Page 66 of Overtime
“Yes.”
I am now. I’m okay. I know exactly what I’m going to do.
I open my mouth and speak.
CHAPTER 20
MADDIE
“Can we start the session?” Aran asks.
“Yes, of course. Although, um, you didn’t send me your assigned reading in advance this time.”
I swallow hard. The truth is I’m about to explode from nerves. I knew he was alive because Archie caught glimpses of him at practice and fed us what little info he had. But I almost feel as if I’m meeting Aran for the first time again today, even though it’s only been four days since I last saw him. Or four days since I realized I don’t know him that well. But wish I did.
I suck in air through my teeth. Ever since he poofed after the game, I worried about two things. One, that something happened to him. Two, what my reaction would be when I saw him again. Now that fear one hasn’t been realized, the second one slams me with the force of a sledgehammer.
There’s no dressing this up as anything other than what it is. I have a huge crush on Aran Rodriguez. And I need to swallow it down.
I can just imagine his reaction if he were to find out. He’d be weirded out at best, freaked out at worst. He’d wanted a guy tutor all along precisely to avoid being hit on while trying to study. I can’t do that to him.
I pretend I’m busy with my own work, but I’m acutely aware of every move he makes. Aran takes his laptop from his backpack and settles it across from mine. One of his hands is draped around the back of the screen, and I can almost feel the touch against me.
At some point during the skating non-date, when I got too warm from the exercise, I removed my gloves and stuffed them in my pockets. Which meant, occasionally, he grabbed my bare hand with his enormous, calloused one. But his skin was soft in parts, his hand strong and as hot as the sun now bathing us in this corner. I wish I could feel it again in all its glory.
My inbox pings with an email from Aran containing the reading packet. I better focus on that instead.
After skimming it quickly, Aran and I discuss his ideas for the essay, and he gets to work. Just like that. No further comment about anything else whatsoever.
That’s… good. Safer. I can try to keep this session professional, as if he were any of my other students.
It takes me several tries and emptying my water bottle until I’m able to focus on my own work. And by work, I don’t mean the one for school. I mean the hockey romance book.
I’ve poured all my frustrations into writing for the past few days, breaking my own daily word count record two days in a row. Now I’m halfway through the book, and the main characters are going to kiss for the first time. As I build up to that climax, it occurs to me that thinking about this while sitting across from Aran may not be such a great idea.
I glance over my screen and find him concentrated on his own work. His eyes run through the screen, probably rereading a passage from the business case. He moistens his lips with his tongue, and I stab my eyes back on my own screen. I delete two whole paragraphs because two seconds of Aran licking his lips was so much hotter than everything I’ve written until now.
Maybe I should use that as inspiration. Maybe the female lead should stare at the male lead as he runs his tongue across his lips after a sip of beer.
I run my fingers across my keyboard, trying that angle. Instead of making them fight right away and then kiss, there should be more hints about what’s going to happen. Raise the tension that way.
A zipping sound pierces through the quiet. It’s Aran, opening his black hoodie to reveal a thin gray shirt underneath. Is it just me, or are his eyes a little hooded as he watches me back?
“Feeling warm?” I blurt out.
He smirks a little but says nothing, then gets back to work.
Well, I’m not feeling warm. I’m boiling now. But unlike him, I can’t unzip my flannel dress to cool down.
I attempt going back to the scene, but I hate every single word on the screen and delete them again. I feel so inadequate writing a make-out scene between a hot girl and a hot guy, being the least attractive girl on the planet and sitting across the most gorgeous male specimen in history.
Closing my eyes, I search my memory for inspiration for this scene. Obviously, my own experience won’t cut it. But I’ve read thousands of romance books and watched countless kisses on-screen. Their success wasn’t so much because of the mechanics but on how urgent the desire between the characters was. That’s what I need to translate into this book.
“What’s got you struggling so much?”
I nearly jump out of my skin, even though Aran doesn’t shout the question. His voice is a low murmur that wraps around my senses. When I open my eyes, his attention is on me. I wish I knew for how long.
“Um, just a scene in my book.”
