8. MADDIE

CHAPTER 8

MADDIE

I rush through the buildings in the central campus area at a brisk walk. My white Dr. Martens squeak with every step as they shed the residual slush from outside, but I'm happy to trade potential slips for noisy boots that make people stare. Pushing the door to the student center with my shoulder, I pause for a second to relish the warmth. Melinda always keeps it a notch too high, but it's snowing outside, and this is the next best thing to a roaring fireplace.

It's close to noon, so the place is mostly deserted. One of the tutors frantically types something on one of the office computers. Beyond the counter, I see my boss in her office. She's on the phone, though, so I'll have to wait to have this conversation with her.

But I spot Wyatt coming out of the break room. Jackpot.

"Wyatt," I whisper and motion with my mitten-covered hand.

He lifts his head away from a steaming cup of gross hot chocolate, more commonly used to warm our hands than as a drink. "Hey, Maddie. What's up?"

"We need to talk." I glance around. The other tutor is watching, that snoop. "In private."

"Oh, sounds intriguing."

Never one to back away from a good piece of gossip, he follows me into the one meeting room in the student center. I take a seat across the table, finally catching my breath. I've been high-strung since this morning, but I have a plan now.

I wait until he takes a seat and sets the paper cup on the table before I speak. "Is there any chance we could swap students so we have the ones we were assigned to from the beginning?"

The way his eyebrows rise pulls his eyes as wide as saucers. "Wait, did something happen after I left?"

"No." But he starts leaning away, and I figure it'll be harder to convince him if I'm not honest. "Not after you left. Later. Many hours later."

"Oh?" Wyatt leans forward.

I huff, blowing a strand of my hair away from my face. I try tucking it behind my ears, but my mittens are too thick. They also feel too good to remove just yet. My hair will have to stay messy.

"You're stalling, so this must be good."

I whine. "I have embarrassed myself beyond comprehension," I say, dropping my face into my mittens.

"Did you already develop a crush on him, then blurt it out or something?" he asks with a chuckle.

"That's not what happened. It's much worse." I lower my hands to the table and do the same with my eyes. "Promise you won't laugh?"

"Do I have to?"

"Wyatt…"

"Okay, okay. I promise."

I pin him with a hard stare. "Also promise that what you're about to hear won't leave this room."

"Cross my heart and hope to die. Scout's honor."

"I know you weren't in the scouts, but I'll take it." Drawing a deep breath, I spit it out. "He saw my bedroom. And my bathroom. And my bra!" At this, I collapse into my hands again.

" What ?" Wyatt snorts, but a glare from me is enough to hold his laughter back. "I'm going to need a few more details. How did Aran Rodriguez end up seeing your bra the day you met him?"

"I don't know. I don't know how any of this happened. But I can't possibly face him again." I melt on the table, using my arms as pillows.

"Maddie, I didn't know you could move that fast, but I approve."

"It's not like that. My roommates brought him and a few other Bolts to our apartment last night without giving me any warning. And my bra was hanging in the bathroom as it dried. And he saw it. And I want to die. The end."

"Please, please, please let me laugh. The one who is dying here is me."

"Fine. Laugh," I mumble.

He lets out a great guffaw, followed by kindergartener-type giggles.

I scrunch up my face. "You wouldn't be laughing if it had happened to you."

"First of, that would've never happened because I don't have boobs." His whole frame shakes with laughter. "Second, I can't trade you now. Sorry."

"What? Why?"

"Turns out the girl you were supposed to tutor is my soulmate."

I sit up straight and blink like an owl. "Okay, now you spill."

His lips stretch into a smile that reaches his eyes, and it's like he's stopped seeing me. Instead, his mind must be set on an image of this mystery girl.

"She's a jock too, actually. Tennis, though." Sighing, he rests his chin on his hand. "Like, I've always been into the more artsy girls, but she and I hit it off from the get-go in a way that's never happened before…"

"Oh my."

"Anyway, I want to see where this goes, so Aran Rodriguez is all yours."

"He's not—Ugh. Fine. I'll see if Melinda can trade me with someone else."

"Yeah, good luck with that. The two other tutors quit, so I doubt she'll have anyone to sub in for English."

"Well, this has been extremely helpful." I roll my eyes and push my chair back to get up. "But I have to go bury my head in the sand now. Bye."

"Good luck."

I leave him to his laughter and go mope in the cafeteria while I have lunch. My mind keeps churning the scenes from last night, even during class, as if it's more important than paying attention to the lecture. I take the long route out to the library after class, knowing I might even be late for the next session with Aran. But it feels like my shoes are filled with lead, and every step I take makes my breath turn more jagged.

Not to be dramatic, but I think I may die of embarrassment if I see him. But I have to. Because I'm his tutor.

Unless… What if I convince him to ask for a replacement? Melinda may be more willing to swap me if the request comes from him. And yeah, maybe it will make my rating tank, but I'm desperate.

"Crap," I mutter to myself as I hide behind one of the bookshelves. For Aran Rodriguez is already waiting in the same spot as yesterday.

This time the table is fully empty, though. Which is even worse.

He already has his laptop on. It's one of those big models that must weigh a ton but looks small against his hands as he types on it. Several textbooks are open all around him and there are some wrappers balled up next to them, like maybe he's been parked here studying for a while. Maybe he won't notice that I'm late. Maybe he won't notice if I don't show up at all.

No, I'm responsible. And brave. And strong. I can face him.

