IF I DON'T GET MY SHIT TOGETHER

CHAPTER 4

/NATHAN/

I rubbed my eyes, staring at the glowing screen of my laptop. It was nearly 5:30 PM, and the living room of my small apartment was quiet except for the scratching of a pencil.

Across the coffee table, Maverick was hunched over a sheet of practice problems, his tongue poking out slightly between his teeth as he calculated a standard deviation.

It was our fifth session, and against my better judgment, I was actually starting to tolerate him.

After that disastrous first day in the library, I had expected a total nightmare. But once we moved the lessons to my apartment because he kept complaining about the library chairs, something changed. He actually started trying and I began to know him a little better. Turns out he wasn't completely brainless, he just lacked any form of academic discipline. His grades were climbing into a safe passing zone, and the looming threat of losing my SiporaTech recommendation letter didn't feel as heavy anymore.

"Hey, Nathan," Maverick muttered, not looking up from the paper. "Is this right? Do I divide by n-1 here because it's a sample, or am I tripping?"

I leaned forward, looking at his messy handwriting. "No, you're right. It's a sample variance, so you use n-1. You're doing a good job."

"Sweet," he grinned, finally looking up. He threw his pencil onto the table and stretched his massive arms over his head, his gray t-shirt straining against his chest. "See? I told you I'm a genius. You just had to have a little faith in me, tutor."

"Don't flatter yourself, Mave. You barely passed the pop quiz yesterday," I said, putting my coffee cup down.

I hated that I called him Mave now. During our third session, he had completely ignored me every time I called him Maverick, flat-out refusing to answer until I used the nickname. I had given in just to save time, but now it slipped out of my mouth way too easily.

And that wasn't the only thing that had changed. Lately, Mave was being way too touchy-feely, and it was driving me absolutely insane.

"A pass is a pass," Mave chuckled. He lowered his arms, but instead of leaning back into his side of the couch, he shifted closer to me. He rested his arm along the back of the sofa, his large hand dangling just inches from my shoulder. "Besides, I have a great teacher. You deserve some credit."

"I just want my recommendation letter," I said, my voice sounding a little tighter than I intended.

Mave’s sudden proximity was making my heart act a bit erratic.

I tried to keep my face completely expressionless, staring down at my laptop, but I could feel the heat radiating from his body.

I might not exactly like him but I couldn't lie that he had the body and face, that I sometimes forget I'm supposed to not like him.

"Always so cold," Mave teased. He leaned in even closer, his shoulder brushing against mine as he peered at my laptop screen. "What are you working on anyway? Looks complicated."

"It's just my own assignment," I murmured, my breath catching in my throat.

His face was too close. If I turned my head right now, our noses would touch. I could see the slight golden flecks in his eyes and the small, easy smirk playing on his lips. I tried to tell myself to relax. He probably didn't see this as a big deal, straight guys were always like this especially the jocks.

They had zero concept of personal space once they got comfortable with someone. They wrestled in the locker rooms, slapped each other's backs, and sat too close on couches. It didn't mean anything to them, but it meant a lot to me because I wasn't straight.

Crazy plot twist, I know but I was closeted gay for as long as I can remember, and Mave’s casual touches were completely short-circuiting my brain.

"Looks boring," Mave decided, reaching past me to point at a line of code on my screen.

When he did, his knuckles casually brushed against my bare wrist. A literal jolt of electricity shot up my arm. I flinched slightly, pulling my hand back into my lap, my knuckles clenching.

Mave didn't pull away. He left his hand resting on the edge of the table, just an inch from mine, his eyes lingering on my face. "Hey, you okay? Your ears are totally red. Is it hot in here?"

"I'm fine," I said quickly, my voice a pitch higher than usual. I stood up abruptly, needing to put some distance between us before he heard my heart hammering against my chest. "I'm just going to get some water. Do you want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good," Mave said, his eyes following me as I walked into the small kitchen area.

I gripped the edge of the kitchen counter, taking a deep, shuddering breath. My hands were trembling.

This was a disaster, I knew I shouldn't have let him get this close. I was supposed to be the strict tutor who ran the show. Instead, I was turning into a nervous wreck because a straight hockey player smiled at me and touched my wrist. Why was I so weak to handsome men? If he were even a little bit uglier, it might have been ten times easier to bear.

I poured myself a glass of cold water, drank it down in one gulp, and forced a straight face again. When I walked back into the living room, Mave was already packing his things into his duffel bag.

"Coach texted," Mave said, slinging the bag over his shoulder. "We have an emergency team meeting before tomorrow's game."

"Right. Don't forget to review chapter six before Tuesday," I said, staying near the kitchen counter, keeping the distance between us.

Mave walked over to the front door, but paused. He turned around, looking at me with that soft, lingering smile that always made my stomach flip. He walked back over to me, stopping just a foot away. Before I could step back, he reached out and patted my shoulder. His fingers gave a gentle, brief squeeze.

“What do you think—”

"See you Tuesday, Nathan. Don't miss me too much," he said, his voice sounding playful.

“As if I would,” I answered in a muffled voice.

“You surprisingly have a cute side, Teach,” he chuckled as he ruffled my hair. He let go, flashed me one last wink, and walked out, shutting the apartment door behind him.

The moment the lock clicked, my knees felt weak, and I practically slid down until I was sitting on the floor, leaning my back against the kitchen counter. I covered my face with my hands, feeling the intense heat burning in my cheeks.

Was it normal for a straight guy to call another guy cute? Was I just the one overthinking this? But wait, I'm older than him so why am I cute?

As my mind lingered on a million and one question, the most realistic question hit me. Was I falling for Maverick Rockwell?

“N-No, that can't be,” I laughed awkwardly, as my hands trembled. Maybe I just found him hot and since I had no experience in love, how could I be sure? “There was no way it could be that. Not a chance.”

More than whatever my feelings are for him, I knew that this would only end badly if I don't get my shit together.