Page 62 of Boiling Point
I should have been revising my electromagnetism slides.
Instead, I watched her.
I sat at my desk across the room, both Monday lectures open in separate tabs—Physics II and E&M—notes scattered between them, a half-finished slide on Gauss’s Law blinking like it knew I was a fraud. I’d tweaked the example problem three times—not because it needed it, but because my concentration had been shot since she’d stepped into my office with her coffee in one hand and her problem set in the other.
She hadn’t said much. Just claimed her spot on the sofa like she’d always belonged there.
The quiet between us wasn’t silence. It was shared space.
I forced myself to look back at the screen, double-checking a field diagram as I rewrote the explanation. Something about fluxthrough a closed surface. My mind drifted to the curve of her smile over breakfast, the press of her body against mine in the shower, the sound of her voice muffled by steam and laughter.
Another quiet sigh broke the stillness.
I glanced up. Gabrielle chewed her lip, eyes narrowed at the page like it had insulted her.
I ducked my head to keep up the pretense that I wasn’t completely focused on her every move. “You look like you’re plotting its demise.”
She didn’t miss a beat. “I am. This question deserves to burn.”
I leaned back, letting the moment stretch. “Calculus or physics?” I asked, though I already knew. I just liked prodding her.
“Calculus.”
I sighed with exaggerated relief. “Ah. Good. If it were physics, we’d have to take it up with the author of the blasted question.”
Her brow lifted. “Would we now?”
“Certainly. He’s known to be a bit of a tyrant, but I’ve heard he can be bribed with coffee and compliments.”
She snorted. “Good to know.”
I slid my laptop aside, folding my hands over the edge of the desk. “It’s not my primary field, but…” I let the pause hang. “I’m not entirely useless.”
Her pencil hovered above the page. She hesitated—pride flickering faintly—then looked up at me, soft and a little sheepish. “I hate to ask, but…yeah. If you’ve got a minute?”
I was already on my feet.
“For you?” I crossed over to the sofa. “I’ve got more than a minute.”
“Thanks,” she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as I sat beside her. The word was soft, sincere, and it warmed the air like an unexpected spring.
She passed me the notebook, and I skimmed the page—the neat scrawl of her pencil, the confident sweep of her integral signs. The problem wasn’t particularly daunting—finding the area between two curves, a task that required more patience than brilliance at this stage. One glance confirmed what I already suspected: she’d got tangled in her own complexity.
I handed it back. “As usual, you’re overthinking it,” I said gently, my shoulder brushing hers. “Try slicing it into simpler parts.”
Gabrielle made a low, frustrated noise in the back of her throat.
“Here,” I murmured, shifting closer. My fingers brushed hers as I picked up the pencil and sketched a quick diagram. Her eyes tracked my movements with fierce focus—a clarity that made my pulse jump in ways it had no business doing over bloody calculus. “It’s easier if you look at it this way,” I murmured, sketching two quick curves. “This one’s the parabola—y equals x squared. And this is the line—y equals x plus two.” My pencil skimmed across the page, knuckles grazing hers. “From zero to two, it’s just top minus bottom. Area between curves.”
Gabrielle groaned. “Why doesn’t Dr. Huber explain it like that?”
I leaned in, brushing my lips just beside her ear before grazing it lightly with my teeth. “I hope Dr. Huber doesn’t have my charm.”
She shivered—just slightly—but enough for me to feel. “Not even close,” she whispered.
I kissed the spot just beneath her jaw, then pulled back before temptation steamrolled good sense entirely.
“Now,” I said, reclaiming the pencil and tapping it lightly against the page, “let’s get you to the right answer before I forget how to be professional.”
