Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Jamie

The young man on the end of the sofa was called Ian, a quarterback for the UCLA Pioneers in his final year of a degree in physics, and already drafted to enter the Seattle NFL team. He was incredibly bright, but I got the feeling he played at being a jock a little too well. He was tall, wiry, fast, and he brought a ball with him that he balanced on his hand and spun when he was thinking.

The woman next to him was Annabelle, an artistic gymnast, also in her last year at UCLA with a near-finished chemistry degree, already training for the Olympic gymnastics team, who was sitting so still I wondered if she was meditating. The only thing that kept her attention was Ian and his flirting, and only when he was trying really hard. The two of them shared the small two-seater sofa. Ian was sprawling and posturing and balancing the ball, and Annabelle was side-eyeing him and smiling.

I guessed there could be an Annabelle/Ian matchup happening soon.

I took the seat opposite Craig and glanced around the empty room, feeling proud that I'd found this quiet space within the bustle of the college and had managed to book it even though I wasn't an assistant professor here.

Yet.

I had reasons to stay in LA, particularly now Oli had implied over beers last night that he'd retire before being traded away from LA and from Jackson. Not to mention the girls loved their new school. He was putting down roots in LA, actively researching a bigger place for him, Jackson, and the girls, with an extra room for me, apparently.

So, if he and the girls were staying, then I was too.

The walls were adorned with whiteboards covered in a myriad of notes and diagrams from countless meetings before us, lending an academic yet comforting air to the place, and I felt calm and collected and in control of my research. More than when it had been Sean and me doing this together, when he would flutter around as if he knew what he was doing.

Craig had followed me in reluctantly, his discomfort palpable as his sight flicked rapidly between the boards and the seats. "You sure this is a good spot?" he'd asked, voice laced with skepticism as he glanced around the lounge, clearly out of his element among the scribbles of quantum mechanics and organic chemistry. I bet he'd be better with all those X's and O's of strategy, but I hoped he'd learn to love my world as well.

God knows why that was important to me.

He was just a hookup.

One night.

One sexy, awe-inspiring, memory-making night.

"It's relaxed, and we've got coffee," I'd tried to reassure him, gesturing to the small bar where the machine sat with the pods I'd stolen from Oli's kitchen.

He hadn't seemed convinced but settled into a lone chair anyway, placing a Storm hoodie in his lap as a makeshift barrier, and looked every bit the solitary figure, set slightly apart from Ian and Annabelle, who were so deep into their flirtatious banter I wondered if they needed to find another kind of room for privacy.

Ian was all confidence and charm, a glaring contrast to Craig's reserve. He tossed his football lightly from one hand to the other, catching it and spinning it occasionally as he spoke. "Physics is all about understanding the forces of attraction, much like the one I'm feeling right now," he said, winking at Annabelle, who raised an eyebrow, her posture poised and composed. She seemed amused by Ian, but every now and then, her gaze would cut to Craig, and she'd try to catch his eye.

Mine .

Craig watched them both, and then his gaze swung back to me, eyes clouding with an unreadable emotion. I could tell he was out of his comfort zone when his hands tightened around the purple material he'd folded and refolded, and he leaned back, trying to appear casual but only managing to present a picture of contained energy. He wore a Storm T-shirt that clung just right to his lithe, muscular frame, accentuating the build of a professional hockey player honed by years on the ice. His jeans were casual, and his purple Converse were adorned with the Storm logo, another nod to his team spirit. His brown hair was a tousled mess, with waves and flicks and curls that looked like they had been styled by his carefree movements rather than a deliberate effort, and he was so gorgeous.

I couldn't help but notice the smoothness of his clean-shaven jaw, which made him appear young—vulnerable almost—and so damn handsome. A vivid sense memory flashed through my mind—of the faint abrasion of his stubble against my skin—and boom, I was fighting getting an erection in the middle of an academic meeting. I went through the entire lengthy theorem before I had myself under control, and realized he was staring at me, or rather I was staring at him, and he'd caught me.

He seemed slightly on edge, sitting with one leg crossed over the other, occasionally adjusting the material in his lap or running fingers through his hair. I wondered if sitting still was something foreign to him. What would he do while I was sitting reading? Would he go to the gym? Watch a movie? Would he want to talk? Would he hate that when we were in our house one day sometimes I needed to sit in silence, or would he curl up next to me and read something himself?

