He looks at me and smirks, quirking a brow. “I think I can manage.”
I hold up both hands. “Sorry. Sorry. It just seemed like you were struggling.”
“I don’t struggle with anything, Kid. Don’t you know better?”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s an awfully self-centered thing to say.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not self-centered if it’s the truth. All men were not created equal, I don’t care what they say. There are the ones who work their asses off and succeed, there’s the ones who think they’re awesome, then there’s a select few who work their asses off and actually are awesome.”
Clearing my throat, I stand and walk over to the table. “Let me guess, you fall into the last group?”
“You need confirmation?” he snaps back. “Look at me.”
I do the opposite.
My inner bitch rises. He’s awful. Even more conceited than he used to be, and that’s saying something because he was an enormous jackass when I knew him five years ago. He had beef with another SEAL, my stepdad Aidan, of all people, and he tried to use me to break up my mom and Aidan. I think it was because he was bored. And immature. Or he had something to prove as the new guy on the Team. He befriended me and made it seem, to Aidan, that he was going after me in a romantic way. We were always only friends, though.
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” I say, sliding into the chair next to him. “I need you to dial it down. The cocky, self-assured persona is great when you’re out doing your thing. In here, in my classroom, I need you to enter another frame of mind. A humble one in which you learn things. Things that you want to learn.”
He scoffs. “Did I piss you off already?”
Internally seething, I blink slowly. “I’m not angry. Just laying the ground rules.”
“I don’t do well with rules, Kid.”
I shake my head. “I’m not a kid, and you won’t call me that in here. It’s Simmons. Or Mrs. Simmons.” There. I feel better already.
“Simmons,” he says, then licks his lips. My eyes trail the movement—an action that happens without my consent. “Simmons,” he says once more.
I meet his gaze. He smiles, exposing a white smile. “I need you to fuck off if you want me to finish your little test.”
I must look shocked, because after a second he adds, “Please. Good manners and all that, right?”
I stand and walk back to my desk unevenly, my heels feeling much higher than they did minutes before. “You don’t have to be so rude.”
“You want rude, Simmons,” he says, accentuating my name, “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
It’s not about a high-level distraction anymore, it’s about getting back at him any way I can. He finishes the test fifteen minutes later, the results display into my system, and I click them open. Leo did way better than I thought he would. From the corner of my eye I see him smirking at me. Rage enters my bloodstream.
“Any other tests? Or do you want to look at my lips some more?”
Huffing, I grab a few of the dry erase markers and walk to the marker board. I write several phrases on the board, hyper aware of how he’s probably staring at my ass. The squeak of the marker is the only sound in the room. My handwriting gets sloppier and sloppier as I go, trying to finish quickly. I spin and cap the marker the second I’m done. Leo is picking at his fingernails, not paying attention to me at all. I begin to explain what I’ve written and how rules in Spanish are different than in English. Leo looks absolutely bored as he nods along and checks the clock several times.
I ask several times if he has any questions, but he never does. By the end of today’s class, we’re able to have simple conversation back and forth without him making too many mistakes. I send Leo home with the tablet and tell him what apps will help him best if he has free time to study. I’ll take his stoic indifference over his cocky rude behavior any day. I return an email to Margaret while Leo lingers in the doorway.
“Tomorrow, then,” Leo says, adjusting his uniform before entering the hallway.
“And the day after that,” I reply.
He steps out into the hall. “Get some rest tonight, Kid. I’ll have questions for you.”
I’m about to snap at him for calling me kid, then I realize he’s not in my office. I snarl at him—slanted brows and pursed lips. I don’t dignify him with a response. I close the door instead.
_______________
Adam lays a hand on my shoulder and I shift out of his grasp. “It was good. It’s more of one-on-one tutoring than a class, though. I guess it will be different each session. Sometimes I’ll have more students and other times just a few.”
“How many are you teaching now?” he asks, his kind gaze appraising me.
