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Why am I thinking about his hands?

I try to pull myself out of it by remembering that I’m supposed to be working on research for an essay. But I spot something dangling from his bag.

“The tag’s still on your bag,” I tell him.

Dante looks up, then back down. “Huh?” I watch as he adjusts his bag until he finally sees the thin plastic loop with a paper tag attached to it.

“Oh. Must’ve forgotten,” he mumbles, then rips it off. The tag comes off, but not the plastic loop. He tosses the tag back in his bag before finally setting his things on the table.

Forgetting to take the tag off and ripping it off instead of cutting it—two things I would never do, much like the knuckle tattoos and shaggy, unkempt hair. But considering his designer jeans, leather jacket, button-down shirt, and expensive boots, I’m pretty sure what he does to his hair is on purpose.

“Right. Well, there’s a plug free like I mentioned.” I wave again toward the plug on the floor, and then turn my attention to my laptop.

I’ve struggled not to think about our interaction over the last few days, even while hanging out with Lena, watching a movie and cuddling.

Now that Dante is sitting right in front of me, focusing is nearly impossible. I don’t understand why. He’s not threatening me. He’s not bothering me. He’s just sitting across from me like anyone else would.

He’s not like anyone else, though. He’s dangerous, according to his reputation as being part of a crime family. He’s big. Strong. And an airhead, if you believe the rumors. I’m not sure I do.

“You’re a business major, right?” I ask, feeling like my voice is louder than it should be in the quiet library.

“Bis Ad,” he replies casually.

I blink, silent for a moment. “Oh, business administration.” I’m not sure why I’m bothering to talk to him; we should both be focusing.

But neither of us does. He’s looking at me…and I’m looking at him, and there’s something in his eyes that tells me maybe him being here wasn’t an accident.

“You’re biology?” he asks in return, and leans closer to me across the table. He tilts his head to the side, causing several strands of his hair to fall over his forehead and along his temple.

Saliva pools in my mouth. My stomach is hot.

I’ve never felt like this before.

“Huh? Oh. Yes. Biochemistry,” I reply. I don’t expect him to be interested in hearing about that, as most people aren’t, so I don’t elaborate. Besides, we don’t even know each other.

“Was that your first choice?” he asks.

I look at him, studying his face for a moment. I know why he’s here, even if I don’t want to admit it. It can’t be a coincidence.

“No, actually. Marine biology was,” I admit. “But it’s not as lucrative, and the marine biology course here is one of the lower-ranked options.”

“Marine biology…so sharks and whales?” he asks.

I can’t help but laugh a little. “That’s simplifying it, I suppose. It’s all marine life—their structure, how they procreate, how they function,whythey function. How they’ve evolved.” Just talking about it makes my chest tingle all the way to my forehead.

“That sounds more interesting than biochemistry,” Dante replies. His lips are pulled up into a smirk, his gaze still focused entirely on mine. The way he leans in closer and places his hand near my notebook makes me feel so…special. Like his full attention is on me, and he cares about what I’m saying.

It’s easy to want to fall into.

“Do you even know what biochemistry consists of?” I ask.

“Not really. Why don’t you tell me, hm?” His voice is low, smooth…and it sends a shiver up my spine.

My throat feels a little tight, but I can’t look away from him, and I can’t resist speaking. The words just fall out of my mouth.

“It’s in some ways more vague than marine biology, as it’s the study of all living matter, but it’s more specific in that it’s about getting down to the microscopic level. Not just studying how, why, or what, but seeing how the very molecules of a piece of matter from a living being look, how DNA is connected, how disease and vaccines affect it. While I might do some work with matter from marine animals, I’ll most likely be working withhuman cells and researching treatments for diseases,” I explain as simply as possible.

Still, the look on Dante’s face tells me he doesn’t completely get it. But his fingers inch closer to mine on my notebook, and his tongue darts along his lips.