Playing Hard to Get(23)

I indicate the chair across from me. “You should sit. We need to get started.”

Knox does as I ask, plopping into the chair across from me and reaching for his backpack. The table is long and narrow, his knee grazing mine beneath it, and a jolt shoots up my spine from the contact.

Of his knee.

Against mine.

I am in serious trouble.

“I was cruising the list of English tutors yesterday and I saw your name. Something told me it could be you. I just had this feeling, you know?” His gaze is fleeting before he returns his focus to digging out stuff from his backpack. “Now I know your real name, Jo Jo.”

I try not to roll my eyes. “Please call me Joanna. Or just Jo.”

“But I don’t like just Jo. I like Jo Jo.” That devastating grin of his is powerful and I’m sure he knows it.

I send him a stern look, channeling my earlier wannabe teacher days, but it doesn’t seem to deter him. “It’s surprising to see someone request a tutor this early in the semester.”

He drops a battered paperback onto the table between us. “I’ve been avoiding this class for what feels like the entirety of my college career. Pretty sure I’m the only senior in there.”

I bet he’s right. It is a first-year course. “Why didn’t your counselor make you take it?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, sheepish. His cheeks are tinged the faintest pink. “She said I could take it whenever I want to, and I’m a huge procrastinator.”

Uh huh. There are athletes all over this campus who use their status to their advantage. Avoiding classes, getting a pass on tests or projects because they were out of town for a game. The list goes on and on.

Please tell me Knox isn’t like that. I’ll be so disappointed.

“So here you are, taking it your senior year, during football season.” I glance at the paperback sitting between us. The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas. “Is that what you’re currently reading?”

“It’s what we’re supposed to be reading.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I’ve only read the first couple of chapters.”

“The first couple?”

“The first.” He hesitates. “Half of it.” Another hesitation. “Okay, only a couple of pages.”

Reaching out, I grab the book, studying the cover. “I read this when I was in high school.”

His expression turns hopeful. “Maybe you could give me a quick summary.”

The look I send him says, Yeah. No.

“There’s also a movie.”

His brows draw together. “No shit? I should watch it.”

“It doesn’t follow the book exactly. No movie made from a book ever does.” I set the book down, wondering if I’d blow his mind by admitting I read this book by choice. For pleasure. “It’s really good.”

“I’m sure it is. I was just glad to see a book written in the twenty-first century was the chosen reading material. Everything else is old as hell.”

“They’re classics, those old books. That’s why teachers usually assign them.”

“More like decrepit. We need some new blood up in here. It’s a modern world. Shouldn’t we be reading and discussing current problems?” Knox’s brows shoot up in question.

He’s making a valid point, but we’re not here to talk about that.

Opening my iPad, I go to the notes section where I have a page prepared for Knox and make some additions. “Before we start talking about the book and your assignments, can we talk about you for a minute?”

His grin turns downright…wolfish. If that’s such a thing. “Sure.”

“What’s your favorite subject in school?”

“Sports. Physical education.”

I send him an irritated look. “That doesn’t count.”

“It should.”

“Knox.”

“Fine, fine. I like…” He props his elbow on the table and settles his chin on his fist, thinking. It’s a good look for him. “Math. Numbers don’t lie. And they’re easy to read.”

He has a point.

I add math as his favorite subject along with the easy-to-read comment to my notes. He hasn’t come out and said he has an issue. Yet. Most don’t like to face it. They find it shameful, when really, it’s not.

“And I like history, but mostly in documentary form. The textbooks would always freak me out. They’re so long.” Knox grimaces, and I almost feel sorry for him.

I make note of what he said, typing in all the new information before I glance up at him. “What’s your least favorite subject?”

He makes a face. “English.”

I can’t stop the small laugh that leaves me. “I should’ve known.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.” He studies me. “You have a nice laugh.”

My cheeks go hot and I stare at my iPad screen, afraid to look at him. “Why don’t you like English?”

“I’m not a good reader.”

Ah, there it is.

“Why not?” When he doesn’t say anything, I finally look up to find him already watching me. “What do you struggle with? Comprehension? Are you a slow reader?”