I almost make a U-turn when he lifts his eyes for a second and locks them with mine. But he focuses back on whatever he's doing, and the relief alone is enough to propel me forward until I sit across the table from him.

"Hi." Regretfully, my voice comes out like a squeak.

The only acknowledgment I get is another brief glance.

I busy myself removing my coat and hanging it from the back of my chair. I take off my mittens and scarf, a matching marigold set I knitted last year. Then I sit back down, but I don't take any of my stuff out of my bag. Hopefully I won't need them because he'll agree to requesting a different tutor.

Manifesting , I tell myself as I breathe in deep. We can do this.

"Give me a moment while I finish," he mumbles, more to himself than to me.

"Give me a moment, please ," I blurt out, correcting him again.

A corner of his lips curves up slightly. "Sure, take your time."

"Ugh."

My hopes start deflating. He seems to fully enjoy antagonizing me for sport.

The half smile stays locked in place, even as he continues working. He pauses to circle something in his textbook with his mechanical pencil, then he's back to fiddling with his computer. I stretch myself up to glance at the textbook. It's a love festival of numbers. Just looking at it makes me dizzy.

What was it Lori said yesterday? That he's studying accounting? That didn't feature in his player profile, but it must be true.

So, Aran Rodriguez is a smarty pants, and not just because of the crap he says all the time.

He snaps the textbook shut and slides it away before tearing his eyes away from his screen. Showtime, I guess.

"Hi," I say with more strength.

"You said that already."

"Ha ha. Yeah, so…" I trail off. "Can we talk for a moment before the session?"

"I'm all yours."

How can he say something like that so nonchalantly?

I clear my throat. Unlike Meg, who is a master of spoken language and can talk circles around the heads of a jury, I tend to wither when I have to express myself aloud. It's why I always gravitated to the written form as a kid. I can only express myself properly if I have the time to think about each word. Which is why I had to prepare all my talking points in advance, and why I couldn't concentrate during class at all.

Here goes the first one. "So, I noticed in your profile that you specifically requested a male tutor, which I'm not?—"

"I noticed."

"And I was wondering if you'd still prefer to be tutored by a guy?" I cross my fingers under the table. Please say yes .

"I don't care anymore." Aran shrugs those big shoulders of his, making the fabric of his sweatshirt stretch from his neck.

"What? Why?" This may or may not have come out as a whine.

"What I really didn't want was someone who may start hitting on me or something," he responds, using that cool inflection that betrays no feeling. It's like he's talking about the weather and not saying something that sounds super pretentious.

Except, in his case, it's not showboating. Dude has a serious fandom in this school. And from what I found online yesterday when I was doing book research, they can be a bit too much.

"Uh, but I'm not what you requested…" I'm grasping at straws.

"A new tutor may be weirder than you, though."

Aran folds his arms on top of the table, and they distract me. Mom wouldn't have anything bad to say about them. In fact, she'd be wondering what I'm wondering. What's the name of that muscle that curves on the outside of his upper arm?

"Are you planning to hit on me?"

"No!" The shout echoes around the library.

Oh my word. Did he catch me checking him out again? Maybe I should've said yes. That would've convinced him to ask for a new tutor right away. Although I would never! Heat rushes up from my chest. A cocktail of embarrassment and panic churns in my gut.

"B—But I definitely don't want to make you uncomfortable, you know?" Next argument I prepared: "You deserve the best care, and I'm just not sure I'm the right person for the job."

"Your rating says otherwise."

Why is he so good at picking apart my arguments with so few words?

Maybe because they're flimsy. That's why. I may have to use the tactic I least wanted to use.

"Listen, I'm going to be fully honest with you." I draw in a deep breath, and in a solemn way, I say, "I'm absolutely dying of mortification."

Aran leans forward a little, those intense eyes unwavering. "You should get that checked out."

The urge to kick him is strong. "C'mon," I whine.

"Why? Because I saw your room?"

"Not because of that ," I mumble with a frown.

"So what? I saw your bra. Everyone has boobs. Half of the boobed people wear bras. It's no big deal."

"It's a big deal for me." I drop my face into my hands again. "How can I possibly act professional now?"

"Want me to show you my boxers to level the playing field?"

"Aran!"

"Or I can show you my boobs instead."

"Are you trying to kill me?"

The grin on his face is criminal. It's a gesture that steals hearts and sanity. He should register that and only use it when he has a valid permit.

"Look, if you hadn't brought this up, I wouldn't be thinking about your boobs right now, and we would've started the lesson like normal."

I groan and collapse on the table. He's right. I'm the one who made it awkward. He had probably forgotten all about it. He's probably seen countless pieces of lingerie on or off countless girls. There was probably nothing memorable about mine. Why did I have to overreact?

"Can we please forget this conversation happened?"

"Now we can't, no."

"Great," I grumble, my face smooshed against the table. "Is there really no way I can convince you to find someone else whose humiliations you haven't witnessed?"

"Nope. And I have class soon, so we better get cracking."

"Fine. But promise me something." I pause not for drama, but so I can steel myself. "You won't tease me."

"I can't promise that," Aran responds factually. There's no malice in his eyes, only amusement.

I purse my lips. "Then promise you won't bring it up in public."

"I can promise that. I didn't do it last night."

"And thank you for that. Lori would've eaten me alive." I sigh and grab my bag, because I'll need my things after all. "I guess we can start the lesson."