Page 11

“Are you the teacher?” he asks, sizing me up.

I feel like a donut in a pastry shop display.

There is hunger in his dark blue eyes, and the way he licks his lower lip tells me if he came to eat, he’s not going to leave famished.

What scares me the most is that I’m not immune to his presence.

I don’t know what sort of chemistry this is.

I can explain the clash of pheromones and other sex-related hormones in the human body, but I cannot possibly make sense of what is happening in this very moment.

I only know that I have no control over my own body anymore.

Not now. Not while I’ve got Rhue Echeveria’s undivided and smoldering attention.

“And you are?” I ask, then clear my throat and hope to God he doesn’t know I’m already familiar with who he is.

“Rhue. Julian Echeveria’s son,” Sarah replies, putting on the most languorous smile.

Oh, she’s got the hots for him. She’s melting all over the dinner table, leaning forward so that he might see the bumps beneath her dark green turtleneck.

Sarah has been growing boobs these past few months.

She’s what they call a late bloomer, and she comes from money—prime beef for someone like Rhue, yet he pays no attention to her whatsoever.

His eyes never leave mine, and I feel tiny and insignificant despite my position of relative power as tutor in this specific equation.

The last thing I want is for this guy to think he’s got some kind of hold over me.

“I don’t know who Julian Echeveria is,” I say, lying through my teeth, “but you’re late, Rhue. Group study started forty minutes ago. We only have one hour and twenty minutes left for tonight’s session. You’re behind.”

Rhue shrugs. “That’s fine. Consider this my introductory hour, then. I’ll sit in and listen and see if I like your tutoring style.”

“So, you’re testing me, is that it?” I reply, slightly insulted.

Oddly enough, I’m inclined to perform as well as I can—not necessarily to impress him, but to further establish myself as the alpha in the room. It’s all I can do as an introvert to not crumble into a fetal position under Jamie Tancredi’s dinner table.

“No, not testing you,” Rhue replies, smiling dryly. “Just wanted to see what the fuss was all about. Consider me already… intrigued.” That last word doesn’t drop without direct eye-contact, or the stench of his self-confidence marking every syllable.

Perhaps if Rhue looked his age, this would be a lot easier.

An alpha male in the making isn’t as deadly or as intimidating as an alpha in training.

But Rhue, with the stubble on his blade sharp jaw and defined muscles threatening to burst free from his button-up, he looks like he wrote the damn book on alphas.

“I’m not sure I’m following,” I tell him, happy that my voice doesn’t tremble. “It’s not like I advertise my services, and you certainly don’t strike me as the scholarly type.”

“I still need good grades if I’m to make it to my college of choice,” he says. “And you’re more popular than you think. Your students speak very highly of you.”

I glance at the table and notice the faint nods of approval. A smile sneaks onto my lips. It’s almost a reflex, a beam of pride shooting through me like glorious sunshine.

“I’m gonna go ahead and assume that he heard about me from one of you fine people,” I sigh, then nod slowly. “Very well, Mr. Echeveria, you’re free to join us and… observe.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says and it’s hard not to take note of the fact that he’s teasing me. Mocking me for how stern and professional I’m trying to be.

“Oh, no ma’am, please. I’m Madison.”

“Yes, Maddie.”

“Not Maddie,” I shoot back. “Madison. Maddie is for friends and family only, and you’re neither.”

It doesn’t upset him. If anything, judging by the gleam in his eyes, Rhue is fascinated. Curious. Likely determined to sit through the entire session if only to get further under my skin.

“My apologies, Madison,” Rhue says.

There is something in the way my name rolls off his lips that makes the back of my neck tingle. I take a deep breath and point to the last empty chair at the other end of the table.

“No worries. Have a seat, please. We’re currently going through the chemistry curriculum.”

He frowns as he looks around the table. “Well, that doesn’t make much sense. There are different years here. Right?”

“You’re right. But your younger schoolmates have high academic performances.

Sammy over here,” I say, pointing at my favorite junior, “is about to skip a grade. Letitia, on the other hand, is willingly paying to be one year ahead of her class. She’s remarkably competitive.

You see, everyone has a particular reason to be here.

The seniors, much like you, need better grades.

The others wish to up their game or are simply determined to enrich their education.

From the moment I agreed to do these study groups––which, by the way, require active participation––we determined that each meetup would cover specific chapters across different subjects. Tonight, for example, we’re doing—”

“Manning’s chemistry curriculum,” Rhue cuts me off with a dry chuckle. “Figured that much after the pop quiz carnage.”

“You almost aced the damn thing,” Jamie Tancredi, senior and host, tells him with an arched eyebrow. “And your grades are above average. I don’t see why you need a tutor if you’re angling for a hockey scholarship.”

He shrugs. “You’re gonna have to talk to my mom about that. She insists that I get my grades into the realm of excellence. I guess she doesn’t have complete faith in my hockey skills. She wants to make sure I don’t depend on a hockey scholarship, to begin with.”

“Besides, any Ivy League school he might wish to get into will demand more than exquisite sportsmanship,” I chime in. “High grades will automatically bump him up every single list. It’ll open him up to Harvard, Cornell, and Princeton, too.”

Once again, I find myself the direct target of Rhue’s admiration.

“That is exactly it. I’m absolutely sticking around, now.

” He points a finger at me. “I might just subscribe to your services, Maddie.” He draws out my nickname, swirling it on his tongue in a way that makes it seem dirty and naughty and a heck of a lot more intriguing than it is.

I decide not to correct him, clenching my teeth, but keeping my smile steady. I can’t let Rhue get under my skin. Despite the laughable age difference, I’m still the teacher and he’s still the student in this scenario.

The rest of the session goes by slowly. Too slowly. It takes forever to end because I feel Rhue’s eyes on me the entire time. It makes my skin prick and my spine stiffen, while images form in the back of my head.

By the stars, he reeks of trouble. Life-crushing trouble.

The kind of trouble I have never gotten into. Too smart, too wise, too focused.

The kind of trouble I should never get into. Not if I’m planning on staying too smart, too wise, too focused.

But when I look back up and my eyes crash into the depths of Rhue’s, I know he thinks he’s already got his hooks in me.

He’s wrong.

I might be caught off guard now, what with him walking in here the way he did. But when the next session rolls around, I’m coming with guards wrought of steel. Guards so high and so tough, that not even the intensity in Rhue Echeveria’s eyes can tear them down.