I placed my order then moved to the side counter to wait for our drinks... and respond to the email before I had to deal with a completely different kind of distraction. I snuck a peek at Rory and froze. His eyes were locked on me, like he was sizing me up and trying to figure me out. There was nothing overly personal or unprofessional in the look. Just curiosity. He smiled when he caught my gaze and suddenly, nothing seemed more important than being in the moment.

I stuffed my phone in my pocket, picked up our drinks and made my way back to the table.

“Here you go,” I said, handing the latte to Rory.

“Thanks. Let’s get this party started. Did you bring your last test?”

I unzipped my backpack, wincing as I slid the paper to him. “It was ugly.”

He widened his eyes and let out a low whistle. “Damn. Do you at least get points for writing your name at the top?”

“Ha. Ha.” I dropped my bag on the floor and sat down before adding, “I wish. I could use the extra credit.”

“Hmm. Let’s see your book.”

I dug my textbook out and set it on the table then settled back in my chair to study him while he assessed the enormity of the challenge he’d taken on. His brow creased as he flipped through pages then glanced at the questions on my last quiz. I shifted in my seat hoping to clandestinely ease the pressure of my dick against my zipper. Call me crazy but the promise of being treated to nerd-speak from a badass former wrestler was the stuff of dreams. I sipped my iced coffee as I admired the intricate ink work on his arms and the script along his wrist. I leaned forward slightly to get a better glimpse, but it looked like it was written in another language.

“Do you speak Spanish?” I asked.

Rory did a double take then inclined his head. “A little. Do you?”

“No.”

“All righty then,” he replied with a half laugh before glancing down at the book again.

“Do you still wrestle? I mean, competitively?” Rory pushed the book to the middle of the table and grabbed his latte. He fixed me with a roguish stare and took a sip. Then he set the cup aside and leaned forward. “I thought we already did the ‘get to know you’ thing the other day. Do you really care if I wrestle anymore or are you stalling ’cause you think I’m gonna berate you for getting a crappy score on your test?”

I puffed up my cheek like a blowfish and nodded. “Yes.”

Rory chuckled. “Okay, let’s chat. I’m not here to make you feel bad about what you don’t understand. I’m here to help. In normal everyday shit, I’m not known for my patience, but when I’m teaching, it’s different. I’m fucking Ghandi here, you know? I want you to learn. So don’t think I’m judging you. I’m not. I’m on your team. I’m not gonna spank you for getting a bad grade.”

I licked my bottom lip and before I could stop myself, said, “That’s strangely disappointing.”

Rory opened his mouth and closed it theatrically. “You’re flirtin’ with me, Christian.”

“No! No, of course not. I—”

I shook my head effusively and sucked on my straw until I gave myself an iced coffee brain freeze. I hoped when the feeling passed, I’d come up with the perfect one-liner to turn my awkward faux pas into a joke. I pushed my cup aside and gulped. Nope. I had nothing.

“You’re not what you seem, are you?”

“Sure, I am. I’m a typical dumb jock. I can tell you anything you want to know about football, but don’t ask me about Pythagoras’ Theory,” I said, elevating my dork status to tragic levels in a single blow.

Rory’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he hooted with laughter. “Pythagoras’ Theory? So what you’re really saying is that you’re a kinky ass geometry geek who happens to know how to throw a football. Good to know.”

I crossed my arms and waited out a new round of merriment. “Are you finished?”

His shit-eating grin lit his eyes and made him look impossibly handsome in the boyish meets badass way that turned me inside out. This had disaster written all over it. If I couldn’t get through fifteen minutes without making a fool of myself, I was in big trouble.