Page 78 of Cold Front
I swallowed hard, heat creeping up my neck. “And if I get something wrong?”
Eli pulled back, smirking. “Then we keep trying until you get it right.”
It was the most Eli thing ever: turning Stats into something playful, something that made my chest feel light instead of weighed down. But there was an edge to it too, a challenge. A promise.
I exhaled slowly. “Okay.”
Eli tapped the textbook, leaning in just enough to make my pulse stutter. “Okay, let’s try this. The mean score on a Stats exam was 75, standard deviation of 8. What’s the z-score for someone who got an 89?”
I stared at the numbers, and my brain immediately threw up a wall. I knew this. Or I should’ve known this. Eli had gone over it yesterday. And the day before.
I rubbed a hand over my jaw. “Shit. I—I don’t know.”
Eli hummed, fingers skimming along my forearm, a barely there touch that sent heat curling down my spine. “Think about it. We went over z-scores already.”
I did think about it. Hard. But my brain wasn’t cooperating. The pressure in my chest tightened, frustration simmering. “What if I just don’t get it?” My voice came out gruff, almost bitter. “What if I’m just?—”
Eli cut me off with a firm kiss, short and sweet, leaving me blinking at him.
“You’re not stupid,” he said, voice gentle but certain. “Now, focus. What’s the formula?”
I exhaled.Z-score is… something about distance from the mean?
Eli tilted his head, watching me like he could see the gears struggling to turn. “It’s just the difference between the score and the mean, divided by the standard deviation.”
My pulse pounded in my ears, but I pushed through the mental fog. “So… 89 minus 75 is… 14. And then… divide by 8?”
Eli didn’t answer right away. Instead, his lips ghosted over my throat, trailing lower, pressing an open-mouthed kiss just above my collarbone.
My breath stuttered. “Holy?—”
His smile was all mischief. “Come on, Niall. What’s the answer?”
I swallowed hard, my body at war with my brain. “Fourteen divided by eight is… one point seven five.”
Eli’s grin widened, and before I could prepare myself, his mouth was on mine again—deeper this time, hotter—his hands sliding under my hoodie, teasing over my skin.
My brain officially short-circuited. Stats? What the hell was Stats?
“Next one,” he murmured, flipping the page of the worksheet. “What’s the expected value formula?”
Fuck. I knew this. I knew this. My brain scrambled, piecing together what Eli had gone over with me before. “Isn’t it… the sum of probabilities divided by all possible values?”
Eli tilts his head. “Close, but think about what we did last time. You multiply, not divide.”
“Oh. Right. Sum of all values, each multiplied by its probability?”
Eli made a pleased sound. “See? You’re getting it.”
His hands slid under my hoodie, pushing it up just enough to press a kiss to my ribs. My breath stuttered. This was unfair. Utterly, ridiculously unfair.
Eli sat back, grinning. “Ready for another?”
I groaned. “You’re a menace.”
He just wiggled his brows. “But you’re learning, aren’t you?”
That was debatable. My brain was rapidly prioritizing things that had nothing to do with statistics. But when he tapped the next problem, I forced myself to focus, knowing what was at stake.
