Playing Hard to Get(45)

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.”