Page 26 of The Casanova Complex

“It has to be a minimum of 30,000 words, hence the reason we have the rest of the semester to work on it, and submitted in MLA format. I emailed you a copy of it so you can see how we’ll be graded on the assignment,” I say, pulling my attention back to him, trying to ignore the anxiety gnawing in my stomach.

I have no idea if it’s the fact that the only thing I’ve had to eat today is a protein bar or if it’s my nerves of handling a project of this size with someone like Bennett.

“Got it. Hey, it’s gonna be fine. We’ll get it done.” His voice has gone soft, and I swallow down the lump that’s forming at the base of my throat.

Does he realize that I’m actually still worrying?

My brow bunches together in confusion.

“That ring… what’s it for?” He jerks his head to where I’m spinning my fidget ring around my pointer finger. I quickly shift and move them back to my laptop and clear my throat.

“I have… ADHD. It helps me focus.”

I honestly have no idea why I even just admitted that to him, but now that I have, it’s out there.

I can’t take it back.

“I like it,” Bennett says, tossing me an easy grin.

“Shit,” I mutter mostly to myself. I forgot about the study room issue. “We’re going to have to work on this somewhere else after our next session. I prebooked a room for us here at the library to work on the project through the remainder of the semester, but there was a glitch in the system, and the reservations have been canceled. And since they’re down five rooms because of the plumbing leak, the remaining rooms are booked through next semester.”

Bennett shrugs. “We could work in the main part of the library?”

“Uh… It’s really hard for me to focus…” I clear my throat again, feeling a flush work its way up my neck. God, my brain is so embarrassing sometimes. “When I’m around a bunch of people.”

“Okay, well, I’m cool with wherever. Just tell me where to be, and I’ll be there.”

I appreciate the fact that he didn’t make a big deal out of it, and the irony isn’t lost on me that I’m actually thankful for his blasé, go-with-the-flow attitude right now.

Unlike every other second of the day.

I nod as I pull out my planner and choose the tab for October, then flip it open. “I know your hockey schedule is probably a lot right now too. When are your games?”

“Fridays and Saturdays, usually. Sometimes midweek, but I could keep you updated on when I have a midweek game, and we can plan around it?”

There’s a spot in my brain that’s currently twitching at the fact that I won’t have these sessions pre-blocked in my calendar, and there’s a chance that some of them will have to be last minute since I’m guessing it’s going to be hard for our schedules to align.

I thrive on routine and a set schedule. It’s the only way I can keep track of everything happening in my life simultaneously. Class, both of my jobs, Elliott, Dad’s turnaround schedule. Elliott was just a baby when Mom died. Not only was Dad suddenly a widower, but he had both me and a baby to take care of all on his own. I had to step up to help from a young age. And I quickly learned keeping everything organized and on a routine is the only way I can manage my responsibilities and not lose my mind in the process.

So this is fine.

Everything is fine.

Exhaling, I close my planner. “I guess we should exchange numbers so we can keep in touch about the project?”

“Sure. But you don’t have to pretend it’s about a project, Merritt. I would’ve given you my number regardless.” He smirks.

I’m going to throttle him.

I would punch him in his smug mouth if I wasn’t worried I might break my hand from his obscenely chiseled jaw.

“In your dreams, Legros,” I mutter, closing my laptop next and avoiding his gaze.

Two months.

Two months, and I can be done with this.

Two months, and then the distraction in the form of a six-foot-five, blue-eyed hockey player will be out of my life, and everything can go back to normal.