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HOT FOR TUTOR

FLYNN

I was fifteen minutes early to our faux tutoring session, which was probably some kind of record.

Usually I rolled into stuff exactly on time, a habit that drove Gryff crazy.

But lately I’d been finding reasons to show up early to the quad’s coffee shop.

No mystery why. Just the slim chance of catching Tempest alone, without her walls up.

Today that strategy paid off, but not in the way I’d hoped.

I heard her voice before I rounded the corner, whispering, but sharp with frustration. “I can’t just drop everything and fly to L.A. next week. I have commitments here.”

Slowing my steps, I lingered by the wall. I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, but something in her tone made me pause. I’d never heard Tempest sound rattled before.

“You don’t understand,” she continued, her voice dropping. “It’s complicated. The timing is impossible... No, I’m not being difficult. You’re the one who promised I could maintain my pri?—"

She cut off abruptly. I peered around the corner to see her pacing the length of one of the private study rooms across from the coffee shop, one hand pressed to her forehead.

Her dark hair was piled in a messy bun, and she wore an oversized DSU Dragons sweatshirt that made something in my chest tighten.

And my pants. Because now I was imagining her wearing my jersey and... nope. Shit. If I went any farther with that image, I’d need to hide one hell of a woody behind my books.

“Listen, can we table this until after spring break?” She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Yes, I know it’s a huge opportunity. Yes, I know these people don’t wait around... Fine. Send me the details. I’ll figure something out.”

She ended the call and dropped into a chair, pressing her face into her hands and halfway to hyperventilating.

The gesture was so unguarded, so unlike her usual composed self, that I felt like I was intruding on something private.

I waited a few seconds, then deliberately scuffed my shoes against the floor as I approached.

Tempest’s head snapped up, her expression smoothing over so fast it was almost scary. “You’re early.”

“Showered extra fast, just for you,” I lied, dropping my bag on the table. I’d postponed my weightlifting to this afternoon. “Everything okay?”

“Fine.” She was already pulling out her color-coded study materials, spine straight as a ruler. “Let’s pick up where we left off in class with Othello . ”

I sat across from her, studying the tight set of her jaw. “You know, it’s okay to not be fine sometimes.”

Her hands stilled on her notebook. “What makes you think I’m not fine?”

“Just a feeling.” I kept my tone casual, though there was nothing casual about the way my pulse kicked up when she finally met my eyes. “Also, because that’s not your Shakespeare notebook, and it’s upside down.”

She glanced down at the notebook and gulped, then swept it back into her bag.

A flush crept up her neck. “That’s... nothing. You agreed to no questions about my notes. Pretend you never saw it.”

Like that was going to happen. “Already forgotten.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, but there was a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Why do I think you’ve got a memory like a steel trap?”

The way she kept searching my eyes said that she was legitimately worried I was going to rat her out on whatever was in that notebook. Or question her about it, and she wanted to hide something. Something important to her.

She actually looked like she was on the verge of a panic attack. While it was way more fun to poke at her than I wanted to admit to, seeing her meltdown was not on my fun-times-with-Flynn list.

The best thing I could do for her right now was find a way to put her at ease. Or...even better, give her something more fun to think about. I leaned forward, closing the space between us, and gave her my absolute best come-hither look. “That’s not the only thing I’ve got that’s steely.”

Her eyes flicked down to my lips and back up. Got her. She wasn’t worried about the notebook anymore. “You’d better mean your blue eyes, football boy.”

“There she is,” I said, and watched a reluctant smile break through her worry. “Since we’re friends?—”

“We’re not friends.”

“Study buddies, then.”

“Mandatory academic partners,” she countered.

“Whatever you want to call it.” I spread my hands. “Point is, if you need to talk, or vent, or just sit here and not study for a while... that’s cool.”

For a moment, something flickered in her dark eyes. Vulnerability, maybe, or longing. Then she squared her shoulders. “What I need is to get through Act Three, so I can finish my paper. Tell me you at least know what you’re writing yours about.”

The words were sharp, but I caught the teensy-tiny tremor beneath them. Something was definitely up with her, beyond the mysterious phone call. But pushing wouldn’t get me anywhere. I’d learned that much about Tempest Navarro in the past few weeks.

“I do. So let’s get down to Shakespeare.

