I DON’T KNOW what to do about Knox Maguire.
I went to the advisor who is in charge of the tutoring program first thing Monday morning and asked if I would be able to pair him with another tutor. I know it’s a cowardly thing to do, but I can’t imagine facing him in our meeting room after everything that’s happened. Not just the last time we met, but also at the bar after the game. When he followed me into the bathroom and we were interrupted by those girls walking in.
What would’ve happened if they hadn’t walked in? I was turning toward him, ready to seek out his perfect lips. I would’ve kissed him like the fool I am. I would’ve done whatever he wanted me to do, no questions asked, only for him to treat me like another one of his hookups. He would’ve walked away from me without a problem. I know he would’ve. I don’t matter that much to him. Do I?
I’m so glad I didn’t kiss him, despite how badly I wanted to see if his lips tasted just as good as I remembered.
Waking up Sunday with a horrible hangover and plenty of regret, I knew then I had to make some big changes. Like getting rid of Knox as one of my students.
But that didn’t work. The advisor informed me that there is no one else available to take over his tutoring sessions. I can either continue on and finish out the semester with him, or quit like a total loser and force him to figure out another plan to get through his English class.
I can’t just abandon him when he struggles with English so much. It’s one thing to hand him over to someone else. It’s another thing entirely to just leave him without any help like some sort of heartless savage.
Now it’s Tuesday afternoon and I’m entering the library full of trepidation. I couldn’t sleep last night. After tossing and turning for what felt like hours, I finally gave in and grabbed my phone. I ended up writing out an entire planned speech to Knox in my notes section. It’s all about how we should just have a professional relationship and I don’t need to go watch him at his football games or hang out with him socially. We can meet twice a week for an hour, I can help him with any of his English homework or papers, and that’s it.
We crossed a line and I still feel terrible about it, but it will never happen again. I’m stronger than that, and so is he. We know how to handle ourselves in a professional manner. We’re adults, for God’s sake. This doesn’t need to be a problem.
I’m fifteen minutes early for our appointment and I know no one else uses our reserved room for at least a half hour before our scheduled time, so I’m shocked to find the room already occupied.
Then I realize it’s Knox sitting at the table. Seemingly waiting for me.
“Oh.” I stop in the doorway of the room. I’d hoped to gear myself up for this little discussion I have planned. I was even going to go over my notes. “Hi.”
His expression is grim, and his hair is a mess, like he ran his fingers through it again and again and possibly even tugged on the ends. There are dark circles under his eyes and there’s scruff on his cheeks and chin as if he hasn’t shaved for days.
It’s a good look for him, unfortunately. He’s still breathtakingly handsome. That shock of golden-brown hair, those intense green eyes. The lush mouth and strong jaw…
He’s clad in sweats, but I’m wearing black dress pants and a dark gray button-up shirt. I’d wanted to look as professional as possible, wearing my clothes like armor to defend myself against his intoxicating presence.
“Hey, Joanna.” There is no spark in his gaze, no jovial tone in his voice. He is as dark and as dreary as a storm cloud, and I’m almost afraid to sit down at the table.
Almost.
I close the heavy wooden door behind me and make my way to the table, settling into the chair across from him. I set my book bag on the table and flip it open, pulling out my iPad and a notebook, along with a pen. I consider opening my notes app to all of the stuff I wrote last night but decide I can do this on my own, without a script to follow.
Clearing my throat, I rest my arms on top of the table, my smile faint. Polite. Professional. “Want to get started early?”
He nods, his gaze downcast, flipping the hoodie string lying on his chest back and forth with his thumb.
“There are a few things I’d like to go over with you first though.” Another clearing of my throat, annoyed that it’s clogged with nothing but thick emotion.
It’s not easy, rejecting someone in a sense. I feel terrible for having to put such distance between us, but it’s for the best for the both of us.
“Okay.” His gaze barely lifts to mine, holding there for a long, distressing moment.
My brain panics and goes blank, and I look away from him, trying to gain my composure. Shit. What was I supposed to say again?
Professional. Keep your distance. You’re his tutor, he’s your student, that’s it.
Right, right.
I nod once, lick my lips and announce, “I think we need to keep things on a more professional level between us.”
At the same exact time, he quietly confesses, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”
We both go silent, me clamping my lips shut while he stares at me with his lips parted. Like he might want to say something else.
“What did you just say?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Don’t let him repeat it, Jo! My inner voice screams, while my body buzzes with awareness, anticipating him saying those words again, and how good it’s going to feel to hear him say it.
“I said, I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admits, his searing gaze never leaving mine.
Another swallow, this time trying to get past the lump that just formed in my throat at his confession. “Wh-what do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.”
I briefly close my eyes, refusing to acknowledge how I feel. Light and buoyant, like a fluffy white cloud. All from a five-word confession.
“Knox—”
“Don’t say it, Jo Jo. Hear me out.” He sounds almost desperate, and I’m blown away. Confused.
He can’t stop thinking about me? Why?
“Okay.” I nod, encouraging him to go on.
He leans forward, resting his arms on the table, stretching them out so his hands come perilously close to mine. I retract them, scared he’ll touch me and I’ll never let him go. “Since the last time we were in this room, that moment lives on replay in my brain. I can’t get you and what happened between us out of my head. Kissing you was the best thing I’ve done since…I can’t remember when.”
“It shouldn’t have happened.” When he starts to protest, I hold up my hand, stopping him from speaking. “I’m your tutor. It’s unprofessional, what occurred between us last Thursday. We can’t let it happen again.”
