Page 15 of Night Shift

“It sounds like he wants her to tutor him,” Harper says, like it’s obvious.

“But tutoring might be code for sex,” Nina argues.

“Why would a fucking college basketball player not just tell a girl if he’s interested? Straight men are, like, notoriously unsubtle when they’re trying to fuck.”

“It’s not like he could just give a librarian a note that says, Had fun kissing you up against a bookshelf last week, I’d really like to put my penis in you now. What if she read it before it got to Kendall? This”—she taps the note—“is definitely code.”

Harper is unconvinced. “If he wanted to keep the note clean, he could’ve asked her out or told her to come to a party at the basketball team’s house. He didn’t. He definitely just wants her to help him pass his class. And you know what? He’s banking on the fact that she’ll be all soft for him now and won’t charge him.”

“He wouldn’t—” Nina begins, then sighs. “No, I take that back. Men are garbage.”

I slump down on our couch, which is hard and creaky and banged up in the way furniture in student housing tends to be. Nina appeals to the hopeless romantic in me, but Harper’s pragmatism is more in line with my gut feeling. Vincent Knight could’ve written anything in this note. He chose to ask for help with poetry.

I shouldn’t add context that isn’t there. I shouldn’t allow myself to project the traits of all my favorite romance novel love interests on a real-life man. It’s a recipe for disappointment.

Still, I can’t help but think that if this were a romance novel, tutoring would be the plot device that throws Vincent and me back into each other’s orbit. I am the reluctant heroine turning down the quest. But act two is inevitable. When I think about it that way, it’s not so intimidating.

Still, it takes me a few days to work up the courage to email him.

I decide to play it straight, to avoid the horrible scenario in which I think Vincent is propositioning me and assume he genuinely needs help passing English lit.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Tutoring

Hi Vincent,

The librarian gave me your note. I am available Mondays and Wednesdays between 10:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m, and Friday evenings before my shift at the library (10:00 p.m.). My usual tutoring rate is $25/hour, but I can be flexible.

Best,

Kendall

As soon as it leaves my inbox with a little whoosh, I doubt every word.

I can’t tell if it’s too professional or not professional enough, and fuck, what if Nina was right and his note was code and I’ve just somehow offered to prostitute myself? I can be flexible suddenly feels like the most overtly sexual thing I have ever ended an email with.

Not even five minutes later, there’s the telltale ping of a new message. The little red dot next to the mail icon sends my blood pressure through the roof. I breathe out through my mouth, reminding myself that it could very well be spam from a clothing store or an updated homework assignment from a professor, and click open my inbox.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: RE: Tutoring

Kendall,

Monday works. 10 a.m. at main Starbucks. I’ll bring the book. Venmo or cash?

V

My palms are clammy, because fuck, that’s tomorrow, and fuck, he’s giving me nothing to work with here. Half of me wants to call Harper and Nina in to get their thoughts, but the more I read over his message, the more I know that I’m grasping at straws.

There’s nothing romantic in his response. Nothing even remotely flirty. Which means it’s time for me to get my head out of the clouds and plant my feet firmly on the ground.

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