” I pulled out my annotated copy of the play, dog-eared and coffee stained.

“But whatever it is that’s got you stressed, I’m sure you’ve got this.

And if you don’t, I know people. Say the word, and we’ll be there with shovels, and tarps, and pickup trucks, and picnic baskets. ”

Her hands relaxed on the actual Shakespeare notebook she’d pulled out and she took a normal breath instead of the rapid ones she was taking up until now. “Picnic baskets?”

Small victories. I’d take them where I could get them. “If we’re digging holes for...whatever we might need six-foot-deep holes for, then we need snacks. Growing boys and all that.”

“You’re...a lot.”

She had no idea.

“Now,” I said, flipping to the right page, “let’s talk about why Iago’s such a dick.”

That startled a laugh out of her, a real one, rich and warm, and something in my chest expanded. Making Tempest laugh felt like winning the game. Better, maybe.

Which was exactly the kind of thought that should have sent me running for the hills. Instead, I found myself hoping I could make her laugh again before the hour was up.

I was so screwed.

Two hours later, right when we were in the middle of battling over whether the feminist leanings in Shakespeare’s works meant the writer behind the plays was actually a woman or not, Tempest’s alarm on her phone went off.

She sighed and turned the alarm off. “I have somewhere else I need to be.”

Did she look disappointed?

Maybe that was just me projecting. How was it that the only dates we’d been on were the legit studying kind, and I was more into Tempest than any two-week girl I’d ever taken out a dozen times on all kinds of fun and creative dates .

No. Ridiculous. I could think of a lot more fun things I’d like to do with Ms. Navarro. Under Ms. Navarro, between Ms. Navarro’s thick, thick thighs.

Yeah. That was more like it.

“Okay, I’ll walk you home.” I swept my books into my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

Tempest was slower to pack up. “Who said I was going home?”

I grabbed the door and held it open for her. “Ah, trying to make me jealous with your hot date?”

“If you count a date with a baby donkey, hot, then sure. I can see how you might find yourself competing against farm animals for dates.”

We headed down the stairs and I stayed a step behind just to watch the sway of her hips and the way her round ass jiggled in all the right ways. “Oh, yeah. How is Baby Donk doo doo doo doo da doo?”

She shook her head but I saw the second smile of the afternoon. “Great, now I’m gonna have that song stuck in my head.”

When we walked out the front door, a chilly wind hit us both in the face. Gotta love Colorado winter. If you don’t like the weather, just wait a minute.

“See you later, Kingman.”

Shit. I’d just been dismissed. But...she did say she’d see me later. I could hardly wait.

For a full minute I watched her walk away and fully contemplated following her. Desperate much, Kingman.

Nope. Time to hit the gym like I was supposed to this morning. We had a lot of work to do before the combine and next week would be a short week since we were headed to watch the boys in the big Bowl game.

I still couldn’t shake the image of her face when she’d shoved that notebook away.

Everybody got stressed, especially in their senior year of college, facing down the real world in only a few months’ time.

But my delicious Tempest was usually so unflappable.

I’d seen her face down our professor in a heated debate about Hamlet’s mom last week.

But this was different. This wasn’t academic stress. This was something else, something that made me want to fix it, even though she’d probably murder me for trying.

The weight room smelled like sweat, rubber, and ambition. I was supposed to be focusing on my bench press form. My numbers were good, but they needed to be great if I wanted to impress at the combine. Instead, I kept thinking about that notebook Tempest had tried to hide.

“Your left side’s dropping,” Gryff chastised while spotting me. “And you’re doing that thing with your face.”

I racked the bar and sat up. “What thing?”

“That thinking thing.” He tossed me a towel. “The one where your forehead gets all scrunchy and you look constipated.”

“Fuck off.” But I wiped my face, avoiding his too-knowing grin. Having a twin meant never getting away with anything. “I’m focused.”

“Yeah? What’s your target for the three-cone drill?”

“Uh...”

“Exactly.” He dropped onto the bench next to me. “ Spill it. What’s got you more distracted than that time Hayes convinced you his cat could read minds?”

“Seven of Nine Lives totally knew what I was thinking.”

“Seven is a demon in a fur suit, and you’re changing the subject.”

I stood and started adding more plates to the bar, mostly to have something to do with my hands. “It’s nothing. Just this paper for Shakespeare.”