Page 25 of The Dating Coach
"Don't," I whispered. "Don't make it more than it is. Not tonight. Just... let it be this."
He studied my face for a long moment, then nodded. But when he pulled me against his chest, when I felt his heart racing to match mine, I knew we were both lying. This was already more. Had been more since that first tutoring session, maybe since that first confrontation at the tutoring center.
We fell asleep like that, tangled together like we'd been doing it for years instead of minutes. His arms around me felt like safety I'd never known.
When morning came, bringing weak sunlight and the sounds of our friends stirring, we woke slowly. That soft, unguarded moment before full consciousness, where his lips pressed to my temple and I burrowed closer.
Then reality crashed in. We sprang apart like guilty teenagers, avoiding eye contact as we gathered our things. The drive home was full of careful distance and studied casualness, everyone pretending not to notice the way Liam and I couldn't look at each other.
Chapter 13: Gemma
The molecular model exploded across Liam's bedroom floor in a shower of plastic atoms and bonds, victim to my overreaction when he'd reached over to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. I stared at the destruction, my hand still raised defensively, my body vibrating with panic I couldn't explain.
"Shit," I breathed, dropping to my knees to gather the pieces. "I'm sorry. I don't know why I—"
"Gemma." Liam's voice was careful, controlled. He didn't move to help, didn't come closer, and I hated that he felt he needed to give me space. "It's okay. They're just models."
"It's not okay," I snapped, then immediately felt worse. "Sorry. I'm sorry. I just..." I sat back on my heels, plastic carbon atoms clutched in my fists. "You tucked my hair back. It's such a stupid thing to freak out about."
"It's not stupid if it upset you," he said simply. "Do you want to talk about it?"
I laughed, but it came out cracked. "What's to talk about? My high school chemistry teacher used to do that. Tuck my hair back while he explained concepts. Said it helped him see my face better, gauge if I was understanding. It seemed innocent until it wasn't."
Liam's expression darkened. "Gemma—"
"I don't want to talk about Mr. Brennan," I said firmly, dumping the molecular pieces on his desk. "I want to focus on reaction mechanisms and pretend I'm not completely fucked up about innocent touches."
"You're not fucked up," he said, and the fierce protectiveness in his voice almost undid me. "Someone betrayed your trust. Having a trauma response doesn't make you broken."
"Doesn't it?" I returned to my spot on his bed, careful to maintain distance between us. "You can't even move my hair without me acting like you're about to attack me. That seems pretty broken to me."
We sat in silence for a moment, the late afternoon sun slanting through his windows, highlighting the architectural drawings that represented his own hidden dreams.
"Tell me about your dating homework. Did you actually approach anyone this week?"
His face did something complicated – part guilt, part defiance. "I did, actually. Three conversations, as assigned."
The stab of jealousy caught me off guard. "Oh? And how did that go?"
"Well, let's see." He counted on his fingers. "Girl number one was from my economics class. Turns out she only wanted to talk to me to get to Henry. Spent twenty minutes hearing about how 'mysterious' he is."
"Henry?" I couldn't hide my disbelief. "Our Henry? The one who alphabetizes his socks?"
"Apparently that's mysterious to economics majors." He moved to the second finger. "Girl number two was at the coffee shop. Nice conversation about environmental policy until her boyfriend showed up. Turns out she thought I was trying to recruit her for a campus sustainability initiative."
"And the third?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Library. Philosophy major. We had a genuinely good conversation about existential philosophy and the meaning oflife." Something flickered in his eyes. "She asked for my number."
"Oh." The word came out smaller than intended. "That's... good. Progress. Did you give it to her?"
"What do you think?" he asked, studying my face with an intensity that made me squirm.
"I think you're asking me instead of answering, which is avoidance behavior." I grabbed my chemistry textbook, needing something to do with my hands. "But yes, you probably should have given it to her. That's the point of these exercises."
"Is it?" He leaned forward. "The point? Because I'm starting to lose track of what we're doing here."
"We're studying organic chemistry," I said firmly, flipping to the chapter on substitution reactions. "Which we should get back to."
