Page 17 of Don't Be in Love

Sabrina didn’t work here, but she was a frequent-customer-turned-friend before getting me and Mia jobs here. Dotty and Iris treated her like a granddaughter.

“Exactly,” I replied to the look on her face.

“Why don’t you set her up then?” She leaned forward from behind the desk. Mia went over to sit beside her.

For a millisecond, I had considered connecting Dorian with Sabrina. But that was before he opened his mouth and I realized he was full of himself. She may have claimed to be in love with him, but she had no idea who he actually was. Maybe this semester would change that now that she could bump into his arrogant ass at any moment on campus.

I looked up at the ceiling and rolled my tongue over my teeth. “Well, the thing is we kind of … spent the night together.” Dotty gasped. “I had no idea who he was!” I defended myself.

“What are you doing tutoring him then?” she asked, horrified.

“It’s how I’m getting him to keep this whole thing a secret.”

She nodded, collecting each piece of information to surely share with her book club. “You’re going to get yourself into trouble with this,” she considered, chewing on her lip.

“If you have any better ideas, I’d love to hear them.”

Dotty and Mia looked at each other without responses.

“That’s what I thought. Now I’m going to take care of the problem in the backroom until you two can come up with something better.”

“Talk loudly so we can hear,” Mia asked before I crossed through the threshold of the backroom and shut the door.

There was a stack of boxes propping up his feet where he was … sleeping. You had to be kidding.

His long figure was extended on the couch, arms crossed behind his head. He had black trousers on, and a white T-shirt that rose above his lower stomach. I could see the tattoo that rested on his hip. My gaze glued to it, trapping me. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. The ink followed the curve of the muscle in his torso, the way a quill guided above a line on paper. The last time I saw it, my thumb was pressed into it.

“Is it not rude to stare in America?”

I jolted at his voice. The tattoo was quickly covered up by his shirt as he sat up, rubbing his—now open—eyes.

“Because it’s awfully creepy here, just so you know,” he responded, his accent making him sound considerate despite the smart-ass tone.

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I have someone taking a nap in my place of work. You could’ve at least started on what I assigned for today,” I pointed out, throwing my jacket onto the couch.

“How was I supposed to know what was assigned?” His eyebrow quirked.

“Because I printed you out the rubric for the project and added a calendar to the back, breaking down what had to be completed by the end of each session.”

“That’s quite smart.”

A pause passed over the conversation.

“So you lost the paper?” I deadpanned.

“Forgive me?”

“Do you take anything seriously?”

“Do you want to talk about why you were staring at me?”

“We’re supposed to be working,” I grumbled.

“Fine, let’s get to work then.” He stood up abruptly, forcing me to take a step backward to give myself space. Suddenly, I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. “You look tall today,” he thought aloud. It was odd. Spellbinding, almost.

I turned away, placing my things on the table. “New shoes,” I commented haphazardly. Lots of talking. No studying.

I rifled through my papers, pulling out folded pieces from my textbook that I stuffed in each time class was up. The calendar I made was here somewhere. Maybe it’d be easier to find it if Dorian wasn’t staring at me.