He’s frowning so deep, his forehead creases. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I’m in a position of authority over you.”
“Please. I’m paying you to be my tutor.” He actually snorts, as if I insulted him.
Damn it. Guess that argument won’t work.
“Don’t forget you also made a vow of celibacy,” I remind him.
“For the stupidest reason ever.”
“So you can do well in school this semester and give the proper focus to your football season. Both of those things are important to you. That doesn’t sound stupid to me.”
“But—”
“Listen, what happened between us last week was no big deal. I’m just the girl you made out with because you’re full of all of these—repressed feelings,” I finish lamely.
And look at me, trying to be reasonable, like an actual adult. I’m impressing myself, even when I’m also insulting myself.
While I’m also denying myself the sexiest man I’ve ever kissed.
“Are you trying to say that I kissed you because I made that stupid celibacy vow and jumped on the first woman I came across?” he asks incredulously.
Yes. For sure. It just sucks, hearing it said out loud.
“Maybe?”
He shakes his head. “No. No way. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“Knox.” I reach out, ready to rest my hand on his forearm, but I snatch it away at the last second, knowing it would be a mistake. Touching him. Once I do that, there’s no going back. “You have to admit it makes total sense. You’ve been denying yourself from being with a woman, and you gave in and kissed me, and now the moment is like, heightened in your mind. That kiss might’ve brought forth intense feelings inside of you, when it really wasn’t that special.”
Oh, I am such a good liar.
“You’re implying it was no big deal for you.” His voice is flat, his eyes flaring with anger. I decide to backtrack a little bit. Put some of the blame on me.
“I mean…it’s been a while for me too. My boyfriend and I broke up over the summer and I haven’t been with anyone since.” I shrug, knowing my explanation is weak at best.
“So I’m the first guy you’ve been with since your breakup?”
I nod, reluctant to admit anything to this guy who’s a sex god on campus. And didn’t we have a similar conversation last week? It’s like he’s dying to know all of the details regarding my very boring sex life. “And I’m perfectly happy being on my own.” That’s pretty much the truth. “I just got out of a three-year relationship and it didn’t end well. Remember?” I make a face.
Didn’t end well indeed. The asshole cheated on me.
Knox Maguire is potentially dangerous to my wellbeing. Yes, he’s super-hot. The hottest guy I’ve ever been with. And he’s an athlete, which makes me think of my real father and how he abandoned us so easily. Too easily.
It’s probably not fair to judge Knox based on what my father did to me, but I can’t help it. I don’t know him that well. And he doesn’t do relationships like, ever. He basically admitted that to me already. He seems nice enough, but is he actual relationship material, or am I setting myself up for eventual heartbreak?
Probably.
Okay definitely.
“So this is all one-sided.” He waves a hand between us. “You don’t feel the same about me.”
“We don’t even know each other that well.” I offer him a sympathetic smile, but he scowls at me in return, so I let it fade. “You’re feeling this way about me because you’ve deprived yourself the last two months or however long it’s been. It’s just—infatuation.”
He’s slowly shaking his head again and again, like he can’t believe I would say this stuff to him. “I don’t get you.”
“Come on, Knox. Be real with yourself.”
He jumps to his feet, staring down at me. “Women would kill to be in your position, you know.”
I arch a brow, annoyed. Here comes all the internal arrogance that tells men like him that he’s God’s gift to women and no one would ever turn him down. “Oh, now you’re going to pull out your ego and gloat? Trying to make me feel dumb for rejecting you?”
“I’m just stating facts.” He braces his hands on the table, leaning in so our faces are close. Downright kissing close. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on by rejecting me.”
“Actually, I think I do.” I stand as well, placing my hands just inside his on the table and he rears back some, giving me room, but not much. “Yet here I am. Still rejecting you.”
He inhales sharply, his eyes narrowing, never looking away from me. I don’t look away from him either.
“Bullshit,” he mutters.
I hate how good looking he is. How persistent. Why can’t he just leave me alone?
“I know it’s difficult, having little old me turn you down, but face it, Maguire. You’re not that big of a deal.”
The moment the words leave me, I feel like a liar. He’s a huge deal. His ego is warranted—the man can do no wrong on this campus. Of course he believes he can have any woman he wants.
Without warning, his arm snakes out and he grabs the back of my head, pulling me in, his mouth seeking and finding mine. I make an angry noise in my throat, trying to get away from him, but his lips softly coax mine open, his tongue teasing.
His mouth is persuasive, and for a few delicious seconds, I fall under its sway. The way he curls his fingers firmly around my nape, his mouth moving against mine. Soft, yet rough. His teeth nip at my lower lip hard. Harder. Making me gasp.
I tear myself out of his grip, backing away from the table, running a shaky hand over my tangled hair, trying to calm myself. He just watches me, his chest rising and falling as quickly as mine, and I release a shuddering breath.
Should I say something? I definitely should. No, what would be even better is me walking out of this room without another word and putting this entire moment where it belongs.
Behind me.
Instead, I open my mouth, my voice trembling as I say, “We shouldn’t—”
There’s a blur of movement and Knox is on me in seconds, his hands grabbing hold of my waist.
“Don’t say it,” he murmurs, his fingers skimming along my hairline. I lift my head, a gasp escaping me when he pulls me into his hot, hard body. My hands land on his chest as I tilt my head back. Like the complete weakling I am, giving in completely.
Willingly.
