She scrunches her face, considering. “Six?”
“If we add them, we won’t actually be accounting for all the possible arrangements,” I explain, “so instead, think of it as three separate groups of duplicates rather than how many letters are repeating. And since we’re dividing the total number of ways to arrange the letters by the number of repeats for each group, we don’t add them together, we…”
“Multiply them?” Shannon guesses. “So, we have eight?”
I snap my fingers. “Bingo. So, now, you’re left with a fraction with the eleven factorial on top and the duplicate factorials on the bottom, and it’s just a matter of simple division.”
Shannon gives me a skeptical look and scoffs. “Simple. Right,” she deadpans.
My own expression is patient as I gesture to her calculator, which she picks up again with a sigh.
“Okay, so, thirty-nine million, blah, blah, blah, divided by eight is…” Her fingernails clack against the buttons as she enters each number. “4,989,600.” Her eyes slide to mine for confirmation.
“Yup. And that’s your answer,” I tell her.
Her mouth pops open as she looks down at her calculator before glancing back up at me in surprise. “That’s…actually not that hard.”
“Nope,” I agree. “It isn’t.”
I’m about to come up with another example for Shannon to try when something tickles my senses, coaxing me to raise my head. My eyes lift at that silent, inner command, instantly snagging on a tall, dark-haired figure at the opposite end of the atrium near the library entrance. And as my heart stumbles inmy chest at the sight, it occurs to me that I reallydohave a built-in fuckboy detector because that familiar figure now meeting my gaze across the room is Damian.
No other thoughts seem to penetrate my brain other than a staccatohe’s here,he’s here. He smiles at me, and my relief is so palpable I can taste it, but I’ve barely had time to process his presence when he jerks his chin in the direction of the library stacks.
Math section, he mouths before disappearing from view behind a bookcase.
It takes more self-restraint than I knew myself capable of to not jump out of my seat and go running to him like the female love interest in a romcom movie. Instead, heart hammering against my rib cage, I turn to Shannon and say, “Think you can try a few problems on your own? I’ll be right back.”
My voice is surprisingly calm as I speak, and she gives me an unbothered nod as I slide my chair back and stand, keeping my pace steady as I head in the direction of the mathematics section.
Damian is already there waiting for me, shoulder propped against the bookcase so he’s leaning at an angle, his feet effortlessly crossed at the ankle. His eyes are downcast, fixed on the open book in his hands.
“Isn’t math supposed to be a universal language?” he asks without looking up, sensing my presence as easily as I seem to sense his, like we are two parallel lines drawn so closely together we might as well be one. He snorts, his brow creasing in consternation. “I feel like I’m trying to decode an alien dialect.”
Straightening, he snaps the book shut, and slides it back onto the shelf. Then those dark eyes are locking on mine, and those plush lips I am dying to kiss are twisting into a lopsided grin.
“Hi, Blondie,” he murmurs, smiling at me, and hearing those two words—that familiar endearment I’ve never told him I adore—is enough to break my composure.
I stumble forward a step. “Are you…okay?” I ask, hoping that easy smile isn’t disguising something much darker behind it. Something that might be breaking him. “I hadn’t heard from you, and I—” My voice catches, and I swallow to push down the lump of emotion building in my throat.
Damian’s lips hitch at the corners, his grin turning rakish. “Were you worried about me, Dornan?” His already molten eyes darken with amusement.
My face contorts into a scowl. “Of course, I was worried about you, youidiot. You sent me fifty grand out of the blue, and then vanished. I couldn’t find you. You weren’t answering my calls. Do you haveanyidea how?—”
Before I can say another word, his arms are encircling me, pulling me to his chest, and his lips are at my ear, whispering, “I’m sorry,” over and over, his voice so low only I can hear it. I shiver from the touch of his warm breath on my neck as my hands instinctively hook around his waist and splay against his back, holding him to me as much as my trembling fingers will allow.
We stay that way for a moment, me clinging to him like I really am a freaking spider monkey, my face pressed into his shirt, inhaling his scent, while he smooths his hand over my hair and repeatedly apologizes. I want to tell him he doesn’t need to be sorry—that I understand why he shut me out—but I’m just so glad he’s here and in my arms that I can’t find the words.
“It just felt like my whole world was imploding, and I was so afraid of letting you down,” he eventually says when I finally pull back to look at him, though he doesn’t meet my gaze. “Of fucking up things with you like I fucked up everything else.”
Lifting my hands to cup his face, I swipe my thumbs across the soft skin of his cheekbones. “Hey, you haven’t fucked this up, okay?” I tilt my head toward him just a little so he’s forced to look at me. “It’s fine,” I assure him. “We’refine.” I pause,hesitating out of fear of the answer, before once again asking, “Areyou?”
Damian considers that for a moment, then lets out a shaky breath through his nose. “Things looked a bit dicey there for a minute, but it’s all good now. It’s great, actually.”
My hands falter against his cheeks. “Great?” I parrot, arching a brow.
His lips twitch into another smile. “Yeah. All thanks to you.”
I start to protest. He’s giving me way too much credit. Sure, I said my piece to his parents, but it washisidea,hisproposal that made them actually listen. Before I can get any comprehensible words out to tell him so, he takes my hands in his, pulling them away from his face. He then brings them down into the narrow space between us where he interlocks our fingers together.
