30
That’s what the sign on the door says.
Which is why I don’t understand what, when I open the door, a Greek god is doing there, sitting in front of me.
Seriously. The guy sitting at the computer behind the desk has long, golden hair—like as long as mine; a healthy, ruddy glow of good health about him; a placard on his desk that says KILLER FRISBEE 4-EVER; and the sleeves of his button-down shirt pushed back to reveal a set of forearms so muscular and gorgeous that I think I must have walked into some snowboard shop, or something.
“Hi,” the guy behind the desk says, with a smile. A smile that reveals a set of white, even teeth. But not so even that they’re, like, perfect. Just even enough for me to be able to guess that he’d probably fought with his family over not wanting to get braces.
And that he’d won.
“Wait, don’t tell me,” he says. “Heather Wells, right?”
He’s my age. Maybe a little older than me. Thirty, thirty-one. He has to be, even though he’s wearing reading glasses… adorable gold-rimmed ones, though. Still, there’s a Scooby Doo lunch box on a shelf above his head. Not a new one, either. An original Scooby Doo lunch box, the ones kids had when I was in the first grade.
“Um,” I say. “Yeah. How did you… ” My voice trails off. Right. I forget, sometimes, that my face was once plastered all over the bedroom walls of teenage girls—and some of their brothers.
“Actually, I saw you perform the other night with Frank Robillard and his band,” the guy says cheerfully. “Over at Joe’s Pub?”
My stomach lurches. “Oh. You saw that?”
“Jazz isn’t really my thing,” the guy says. “But I liked that song you did.”
“It was an Ella Fitzgerald cover,” I say. I really want to throw up now. Rodgers and Hart’s “I Wish I Were in Love Again” happens to be one of Cooper’s favorite songs. Which isn’t necessarily why I chose to sing it, but… well, it might have been one of the reasons.
Thank God he’d been called away at the last minute by some kind of PI emergency. I don’t think, in the end, that I could have gotten up there if I’d known he was in the audience.
“Frank and I—” I stammer. “W-we were just fooling around.”
Well, Frank had been fooling around. I’d been deadly serious… at least until no one booed us. Then I began to relax and have a little fun with it. Afterward, people clapped… but of course they were applauding for Frank (even though Patty assures me they were also clapping for me. But only for having the guts to get up there, I’m sure. I’d been rusty… and I hadn’t missed the fact that my dad, in the audience, had been clapping the hardest of anyone. I guess it’s nice to know, whatever else happens, I’ve got one parent watching my back).
“Well, it sounded great to me,” Mr. Gorgeous says. “So, you finally got my messages?”
I blink at him. “Um, I guess so. I got a message from someone named Tad Tocco—”
“That’s me,” Tad says. The smile gets even bigger. So does he, as he stands up and holds out his right hand. He’s taller than me. And possibly even outweighs me. He’s a big, muscular guy. “Your remedial math professor.” His hand swallows mine. “I was going to introduce myself after the show the other night, but you seemed to disappear right after your song.”
I say something. I have no idea what. His hand is callused. From playing so much killer Frisbee, no doubt.
“Anyway, I have to say,” he says, letting go of my hand, finally, and sinking back into his chair, just as my knees give out and I sort of fall back into the one on the other side of his desk, “you have a way better excuse for blowing off my class than most of my students. I mean, I’ve never had anyone miss the first week of school because they were busy catching a murderer.”
My jaw drops. “You’re my… you’re my… ” I’ve forgotten how to formulate words.
“I’m your remedial math professor,” Tad says cheerfully. “I wanted to get in touch with you about scheduling some makeup sessions. You know, for the classes you’ve missed? I don’t want you falling behind. So I figured we could meet. At your convenience, of course. How’s after work? There’s a bar near that place you work—Fischer Hall? The Stoned Crow. A bunch of us plays darts down there, so it would be convenient for me if we could meet there, seeing as how we’re both over twenty-one.” Then he winks at me.He winks at me. “I find algebra goes down a lot easier with popcorn and beer. That okay with you?”
I can only stare at him. He’s just so… hot.
Way hotter than Barista Boy.
Suddenly I think I’m going to like college.
A lot.
“That sounds great to me,” I say.
