Making an irritated sound in my throat, I glance up at Kelli and send her a stern look, one that says I cannot freaking believe you. But she just smiles and waggles her eyebrows.

And so begins an hour of absolute, pure torture. Not just the stats review because that’s bad enough. No, the worst part of it all is sitting next to Tristan, listening to him speak, watching his hands move over the paper as he demonstrates a formula, as he taps the book spread out in front of us to point out something in particular. He has nice hands.

Beautiful hands, with long fingers, wide palms, hands that knew just how to touch me. Now they’re being wasted on paper and textbooks, running over statistics problems and trying their best to get me to focus. But I can’t. I can’t focus when all I can do is feel him. Smell him. His hair is now dry and it curls around his ears and neck. He still has scruff on his jaw and chin, which tells me he didn’t shave this morning and I want to feel it. Run my hands over his face and feel the prick of his stubble against my palm.

Clearly I’m losing my mind. I’m also going to fail this test because I’m not retaining a word he’s saying.

“You’re so smart, Tristan,” Kelli says for about the twentieth time. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

I say nothing because he’s not helping me whatsoever.

“I need another drink.” Kelli rises to her feet and panic washes through me. I should go with her. Or go use the restroom—anything to avoid spending time with Tristan alone.

But I do nothing. Just sit in gape-mouthed horror as Kelli heads over to the front counter to place her order. I can feel Tristan looking at me and I remain facing forward. Biting off the little gasp that forms when he gently grabs my hand and interlaces our fingers together.

Just as he said last night, sparks form between our palms, sending a trail of heat up my arm, coursing through my veins. I swallow hard and work my jaw, trying to come up with something to say when he beats me to the punch.

“You’re not listening to a thing I’m saying are you?”

His gruff voice melts my resolve and I dare to look over at him. Still can’t seem to muster up a word to say yet though.

He must think I’m an idiot.

His smile is soft, unlike the normal, cocky smirk that he usually flashes at me and I’m instantly wary. “Are you getting it? Or is it all just going over your head?”

I shrug, my mouth twisting to the side in a grimace. I don’t want to tell him I’m not getting it because the mere sound of his voice is too distracting? Or the fact that I can smell his clean, soapy scent and it’s making me feel all warm and fuzzy inside? I can’t even speak because he’s touching me, his fingers curling around mine…

“Alexandria.” My gaze zeroes in on his mouth as he says my name. I like how he pronounces it, the way his lips form, that little glimpse of tongue I see when he trips over the second syllable. “Have you turned mute? Deaf—ah hell, maybe both? Shit, are you Helen Keller reincarnated?”

I release his hand and shove at his shoulder, making him laugh. “Stop,” I mumble.

His laughter dies. “Seriously, do you want me to go over something again? I know this particular section is tough.” He flips the pages of my book, pointing.

I rest my hand on his arm and he turns to look at me. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

It’s a legitimate question. He doesn’t do nice. He said that himself last night. He’s proved that time and again. So why is he helping us study for our test? He’s already taken this course. He should be sleeping in or rolling around in bed with some pretty girl, not wasting his time trying to teach Kelli and me statistics.

His lips part and his eyes go blank. Like a curtain dropping, masking any emotion that he might’ve been feeling only a moment ago. “I’m doing it for Kelli.”

I slowly shake my head. “Don’t lie to me, Tristan.”

“I want to get in your panties? This way you’ll owe me?” He lifts his eyebrows.

Okay, there’s a glimpse of the real Tristan. Maybe. “So now you’re trading your stats skills for sex?”

He smiles. “Whatever works, right?”

“You still want to have sex with me?”

“You don’t have to fish for compliments.” He reaches for my face, presses his thumb to the corner of my lips. “I’d fuck you in the bathroom right now if you said you were up for it.”

“Gross.” I swat his hand away and he chuckles. I really hope he’s joking. Well, sort of. Being here with him like this, acting so normal on a Sunday morning in a Starbucks, I don’t know what to think. How to feel. He’s…sweet like this. Trying to help us out, patiently explaining everything, going over each example step by step. Who knew Tristan had it in him?

“Do I have to want something from you when I offer my help?”

“I don’t know. Do you? I get a sense you don’t normally help anyone.”

He frowns. “I don’t.”

But I’m willing to help her. Why? This goes beyond wanting to get her naked. Or…no. No, it doesn’t. I’m just so damn intrigued by this girl I’ll do just about anything to get her to come around and see my way of things.

And my way of things involves getting her naked. That’s it. End of story.

“So why me?” she asks, prodding me in the side with her index finger.

Damn, she’s pushy. And pretty. So pretty. No makeup on, her dark blonde hair in a ponytail on top of her head, skin clear and smooth, those questioning eyes watching me, waiting for me to what? Give her a proper explanation?

How can I do that when I don’t understand my motives myself?

“Because you’re extremely fuckable?” I wince the moment the words leave my mouth and she glares. Girls at a bar on a Thursday night three drinks in love it when I say they’re fuckable. They fall for that line every single time.

Sunday morning at a Starbucks cramming for a stats test…I’m thinking fuckable doesn’t work.

“You make me sound like a dirty stuffed animal. ‘Oh, she’s so adorably fuckable’.” Alexandria makes a face.

“Maybe that was a bad choice of words,” I start but she cuts me off.

“You think?”

“I know,” I stress. “And I take it back. You’re not fuckable.”

Oh, look at that. Her expression changes and she looks downright sad that I took back the fuckable remark. Make up your mind, gorgeous. You either want my attention or not.

“Are you two fighting?” Kelli asks as she settles back into her seat.

“I’m done.” Alexandria pulls her book away from me and slams it shut, then stuffs it into her backpack. “Either I’ve got this or I don’t. Thanks for your help, Tristan,” she says, not even bothering to look at me as she stands. “See you tomorrow in class, Kelli.”

She buzzes out of the Starbucks before Kelli or I can say anything to stop her.

“That was weird,” Kelli says slowly, sipping from her drink. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know.” I study the door, wishing she would come back. Wishing more that I could chase after her. But I don’t chase after women. Not like this. The conquest happens because they come to me. I draw them in like bees to honey. It’s easy. Smile, say something flirty, drop an innuendo, make eye contact, touch them and bam. They’re yours for the night. Sometimes they’d like to be yours beyond the night but I never let them get to that point. Not really. Unless they’re psycho and have wedding dreams from the first moment they meet you.

I had one of those my freshman year. Scariest shit ever. She was a straight up stalker. Gabe and Shep found it hilarious.

They would.

“You said something to offend her.” Kelli states this, not asking like a normal person would.

“I don’t know.” I throw my hands up into the air, frustration slipping through my veins. “She’s hard to read.”