Page 80 of Mine to Take

When she studies me in silence for a long moment, I wonder if she’ll argue.

Here’s the thing—she can fight this as much as she wants. It won’t change the outcome.

And we sure as hell aren’t going to maintain a professional relationship in the interim.

She clears her throat. “So, from what I understand, you need help with English?”

The change in conversation has me releasing the air wedged in my lungs. Until now, I hadn’t realized that I’d been holding it captive.

“Yup. I’ve been working on a paper.”

Some of the tension wafting off her dissolves. She seems more comfortable now that talk has turned to school.

As long as she understands that I’ll be stealing kisses while we work, we’ll be just fine.

“Can I see it?”

I unzip my backpack and pull out my laptop before firing it up. That ordinary act is enough to have dread rushing through my veins. As much as I don’t want to show her, that’s the reason we’re here.

The one way I forced her into spending time with me.

Now I actually have to go through with it.

Fuck.

Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea after all.

Willow seems like a smart girl. It won’t take long for her to arrive at the conclusion that I’m either stupid, don’t try, or have a disability.

And then she’ll see me in a different light.

Or worse, feel sorry for me.

My leg bounces with the nerves that have burst to life within me.

Pity is the last thing I want from her.

I chew my lower lip as I pull up the document and stare at it. Even now, the letters swim before my eyes.

I fucking hate this.

I blink in hopes that the words will make sense.

Frustration spirals through me when it doesn’t happen, and I shove the computer toward her.

I should have agreed to work with a different tutor. Maybe I could have said that the only way I’d do it is if she agreed to let me take her out. This was short sighted on my part. But I was afraid she’d disappear again.

Or try to hold me at a distance.

The girl didn’t even want to give me her name.

When her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose, she pushes them back in place.

That really shouldn’t be so alluring. For the first time in my life, I get the whole sexy librarian thing.

It takes effort to bite back the groan that rises in my throat.

Because trust me, there was nothing hot about our school librarian. She was somewhere in her seventies and would threaten to take a chunk out of you if you returned a book late or—God forbid—damaged one of them. The one time I returned a late paperback, she snatched it from my hands before baring her dentures. As I hightailed it from the library, I’m pretty sure she cradled it in her arms and referred to it as her precious.

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