Page 5 of Embrace

I glance around—eleven faces. Exactly what I’d counted on the sign-up sheet. I scan for the rumored genius and spot her instantly: Post-its, textbook, and laptop all lined up and already scribbling notes. Bingo.

“So, should we get started?” I ask. There’s a guy beside her—probably her boyfriend, judging by the way he watches her—but I’m already planning to wedge my chair between them when breathless apologies drift toward the table, then a girl stumbles up beside me. Her red hair spills over her shoulders, flyaways lit by the sunlight slanting through the library windows, like a pink halo. Brown eyes dart nervously around the table as binders and textbooks slide from her arms and land with a loudthud.

When she pushes her thick, clear-framed glasses into place, her brows pull together in faint frustration, like she forgot she had them on. A wave of citrus scent, and cherry-colored locks engulf my vision. It’s hard not to stare as she sweeps her hair into a clip, a few pieces falling loose and framing her face in wavy outlines. I swear Ialmost see a flash of ink on her hands before she pulls her sweater over them.

“I’m so sorry I’m late! I promise it’s not a habit,” she says.

Eleven heads nod back at her. “No apology needed. We’ve known you long enough to know you’re never late,” one of them says.

It hits me that I was wrong about the other girl being the genius. It’s her.She’sthe academic weapon.

I stand abruptly, knocking my knee into the table. “Hi, I’m Kian. You must be the woman of the hour.” I smile, trying to balance the fact that I’m towering over her. She’s gotta be five two or three max.

Her gaze jolts to mine, first wide with surprise, then shifting into something closer to quiet horror.

Now, that’s a reaction I’ve never had from a woman. Excitement, laughter, teasing, sure. But horror? No way.

“Scarlett,” she says softly, not shaking my hand and instead turning away to study the sign-up sheet.

I lean in and tap the bottom margin where I penned my name last week. “Right there.”

“I—I must’ve missed you. I didn’t bring enough printouts of our schedule.”

I nudge her arm lightly. “That’s okay. I’ll just peek at yours.”

She stiffens, and I instantly regret the touch. I forget that everyone’s not wired like I am. I had my mom and my older sister, which made it feel like I had two mothers, and my dad. He was the most affectionate man on the planet.

Scarlett sits, and I follow suit. She’s close enough that I have to be careful my knee doesn’t touch hers. Her sweet citrus scent fills the air around her.

She passes out the papers to the group. “Most of you already know me from our online study group last semester, but I’m Scarlett. I’min my senior year, finishing my social work degree, but I took a lot of biology and math courses when I was doing premed.”

Scarlett glances at me again. “This group is meant to keep us on track and be a collaborative support while we work hard through the semester. It’s not tutoring—”

“It’s not?” I blurt in disbelief.

“No,” she says, without facing me. “If any of you require a tutor, you can go to the student aid center. Anyway, we will meet here every Thursday and go over your assignments.”

“But the sign-up sheet said this is for seniors with an intense course load. I thought it would be more than once a week,” I say.

She turns toward me. “It’s once a week in person. We’ll still have asynchronous sessions throughout the week.”

“Will you be there?”

Scarlett stiffens. “Most of them, yes. But we’ll work together as a collaborative group and help anyone who is struggling with their course material.”

“You seriously don’t tutor?”

“I used to, but not anymore.”

This can’t be happening. “Why not? Aren’t you, like, the best?”

I was hoping she’d blush, maybe be so charmed by me that she’d agree. But this girl doesn’t budge. “I don’t have time,” she says.

“I can pay you,” I offer.

She blinks several times, clearly taken aback. Or maybe considering it? “Your hockey money won’t just magically make time in my schedule.” As soon as the words are out, she slaps a palm over her mouth, her face turning almost as red as her hair. Okay, sonotconsidering. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to say it like that. I don’t need your money. I don’t tutor anymore.”

Hockey money?I didn’t expect this girl to know much about hockey—hell, I didn’t think she recognized me.