for an autograph, or take a picture. I really appreciate people's support, but the interruptions do make it challenging to get any studying done." He sighs and drops his arm. "That's why I came yesterday to scout out this coffee shop. I confirmed there weren't a lot of college students around, and my presence didn't draw as much attention as it would elsewhere, so I decided this would be a decent place to meet with my tutor." He grins. "That is, my presence didn't draw too much attention until a gigantic cup of apple cider spilled all over my table."

"Hey." I wave my hand in the general direction of the order counter. "You leave my barista research out of this."

Joel chuckles. "Okay."

I giggle, yet my mind is whirring as I think over what Joel said. He didn't request to meet away from campus because he's too proud to be seen with a tutor. Rather, he requested to meet here so he could get his studying done in peace.

Why do I get the sense that Joel isn't as self-absorbed as I initially assumed? And why do I also sense that this is going to make it even harder to ignore my attraction to him?

I think I need to move the conversation along.

"So regarding chemistry," I state, "you mentioned that the demands of your schedule are making it hard to always attend the lectures?"

Joel nods. "That's right. I'm in the throes of pre-season basketball practices, which are sometimes twice a day. There are also weight training sessions, team meetings, and . . . other commitments I have on my calendar." He coughs and refocuses on his laptop.

"That's all right." I motion to his textbook. "Why don't you show me what you talked about in class most recently, and we'll get started on your homework?"

"That would be great." Joel pulls his wallet from his back pocket. "First, though, how about I order us some drinks? What would you―"

A phone starts ringing. Joel gives me an apologetic look before he retrieves his phone from his bag. He glances at the caller ID, quickly gets to his feet, and puts the phone to his ear.

"Hi, this is Joel. Please hang on for a moment." Joel turns his attention back to me. "I'm sorry for the interruption, Danielle. I do need to take this, but it shouldn't take long."

Joel heads across the shop and goes outside. Through the big front windows, I see him begin to converse with the person who's on the other end of the call while he continues walking down the sidewalk and out of view. I sigh. It was probably a call from one of his coaches, and like athletes do, Joel is prioritizing his sports over academics . . . and over his tutor's time.

I shift my attention to Joel's open textbook, and I begin comparing the chapter's content with the online syllabus that's displayed on his laptop. I'm not sure how much time passes before I hear a jingle from the bell over the door. Soon, out of the corner of my eye, I see a man approaching the table. I raise my eyes and remark:

"Joel, I was reviewing your notes, and . . ."

I trail off when I realize it's not Joel who's walking this way. Instead, I'm being approached by another guy who also appears to be college-aged. He's fairly tall and muscular, and he's tan despite the fact that it's October. He has spiky blond hair and blue eyes. He's wearing a sweatshirt that's marked with the university's mascot. And he's smiling at me.

"Hey." The guy reaches the table and gives me a nod.

"Um, hey." I peer up at him, perplexed. Why is he smiling? Does he know me? Have I tutored him before but forgotten his face?

"Do you mind if I sit down?" The guy doesn't wait for me to answer before he welcomes himself to Joel's vacated chair. "It looks like you're doing some pretty intense studying."

"Yes, one could say that." I'm still observing him in bewilderment. "I'm sorry, but do I know you?"

The guy's smile falters for a fleeting moment. "Not yet, but I'm hoping to change that right now." He winks at me. "I'm Kaden Cox."

It takes me a long, ungraceful second before I figure out what's going on: this guy is hitting on me.

Isn't he?

No, there's no way. Guys never hit on me.

So why does it seem like he's hitting on me?

I realize Kaden is waiting for me to say something.

"Hello, Kaden. I'm . . ." For crying out loud, I've forgotten my name. "I'm . . . Danielle."

"Danielle, huh? Nice." Kaden's eyes trace over me. "I hope you don't mind that I came over here, but when I saw a gorgeous woman sitting by herself, I had to meet her." He taps the textbook with his finger. "Especially when she's trying to act super-smart. It's kind of hot."

