“Is that a cry for help?”
Looking up from my reverie, I spot JT. JT, whose last nameI do not know. JT, of bathtub sex fame. JT, the man once known as Gym Shorts Hottie.
“What are you doing here?” The question is out of my mouth before I can stop it.
Leaning back against one of the metal bookshelves, he holds up a book. “Stats. It’s a necessary evil, and the books just came in.”
“Stats is not a necessary evil,” I say, possibly with more heat than is strictly necessary. “Stats is…useful. It’s vital to analysis. It’s fun.”
He shoots me one of his killer smiles. “You sure you’re ok? Maybe you hit your head when you tumbled down that hill?”
“Haha,” I retort, rolling my eyes. “I forgot. Math is a terrible, horrible thing and since none of us understand it, we must make fun of it, and act like it’s the educational version of the plague.”
He shakes his head, and splays his hand out, touching each fingertip as he rattles off a list. “Hot as fuck, funny as hell, pretty damn flexible, germ-averse, and a mathematical genius. Damn, Maggie, you are quite the package.”
To my credit, I don’t say anything about his package. I just nod and smile. “Math isn’t as terrifying as people make it out to be, especially Stats.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, still propped against the bookshelf looking like a model. “You don’t happen to tutor in your spare time, do you?”
I know he’s just teasing me, but for a second, I see something hopeful in his gaze.
“Nope,” I answer. “There’s just no time. I graduate in May and have two exams to pass before then, which means all my free time will be spent studying.”
“Are you an education major?” he asks, following me down the aisle as I make my way to the front of the store.
I shake my head. “No way. I have a hard enough time dealing with the general population’s hatred for math.There’s no universe where I’d sign up to make it make sense to other people.
He cracks a smile. “That’s fair. Ok, next guess…accounting?”
“Wrong again. It’s fine, but I need a little more excitement, you know?”
His hazel eyes flash with awareness, and I realize what I just said. Before I can stammer out a clarification, he stops in front of a display of fuzzy socks. “Forensicaccounting?” he asks, unable to hide his smile. “That’s like, the sexy version, right?”
Once again, I shake my head. “I definitely wouldn’t call it sexy, but it is a little more thrilling than plain old accounting. Now my major is the sexy level, hands down.”
JT lets his gaze sweep over me. “Makes sense.”
I have no doubt my cheeks are on fire right now. I did not come to the student bookstore for sexy banter, or to run into the guy I hooked up with. It’s confusing, and that must be why I blurt out my next words. “You’re not acting like a one-night stand. Aren’t you supposed to avoid eye contact? Or give me a tip of your chin and keep moving? I’m not well-versed in these things, but I really don’t think you’re following protocol.”
My words catch him off guard. I can tell by the way he laughs, then thinks better of it, and chews at the corner of his lip. He’s weighing his next words, calculating the myriad ways in which they might land. I don’t point out how helpful statistics can be in situations like this.
“Truthfully, and with full recognition that you have no reason to believe me, I’m not all that well-versed in these things, either. But maybe it’s not just that, Maggie.”
He says my name like it’s a warm blanket I want to cuddle up into.
That absolutely would not follow protocol.
“Maybe,” he says, his eyes locked on mine, “I don’t think of you as a one-night stand.”
There’s no veneer of charm in his words, no smooth delivery. He’s standing before me, his stance open and relaxed, like he has nothing to hide. He sounds genuine.
And I find that more terrifying than any math problem could ever possibly be.
My consternation shows in the furrow of my brow. “But it was literally one-night. Granted, we weren’t standing, but I think that’s a metaphor, or something? Don’t ask me, I’m no English major.”
“Actuarial Science,” he says with authority, a smile gracing his handsome face.
I’m momentarily confused. “How did you?—”
