Page 28 of The History in Us

“Levi, I didn’t know you needed tutoring.” Emma’s voice was seductive as she perched her chin on her fist. A stylish blonde bob and dark eyes accentuated her angular face. Edgy and fashionable, she dressed like someone who could tutor Levi in a few things other than writing.

“I think we have room for one more,” I offered, for lack of reasoning. The room was small, with a table and four chairs. The space suddenly felt suffocating.

After only a few more minutes of suggestions for Nate’s piece, he huffed and decided he couldn’t think of anything else to write.

“Want to go for a drink?” he asked me without directing the invitation to Levi or Emma.

“I…” My eyes shifted to Levi. Emma interjected, “I’d love a drink.”

“Dude, I just got here,” Levi replied. The room had only been reserved for an hour and the time was almost up. I was about to mention that fact when Levi added: “I booked the room for the next hour.”

“I thought you said you were free after our session,” Nate whined, and I turned to him. Green eyes paralyzed me. I was free. Levi had no appointment with me.

“I…”

“She’s on me next,” Levi growled. I sputter-coughed as I spun to face him.

“I mean, I’ve got her next.” My eyes opened wider.

“She’s…” My hand rose to stop him from digging the hole any deeper. I didn’t want to be anybody’snext, but I understood what he was trying to say.

“It’s fine. I’ll stay. I’ll see you on Monday, Nate.” I smiled sweetly, my lips straining at the falseness. Nate’s responding pout turned himun-cute. Hitching his backpack up over his shoulder, he huffed again and stepped toward the door. His eyes glared at Levi before he exited into the main library.

“Well, thank goodness. I thought he’d never leave,” Levi teased, wiggling his brows at Emma. Suddenly, I felt like the third wheel and cursed myself for misunderstanding.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, trying to sound casual though my voice shook. I closed my laptop a little too forcibly.

“I need help with my writing.” The sound of his voice teased me, but I suddenly didn’t feel like being played.

“That’s not what Anne tells me.” Dr. Anne Johnson had been my creative writing professor, and we developed a casual friendship. She supported my writing efforts with suggestions, like the history class. When I tried to drop the course, she offered up information about Levi.

“He’s an amazing writer. He might be able to teach you something.” Her voice hinted at praise. At my horrified expression in response, Anne hadn’t received the rejoinder her intention had hoped. “He has some personal issues but his writing is some of the best I’ve read. He’s a natural at verse when he isn’t holding himself back.”

Anne had made a face at the admission. She’d offered too much and was clearly close enough to Levi to sense hesitation in his written word. To soften the overshare, she added: “He lacks emotion, but it could come with time.” Then she told me she’d made him enter the same writing project she suggested to me. The piece had to be historical in nature, which is why she recommended the history class for me. Was she challenging me? I thought, but didn’t speak. Anne had a way of trying to push people, but wasn’t so subtle. If she thought he was better than me, and I’d rise to the competition, she was wrong. I wasn’t going to battle with Levi.

I twisted for my bag on the floor. I couldn’t help the competition and be objective. A warm palm covered my knee.

“Please.” The heat of his hand seeped through my leggings. The slightest curl of his fingers over my knee held me in place. I slipped my laptop into my bag and sat up straight.

“Okay, fine. What do you need?”

Suddenly, I felt Emma’s eyes on us. I turned toward her and smiled weakly.

“Well, I guess I’ll go, too.” Awkwardly, her eyes shifted to Levi, almost begging him to invite her to stay for private tutoring. He noncommittally waved, but he didn’t give her a second glance. Upon her exit, I spun to face Levi.

“What are you doing?” Dark eyes pinned me at the question, and without looking, he blindly opened his laptop. I sighed, accepting defeat at his intrusion on the session. He turned away and began typing, so I asked a second time, “What do you need?” Suddenly, the computer faced me. His answer involved more than writing assistance.

You.

I bit the corner of my lip. “Are you drunk?” I whispered, my voice rushed and husky.

“Not in the way I’d like to be.” He pressed down on a key, and the word disappeared from the screen.

“Where is AJ?”