Page 4 of The Dating Coach
"The list's not going to get better the longer you stare at it," a voice said behind me, warm with barely suppressed laughter.
I turned, ready to deliver a cutting response, and found myself face-to-face with Liam Delacroix. Because of course the universe had that kind of sense of humor. He stood there in dark jeans and a Pinewood Hockey t-shirt that clung to his shoulders in a way that should be illegal, his hair still damp from what I assumed was post-practice shower.
"I'm just browsing," I said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to defensive.
"Browsing the chemistry tutor list?" His blue eyes crinkled at the corners, and I hated how that small expression made my pulse skip. "That's a new form of entertainment. Most people just browse TV shows."
"Maybe I find academic resources soothing," I shot back. "Some of us don't coast through life on hockey fame and good cheekbones."
Instead of being offended, he grinned wider. "You think I have good cheekbones? I'm flattered, Spears."
Heat flooded my face. "That's not – I didn't mean—"
"Relax," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just messing with you. Though for the record, I'm actually pretty good at chemistry. Organic, specifically."
I snorted before I could stop myself. "Right. The hockey player is secretly a science genius. What's next, you're going to tell me you read classic literature for fun?"
"The classics are overrated," he said easily. "I prefer contemporary fiction. But we're getting off topic. You need help with organic?"
The casual way he talked about books made my brain stutter. I'd expected him to ask what I meant, not have opinions about modern literature. It didn't fit with what I knew about Liam Delacroix – hockey star, campus golden boy, serial recipient of female attention he never seemed to pursue.
"I don't need help," I said automatically, then caught myself. Karen's voice echoed in my head:'This is not the time for your I-can-do-everything-myself bullshit.'"I mean, I'm just exploring options."
"Exploring options by glaring at the tutor list like it personally offended you?" He stepped closer, and I caught awhiff of his soap – something clean and masculine that made me think of fresh ice and pine trees.
"I'm not glaring," I protested, even though I definitely had been.
"You were doing this," he said, scrunching his face into an exaggerated scowl that was so ridiculous I almost smiled. "Very intimidating. I bet the list was terrified."
"You're ridiculous," I muttered, but some of my defensive walls were crumbling despite my best efforts.
"I've been called worse." He glanced at the list, then back at me. "Seriously though, if you need help with organic, I could tutor you. I've got a 4.0 in all my chemistry classes."
I stared at him, searching for the punchline. "You. Liam Delacroix, hockey phenomenon and poster boy for athletic privilege, want to tutor me in organic chemistry."
Something flickered across his face – annoyance, maybe, or hurt. "Contrary to popular belief, some of us can use our brains for more than calculating shot angles. But hey, if you'd rather work with Brad and listen to his theories about female inferiority, be my guest."
"You know about that?" I asked, surprised.
"He cornered my friend Naomi at a party with his bullshit. She kneed him in the balls." A small, satisfied smile played at his lips. "It was beautiful."
Against my better judgment, I found myself warming to him slightly. "Your transcript," I said. "If you really have a 4.0 in chemistry, prove it."
"You want to see my grades?" He raised an eyebrow. "That's very forward of you, Spears. Usually people at least buy me dinner first."
"I'm serious," I said, ignoring the way his teasing made my stomach flutter. "I can't afford to waste time with someone who's just looking to play hero or—" I cut myself off before finishing that thought.
"Or what?" His voice had gone quiet, serious. "Or someone who's going to expect something in return?"
I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze directly even though his proximity made it hard to breathe. "Wouldn't be the first time a guy offered 'help' with strings attached."
His expression darkened. "Whoever did that was an asshole. That's not – I don't operate like that."
"No?" I challenged. "The great Liam Delacroix, who supposedly has half the female population of Pinewood in his bed rotation, is offering purely altruistic tutoring?"
"First of all," he said, and now there was definite annoyance in his tone, "the rumors about my 'bed rotation' are greatly exaggerated. Second, I don't pursue anyone. If women approach me and we're both interested, great. If not, also great. I've never pressured anyone for anything, and I'm honestly kind of pissed you'd assume otherwise."
The genuine anger in his voice made me step back. He was right – I'd never heard any stories about him being pushy or creepy. If anything, the gossip was always about how he was too passive, letting women come to him rather than making any moves himself.