I sense my lips pressing into a straight line. I'm not impressed by this guy. At all.

"Actually, I'm not here by myself," I inform him.

"Oh?" Kaden glances around the room. "Are you here with your boyfriend?"

"No, I . . . don't have a boyfriend." I cringe. Why am I so awkward and uncertain when I talk with guys?

"Hey, if you're single, that's a score for me." Kaden wags his eyebrows. "So what would you say, Danielle, if I asked for your phone number?"

"I would say that I appreciate you asking, but I'm not interested." I'm getting kind of queasy. I just want him to go away. "Now if you'll please excuse me, I need to get back to what I'm doing."

Kaden laughs. "Your hard-to-get act is cute, do you know that?"

"It's not an act. I really need to study." I work down a swallow, and I reach for the textbook so I can gather up Joel's things and move to another table.

Kaden puts one hand on mine, trapping it on top of the textbook. "Aw, come on, Danielle, give me a chance."

"No, thank you." I try to tug my hand free. "Please let go."

"What about meeting on campus?" Kaden goes on in a flirtatious tone. "We―"

"Kaden, I believe she told you to let her go," a man states.

Kaden and I both snap our heads toward the sound. Relief washes over me when I see that Joel is coming this way. His expression reveals nothing, but his gaze is intense and locked on Kaden. I glance back in Kaden's direction. I see his eyes narrow at Joel for a split-second, and then he puts on a grin, removes his hand from mine, and stands up as Joel reaches the table.

"Relax, Lambert," Kaden says with an indifferent air. "I didn't realize Danielle was with you. Sorry, man."

A muscle in Joel's cheek twitches as he flatly replies, "Danielle is my chemistry tutor."

"You have a tutor? Are you serious?" Kaden chortles. "Lambert, I don't know why you work so hard at the classroom stuff. Our professors will pass us, no matter what." He tips his head in my direction. "That being said, if all the tutors on campus are as hot as Danielle, I might think about getting one myself."

Joel takes a step closer. "Kaden."

Kaden holds up his hands in a mock-halting gesture. "Don't worry, man, I get it: you need to study. I'll clear out." He turns, reaches down to the laptop, and types a phone number at the top of Joel's notes. He then grins at me and adds, "I meant what I said, Danielle: I want to take you out. So once you tire of Mr. Scholastic, give me a call." He stands up straight and faces Joel again. "See you at practice, buddy."

Kaden saunters off and joins a couple of guys who are waiting near the counter for their drinks. I release a strained breath while drawing in my hand against my body. Joel stays on his feet, watching as Kaden and the other guys collect their beverages and leave the shop. He then sits down and asks in hardly more than a growl:

"Are you okay?"

"Yes," I lie. "Is . . . Kaden a friend of yours?"

Joel puts his phone into his bag. "He's a teammate."

"Oh," is all I say in reply. I choose not to mention that I should have suspected Kaden is another athlete; he's precisely the type of self-worshipping man that so many of them seem to be.

Joel's jaw remains clenched as he pulls his laptop toward him. He then pauses and looks at me again. "Do you want Kaden's phone number before I erase it?"

"No, thank you." I make myself busy reading random textbook pages. "He's . . . not my type."

"Ah, that's right. You hate athletes."

I lift my eyes to Joel. He's tapping the backspace key hard.

"Like I said before, I don't hate athletes," I insist, aware that I need to restore some professionalism to this bizarre tutoring session. "Athlete or not, I don't have time to date. I won't have time for dating until med school and residency are over."

Joel's eyes flick to mine and return to his laptop.

I sit up taller. "So how about we get started on your homework?"

"Sure." Joel gets back to his feet. "I'll go order us some drinks first. Let me guess: you want a lofty-sized Autumn Cider Swirl, right?"

He grins before heading off toward the counter.

I shake my head. Joel's quip should irritate me . . . yet, oddly, it doesn't. It doesn't irritate me at all, in fact. Instead, his humor is making me break into another smile.

And I suddenly have the feeling that this is going to be a very complicated month.