Page 2 of Continuum

“We… are… Sigma Omicron Nu,” the men, decked out in dark green and gold, chanted loudly.

Everyone cheered until a hush fell over the crowd.

“We… Are… The… Chosen Ones. The Mighty Sons!”

As the fraternity did their call and response, I craned my neck to watch the man at the end of the line as he stepped.

There was no way in hell Kwame Mitchell felt the same thing for me as I did for him. It had nothing to do with a lack of confidence in myself—I knew my worth. I based my assumption on the fact that in our year of tutoring—three college semesters—he had never asked me out or hit on me. We exchanged witty banter instead of flirty glances. We exchanged notes instead of numbers. We were casual acquaintances and barely friends.

But I couldn’t let him graduate without telling him how I feel.

“You can’t let him graduate without telling him how you feel,” Angel whispered as we clapped our hands.

“I know, I know.” I bristled. “I’m going to.”

With my best friends hyping me up the entire way to the library, I felt ready on Monday afternoon. Smoothing down my pink spring dress, I entered the room reserved for tutoring sessions. I smiled and waved at a fellow tutor on the other side of the glass. I nervously took my seat and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Annoyance bordered on anger as I checked my phone for the third time. I’d sent an email with my phone number and asked him to call me. It wasn’t how I’d hoped to give him my number, but I’d been waiting for thirty minutes. I gave up on the idea that he was coming as the hour mark hit.

Good thing I still get paid.

I started to gather my belongings and out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a dark green and gold jacket.

“Aisha!” Kwame huffed, slightly winded. “I’m glad I caught you.”

I finished putting my books in my bag before I looked up at him.

Damn.

He was fine.

“I’m so sorry,” he started, taking a seat next to me.

Usually he sat across the table, so his closeness rooted me to my chair. Very aware of the nerves that fluttered in my belly, I swallowed hard. Licking my lips, I prepared to accept his apology and flirt a little before telling him that I was interested in him.

“You wasted my time,” I blurted out.

That wasn’t what I planned to say, but the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

His thick eyebrows flew up, momentarily stunned at the sharpness of my tone. His mouth opened and then closed. Slowly, he nodded. “You’re right,” he admitted softly. “I’m sorry. I got caught up and thought I had more time.”

“You’ve never missed a session and you missed the one before your final?” I shook my head. “I just wish you would’ve emailed…or called. I could’ve gone home and studied for my own finals.”

“I know. I fucked up. My bad, Aisha.” He put his hand on my arm. “For real, I didn’t mean to waste your time…”

He was still talking, but I barely heard the words coming from his mouth. My body was on fire where his big hand gripped my forearm. Goosebumps covered my skin and butterflies danced in my belly.

“Do you have any other time this week?” he asked.

I didn’t, but I was quickly thinking of what I could rearrange or drop in order to make time.

My voice faltered as I watched his fingertips. “All of my tutoring slots are booked”—his thumb moved, brushing the inside of my arm— “but if anyone cancels, I can let you know.”

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