Playing Hard to Get(24)

“All of it.” He shifts in his chair, seemingly uncomfortable. “It’s always been a struggle for me to read. Ever since I was little.”

“Have you ever been tested for anything? Are you dyslexic?”

“Yeah, I’ve been tested.” He sighs. “And yeah, I’m dyslexic.”

At least he’s being open with me. “You should read out loud to me.”

“What is this, second grade?”

“Look, if you want me to help you with this class, I first need to assess you. It helps me to know what your weaknesses are, so we can work on them together.” When his gaze drops, like he can’t look at me, I decide to soften my approach. “Just know that everything we do in this room is between us. I won’t tell anyone.”

He lifts his head, those beautiful green eyes meeting mine once more, and I find myself getting lost in them for a second. “I don’t like talking about this shit.”

“I understand.”

“I’m a bad reader and it makes me feel…stupid.” His gaze drops once again.

“You’re not stupid.”

“I know I’m not.” He glares at me, sounding offended.

“You just struggle. We all struggle with something.” I rise to my feet. “I’ll sit next to you, so I can see the passage you’re reading.”

As Knox watches me carefully, I maneuver around the table, settling into the chair to his left, silently marveling at his size. He’s so tall. And broad and strong and he smells good. Warmth radiates from him as if trying to entice me to scoot closer, but I resist.

Barely.

Trying to ignore him, which is impossible, I reach out and grab the book, cracking it open to the first chapter. “Have you started it yet?”

“Yeah, remember? I read a few pages last night before I gave up.” He takes the book from me, our fingers brushing, sending that now familiar tingle of electricity straight up my arm. I’m sure the feeling is one-sided. He can have his pick of women every single day of the week. “Want me to pick up where I left off?”

“Sure.”

Clearing his throat, he begins to read. Almost immediately, there’s some struggle with a longer word as he slowly sounds it out. When he sees the word ‘there’ on the page, he says ‘that’ instead, and I quietly correct him. He does that a few times—assuming a word is something that it’s not, which I’ve never seen before.

But those are his only mistakes. As he keeps going, he picks up his pace, reading a little faster. Nowhere near as fast as me, but I’m a freak, so I don’t count.

He doesn’t stop until he finishes the entire first chapter, and when he sets the book on the table, he glances over at me.

“I was terrible.”

I shake my head. “No, you actually weren’t.”

“That took like…thirty minutes.”

“That’s okay. It’s a long-ish chapter.” I hesitate for only a moment. “Did you like it?”

“It definitely feels more up-to-date than some of the usual stuff we’re assigned.” He shrugs.

I can’t help but smile. “It was released in 2017, so it should feel more modern.”

“It’s not bad.”

“Just wait.” I peer at him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you prefer reading out loud or to yourself?”

“I think I might prefer reading out loud,” he admits. “It’s easier to give up when you’re trying to read the page in your head. At least for me.”

“Do you comprehend it better when you hear the words out loud then?”

“Maybe?” He frowns, his brows drawing together. “I don’t know. I never thought of it like that.”

“Okay. I have an idea for you—I think you should get the audio version of this book. That way you could listen to it and absorb what’s being said,” I suggest.

“I can do that.” He nods.

“Good.” I rest my clasped hands on top of the desk, perilously close to where his hand is resting. It would take nothing for me to reach out and touch him, but I don’t. Of course I don’t. “Now, let’s work on your assignment.”

We go through each question, and I realize he didn’t fully comprehend what he just read. Clearly this isn’t easy for him. If he’s just a bad reader, how did he get through his other classes the last three years? Reading is required in pretty much every class you take in college.

I ask him that exact question.

“I always had help. Someone in my class who was willing to share their notes, or work on a paper with me.” Again with the bashfulness from this guy, which tells me it was always a female who was so willing to help the big, sexy football player with his homework.

“So why didn’t you find someone to help you in your English class?”

“Because I was already getting behind and we’ve barely started. Plus, they’re all freshmen.” He makes a face. “They’re kind of starstruck.”

“By you?” I lift a brow. I mean, I get it. I’m a little starstruck too, but I remind myself this is a job and he’s just another student. No big deal.

“Well, yeah. I’m sure I could get any girl in that class to help me. Probably any guy too.” He says it so matter-of-factly, it’s hard to imagine him being arrogant about this.