Page 63 of Boiling Point
She grinned, flushed and breathless, then turned back to the notebook with renewed focus. God help me, it might’ve been the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
“Top minus bottom,” she murmured, eyes scanning the sketch. “So…integral from zero to two of x plus two minus x squared, with respect to x?”
“Precisely,” I said, lips curving. “See? Brilliant. And devastating.”
“You’re going to distract me straight into a B-minus.” She shot me a look, but her smile gave her away.
“Never,” I said solemnly.
She laughed, and the sound wrapped itself around my ribs—warm, weightless, and far too dangerous for a Sunday afternoon.
Gabrielle tapped the edge of her eraser against the notebook, a thoughtful crease forming between her brows as she worked through the problem. Her pencil moved again, more confidently this time, her mouth set with determined focus.
Then she exhaled, set the pencil down, and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “Okay. Calculus is done.”
I didn’t sayI told you so. But I thought it. Just a little.
“What else do you need to finish?” I asked, stretching an arm along the back of the sofa. “I’d rather not be responsible for you falling behind, despite having shamelessly stolen your weekend.”
Her mouth quirked. “You didn’t steal it,” she said, voice low. “I handed it over willingly.”
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Still.”
She hesitated, glancing at her backpack as if it might scold her. “The problem set for your class.”
“Ah,” I said, pretending to consider. “I could remind you that it’s not due until Wednesday, but I know it’s a useless point.”
“Completely useless,” she agreed, then paused. “I’ll probably just start it when I get back to my apartment.”
I let the silence stretch for half a beat. “Is that code for ‘I don’t want to do it in front of you?’” I asked, keeping my tone light.
Her cheeks pinked. “It just feels…weird. Like cheating, or something. Even if you don’t say a word. Even if you just exist nearby.”
I smiled—softly, but not without mischief. “It’s not cheating unless I give you the answers. Which I won’t.”
“You’re not helping your case.”
“I’m merely existing nearby,” I said, lifting both hands in mock surrender. “I’ll even sit over there if it helps. I won’t so much as glance at your notes.”
She narrowed her eyes, suspicious but playful.
I moved back to my desk. “See? Back to my E&M slides.”
Gabrielle looked at me for a long moment, amused resignation softening her features. “Fine,” she said at last, reaching for her backpack. “But if you accidentally blurt out anything useful?—”
“I won’t,” I promised, already settling back into my chair.
She retrieved her laptop and set it on the coffee table. “Can I at least have your Wi-Fi password?”
“Absolutely not.”
She blinked.
“I’m joking,” I said, watching her fake a glare. Then I recited the password.
Her fingers flew across the keys, presumably getting online and logging into the student portal. I pretended to focus on my slides, though my eyes kept drifting to her.
There was something dangerously domestic about it—her curled on my sofa, laptop open, talking deadlines and lecture notes like we’d done this a dozen times before. And I wanted that. All of it. More than I had any right to.