Also, why was I picturing us on a lazy afternoon in a non-existent house, in a non-starting relationship, with the sexy man staring at me?

I sent him a hesitant smile, and he returned it, although it didn't seem entirely genuine. Maybe he could read my mind, saw my future-us imaginings, and was completely freaked out.

I caught myself fantasizing about leaning close to him, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. The thought of kissing him sent a familiar warmth coursing through me, mingled with a pang of longing. The small room was filled with Ian and Annabelle's chatter, but for a moment, it all seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the vivid image of Craig, his casual beauty, and the unresolved tension between us.

I wanted him.

So badly.

My watch buzzed with the alarm to start the meeting, and I snapped into motion.

"Hi, everyone, thank you for coming. We'll start in a bit, but I just thought we'd go around the room and give ourselves an idea of who we are." Craig sunk lower in his seat—I got that this meeting warm-up was shit, I hated doing it myself, but I needed everyone to understand what they were here to do, and this was the best way.

"I'll go first," Ian announced, and that didn't surprise me at all. "I'm Ian, QB for the Lions, Go Lions!" He held up a fist—was he expecting me to bump it?

"Go Lions," I repeated, and he seemed happy.

"So, I'm in the final year of my degree, physics, but I'm already on the books for the Seattle Sirens, so I'm pretty set for life."

Unless he got injured, in which case he wasn't set at all, but I didn't want to burst his bubble.

"I'm Annabelle, last year, Chemistry, and I have my place on the Olympic team." She glanced at Ian who seemed suitably impressed. "Plus, a post-grad at Cambridge. England I mean, not US."

Then it was Craig's turn, and I smiled in encouragement as he cleared his throat.

"Craig, winger, LA Storm, hockey."

"And I'm Dr Jamie Hennessy, call me Jamie, and I want to thank the three of you for coming today."

All three of them mumbled a hello.

"So, uh, this place is full of… equations and stuff," Craig finally commented, his attempt at making conversation falling a bit flat as he gestured vaguely toward the nearest whiteboard laden with complex calculations. "I thought this was a physical thing."

"Yeah, it's a bit different from the ice rink or the field, isn't it?" I responded, trying to bridge the gap between his world and this one. "But hey, it's a change of scenery. Good for the brain."

He offered a half-smile, still tense. "Sure, as long as I don't have to solve any of that," he said, nodding at the boards.

"That's my job," I reassured him, and Craig seemed relieved. I wasn't expecting anyone here to understand what I was doing from a mathematical perspective, and I wanted Craig to relax, and what I said seemed to work. "So, the basic question I was asking in my research was about the orientation of flight. Take for example, a football." Ian perked up. "It starts with the nose up but then tilts forward by the time it reaches the receiver."

"Are you talking about that professor who reached rotation precesses?"

"Exactly, everyone thought the spin was similar to a spinning top's behavior—gyroscopic stability and all that. But it's constantly interacting with air currents, which alter its spin axis dynamically, so…" I thought I'd let Ian finish for the ultimate teachable moment.

"Airflow creates a dynamic torque on the ball. The spiral isn't just stable spinning; it's a dynamic system responding to continuous external torques like gyroscopic precession." He elbowed Annabelle. "The external torque due to air modifies the spin axis, making it precess. The football's axis makes a cone shape around the direction of motion. This is why the nose tilts down toward the end of the pass." He sat back, waiting for her to be impressed, which she seemed to be at first, and then the two started chatting back and forth about theoretical calculations and computer simulations to prove the behavior. That gave me time to stare at Craig, who in turn was staring at the boards, pale. Did he not feel well? We could always reschedule if he was coming down with something.

Ian finally turned back to me. "So, you're giving us a perfect example of how theoretical physics applies to everyday phenomena, and you want to use math in the same way?"

"Maths," I corrected.

Ian frowned. "Math," he repeated.

"Maths," I sighed with added drama. "Maths is short for mathematics, hence the extra s."

Ian wrinkled his nose. "Is that like a Brit thing?"

I held back the sarcasm and smiled, pretty used to the banter. "Not, it's like a word thing."

Ian snickered and shook his head. "You Brits really like to add extra letters, huh? Next thing you'll tell me is that color needs a U or something."

