Page 8 of Kicking It with the Point Guard

Maybe I should put a sign on the door. “The Violet Miller Study Room. If your name isn’t Violet Miller, then find somewhere else to study.”

“Fine.” I glare at him. “But you stay over there doing your work, and I’ll stay over here doing mine. No offering to help each other.”

I sit down on the opposite side of the table from the infuriating, handsome room stealer and pull my algebra book out of my bag and set it in my lap. It’s not comfortable there, but I can’t risk putting it on the table. If he sees that it’s just a plain old College Algebra textbook and not some weird advanced math textbook, he’ll know I was lying the other day.

I get the rest of my stuff out and get to work on the first problem, but it’s not long before I find myself glancing at my new “study buddy.” I mean, how am I supposed to focus on something that might as well be another language to me with this literal Adonis sitting a mere four feet away?

He’s wearing glasses today. They suit him. I didn’t know he could be any hotter, but I think the glasses take him to another level.

I don’t know if he feels me staring or if he’s just as bored with his work as I am, but he sighs, setting his pencil down.

“Do you need my help?”

“Um… No? Besides, I said we were sticking to our respective sides of the room. No helping each other. Remember?”

“Then why are you staring at me?” He picks up his pencil again and leans back in his seat, drumming the sharp yellow writing stick against his tanned muscular thigh.

“I… wasn’t. I wasn’t staring… I was lost in thought. You just happened to be in my line of sight. This is a small room, after all.”

When in doubt, lie! Is that a good life motto? No. But for some reason, this guy really brings out the fibber in me.

“Hmm” is all he says as he resumes his work.

“Hmm,” I mock silently.

I look back at my math homework, then remember why I was looking at him in the first place. I don’t even know where to start with this stupid problem.

Professor Drivels sped through the lesson today because “the quadratic formula is one of the easiest things in college algebra, and if you don’t already know it, why are you even here?”

I wanted to punch him in the nose and break those stupid glasses that won’t seem to stay on his face. Instead, I diligently wrote down everything he put on the whiteboard and added a few of his comments.

I thought I did a good job taking notes until I search through them. He basically skipped over the quadratic formula and did an introductory lesson for next class’s material. Shit.

“Math is the worst thing to ever exist,” I mumble, dropping my pencil and slumping down in my chair.

At this rate, I should get an award for the world’s best slumper.

Study Buddy snorts from the other end of the table.

“Excuse me… is something funny to you? Does my plight bring you joy? Math happens to be my mortal enemy. Is that comical?” I sit up and level him with my most lethal glare.

Which, if I’m being honest, isn’t that intimidating. More like a bunny glaring at a wolf, or a ladybug glaring at a rhinoceros beetle.

But right now, I’m all five-foot-six-inches of pure fury.

“Care to tell me what you find so hilarious?”

Cameron

She shoves herself away from the table and stands, the stuff in her lap falling to the floor, her fists clenched. I’m not really sure what I did to make her so mad, but I feel like she’s waiting for me to respond.

“Math isn’t so bad.”

She grabs all of her stuff, not even bothering to put it back in her backpack, then stomps over to the door. She flings it open like it, too, has offended her, then rushes out, letting it slam closed behind her.

Obviously, that was the wrong thing to say.

I sit, staring at the door in stunned silence. Four little words. Four little words had those bright green eyes morphing into murderous daggers. They could have flayed me alive, taking my skin as a trophy.

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