First Day.

KEVIN

Monday afternoon arrives much faster than I want.

The Academic Resource Center is painfully quiet. I am not a bookworm who dwells in silence. I am a fucking hockey player who is loud and messy on the ice, so me being here is pure torture already.

But I can't escape.

My grades are really bad and I need this ‘tutoring’ fix.

Ava is already sitting at a corner table where my eyes are on her right now as I approach her. She also has her notebooks stacked into perfect piles on the table, including some colored highlighters, sticky notes, and her open laptop.

When I finally reach her, she doesn't even look up to see me.

“Hey Tutor,” I force a smile on my face before checking my phone for the time. “Oops. Sorry. I am only seven minutes late. Practice ran over and my fan club was blocking the hallway.”

She lifts her wrist and points at her watch without looking at me.

Damn. She is obviously pissed that I am late on our very first day.

Before I can say anything, she reaches for a small notebook, tears out a piece of paper, and then writes something on the paper.

Done, she slides the torn paper towards me and I read the words written in angry capital letters:

‘PARTICIPATION: -5 POINTS. REASON - LATENESS.’

Fuck.

“Really?” I glare at the page. “You are kidding right?”

At my clipped tone, she finally raises her eyes and pins a glare back at me.

I scoff, unfazed. “I am just seven minutes late. You can't just deduct my points like that. You don't even have the power to deduct points!”

She doesn't write back a response, but she doesn't need to because her glaring eyes are already screaming the words “BUT I CAN!!”

Next, I watch as she taps her pen on a small printed sheet taped on the surface of the table.

The sheet reads:

PEER TUTOR EVALUATION FORM - SIGNED BY DEAN MATTHEWS

Dammit.

I clench my fists. “You are enjoying this.”

She nods.

“You are heartless.”

She nods again and this time, even adds a haunting smile.

Fuck.

Despite the fact that I am pissed, I force myself to accept the deduction punishment and sit down on the chair across from her because whether I like it or not, this insufferable girl is my tutor and I need her help if I don't want to get kicked out of the team.

After seeing that I am settled down, she pushes a biology worksheet towards me and I glance at it.

Shit!

We are already doing tests on our first day?!

“Are you trying to kill me before you teach me?” I blurt out, unable to stop myself.

She smiles even harder.

“No way,” I slide the worksheet back to her.

In response, she picks up her phone and starts typing. Done, she shows me the words on her screen:

‘THEN ENJOY FAILING BIOLOGY.’

Fuck.

“You have got to be kidding me,” I groan, running a hand through my damp hair. “Come on, Ava. Give your guy a break. It's our first day. How about we skip the boring cell division stuff, grab a coffee, and get to know each other? I promise I am much more interesting than biology.”

She doesn't blush.

She doesn't smile.

She doesn't even bat an eye.

Instead, she smoothly types her response on her phone with lightening speed and turns the phone's screen towards my face:

‘START ANSWERING THE QUESTIONS NOW OR I WILL MARK YOU ABSENT.’

“Seriously, do you ever loosen up? I promise doing so will not kill you,” I retort.

She ignores my outburst and slides the worksheet back to me.

“You are really going to make me work harder than I imagined.”

She shrugs and folds her arms. Waiting.

After a long ass moment of silent pushing and pulling between us with our burning glares, I find myself giving up.

Besides, I am the one who needs her help.

“Fine,” I sigh and accept the worksheet. Next, I start answering the first question.

Fuck.

"I hate all topics about cell signalling and pathways,” I grumble.

She smiles and types on her phone before showing me the screen:

‘CELL SIGNALLING AND PATHWAYS DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT YOU, SO ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION.’

“Nasty,” I laugh. “I bet you have been waiting your whole life to use that line on a poor, helpless tutee like me.”

She shrugs.

I scoff in response and go back to answering the question.

Five minutes later, I am done with the first question.

She checks it and calmly circles five mistakes.

“Damn. You couldn't just pretend those were right?”

She shoots me a glare, types on her phone again, and shows me the screen:

‘STUDY FIRST. COMPLAIN LATER.’

“To be honest,” I lean back on my seat. “You are way meaner than people think.”

She sarcastically tilts her head.

“You look calm and peaceful, but you are not,” I continue. “You are a savage person who enjoys torturing others.”

She smiles and types on her phone again before showing me the screen:

‘I JUST ENJOY TORTURING YOU, ASSHOLE. NOW ANSWER THE NEXT QUESTIONS.’

Dammit.

The next hour is a blur of answering more questions and also receiving her feedback and corrections. She is so stubborn and doesn't give a fuck about me, but I am hellbent on changing that.

On the ice, when someone hits me hard against the boards, I don't fall down and cry.

I skate back faster, hit harder, and put the puck in the back of the net.

I never play to lose. Never.

Ava Hudson thinks she is completely immune to me. She thinks she can brush me off like I am nothing.

But I am going to prove her wrong.

I am going to make her fall so hard and so deeply in love with me.

During her corrections, I set my plan in motion. When she points out a diagram of one of the cell’s organelles, I lean in closer to her, making sure my shoulder is brushing against hers.

In the blink of an eye, she quickly shoves me off with the blunt end of her pencil.

She just had the guts to push me away like I am an annoying insect.

But I am not going to give up.

Still determined with my mission, I flash her my best, most charming smile while asking a stupid question about cell membranes.

She answers by typing a brutally dry comment on her phone:

‘EVEN A GOLDEN RETRIEVER CAN GRASP THIS TOPIC. TRY HARDER, DICKHEAD.’

I smirk, choosing to swallow a comeback. She is witty and I will give her that.

Regardless, her wit is no match for my charming skills.

Our tutoring session continues until 4pm and honestly, my brain feels completely fried.

“Same time Wednesday?” I ask, packing up my notebook.

She replies with a stiff nod, shoves her pens, laptop, and notebooks into her tote bag, and then slings the bag over her shoulder before heading for the exit first.

With the way she is walking so fast, she looks like she can't wait to get away from me.

Laughing to myself, I quickly pack up and join her, my eyes watching the way her long dark hair keeps swinging from side to side across the back of her pink sweater with every step she takes.

Damn. Her hair is so slick and shiny.

When we arrive outside the resource center illuminated by the warm, yellow glow of the streetlights around us, I breathe in the crisp evening air. The sky is orange purple and the field ahead of us is covered in autumn leaves that are looking wet from an earlier drizzle of rain.

“Hey Tutor,” I call out, ready to taunt her one final time for today.

She snaps around.

But the instant she does, her foot suddenly catches on a cobblestone hidden under a pile of wet leaves and she loses her balance.

Completely.