I noticed Craig shooting the kid a sharp glance, but Annabelle beat Craig to whatever he was going to say.

"Rude," she huffed and elbowed the boy, and something in her admonishment made Ian sit straighter—jeez, he wanted to impress her something bad.

"Sorry, sir, doctor, Jamie," Ian fumbled.

"It's okay. So back to what I was saying, uhm, understanding these principles could definitely give you all an edge, knowing exactly how to control the pass more effectively in football, understanding the geometry of the spiral in hockey, or the gravitational force applied to a set of gymnastic movements. So, let's get started."

I handed out the clipboards with the questionnaire. Craig took his as if it were an unexploded bomb, placing it on his lap on top of the hoodie.

"What I need from you is a baseline of your understanding of spirals, just single words is fine, how it might help you to control your movements on a mathematical basis."

Ian was already scribbling, Annabelle, reading the form thoroughly. It was only a few pages, the usual questions, names, health and safety forms, and then some aims for their participation and what they hoped to gain from it.

Craig hadn't shifted from his initial frozen posture since receiving the clipboard. "I'll do this at home, Dr. Hennessy," he said finally, his voice firm yet quiet.

"Please, call me Jamie," I reminded him, and he stared at me. I was puzzled by his reaction. "It's okay, I know it's a lot of boxes, it's really not meant to be detailed. Just a few questions that help us understand your thoughts on what I need to achieve."

He shook his head, eyes not meeting mine. "I'll handle it at home."

His response left me confused. "It's really straightforward, Craig. Nothing you need to really think about. You can leave the aims bit if you like," I pressed, not understanding his reluctance.

Craig stood abruptly. The clipboard and hoodie tumbled to the floor, but he didn't seem to notice. "I appreciate you asking me to be part of this, Jamie, but I have to step out of this study," he said calmly, his voice carrying a finality that stopped me short.

I watched, stunned, as he strode toward the door without another word. A mixture of shock and concern propelled me after him. "Craig! Wait, is this because of—because we had sex?" The question was out before I could reel it back, and I glanced at Ian and Annabelle who were staring with mouths open. Fuck. Had I just outed him? Fuck. "Only joking," I added lamely, but it was too late, and I'd seriously fucked up.

He turned to face me, with an unreadable expression, although he didn't look furious, merely disappointed. He glanced left and right then grabbed my arm and encouraged me down the corridor and into a stairwell. "Dr. Hennessy?—"

"Jamie, please, and god, I didn't mean to out you?—"

"It's not that, and it's nothing to do with us having sex." He cradled my face and backed me against the wall. "That part of my life works great," he murmured, and for a second I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead, he tugged my face to his and rested his forehead against mine.

"I don't belong in there. I have dyslexia. I can't read the form quickly like everyone else, and I have software that reads it, and special… look, I'm not stupid, but I'm not academic," he explained, his voice low but resolute. "I thought you knew."

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. Here was Craig, strong and confident in so many ways, confronting a challenge that went largely unseen by those around him, and I hadn't known. I never even thought about making my study open to everyone, I assumed with him being an athlete that he'd be…

What?

"I didn't realize," I managed to say, feeling utterly inadequate.

Craig gave a small smile, and he didn't seem sad, or angry. "It's just who I am. I know my strengths, Jamie, and that…" he gestured vaguely back toward the room, "that's not one of them."

"I can make it accessible."

"I know you can, but maybe that's not what I need from you."

"I don't understand."

"I don't need you to make allowances for me, I need to be…" He seemed frustrated. "I've been in a situation like this before…"

"In a scientific study?"

He snorted a laugh. "No, with a guy who made me think less of myself. I won't let it happen again, however much I want to kiss you."

"I didn't mean to… shit… Craig?"

"Bye."

Watching him walk away, I felt a profound respect mixed with my confusion. He was right; he knew his strengths and wasn't afraid to acknowledge his limitations. But had I inadvertently pushed him into a situation that made him uncomfortable? This question gnawed at me as I stood in the hallway, the echo of the closing door at the end of the corridor ringing softly in the background.

It hadn't even crossed my mind to consider accessibility, and as a consequence, I'd made him think less of himself.

Talk about a mess.

Bloody hell.