Chapter One
“Spyder? My new student’s name is friggin’ Spyder?”
Some days, Nicole Moore figured, were better than others.
“So before the tutoring session, am I going to have to confiscate his graphic novels—or his illegal weapons and/or controlled substances?”
This day, the 22-year-old figured further, was not one of those mythical better days.
Still she knew that she had to honor her commitment as a tutor intern at Fitzgerald State College; a position that, if successfully completed, could be her key to a lucrative assistant professorship at this same university.
“So there will only be a few more Spyders, Jeds or Brittnis to navigate through to achieve a B plus before I’m outta here,” she reminded herself, adding more warmly, “Along, of course, with a number of genuine, hardworking students who—because of either tough home lives or substantial learning challenges—just need a little extra help and guidance. It’s always my pleasure to help these kids. Why do I get the distinct feeling, though, that Spyder belongs more to the former category than the latter?”
Shaking off the feeling of cold, hard dread that threatened to overwhelm her, Nicole adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and settled her rubenesque form in the straight wicker chair that sat behind her work station at the Fitzgerald school library; a basic wooden table that formed a far corner of the basic one story library.
“Show no fear,” she reminded herself, adding as she raised her gaze to behold the young man who currently approached her work station, “or out and out wonder, amazement or good ol’ fashioned covetous desire.”
Indeed, the man who now approached her table probably qualified as the most beautiful male she’d ever seen—if not the most beautiful blasted human being, overall.
Standing tall and statuesque above her desk, the olive eyed brunette regarded her with a dazzling white toothed smile; one that shone forth from a bronzed, chiseled face that also boasted carved cheekbones, full, moist lips and a genuine cleft chin.
“Criminy, I didn’t think that anyone actually had a cleft chin these days, outside of Hollywood,” she mused, arching her eyebrows at this disturbing realization.
Beyond being symmetrically arranged to the point of near flawlessness (OK then, complete and total flawlessness, if she was to be brutally honest), all of these downright fascinating features came framed in a long, silken mane of ebony hair that fell across his muscled shoulders and down his planed back.
“OK dude, so thanks for just triggering my hair fetish,” she gritted her teeth, her gaze lingering for a moment on those luscious, silky locks as she added, “Big time.”
Forcing her gaze away from that luscious mane did little to help this situation, as her eyes ended up travelling down the length of his tall, lean muscled form; a body adorned today in a pair of sinful tight blue jeans and a T-shirt that came emblazoned with his own hand painted image—along with the name “Spyder” printed above in a bold flash of scarlet red calligraphy.
“Well if I was that cute, I wager I’d wear my own picture on some random article of clothing as well,” she mused—realizing too late that she’d mused aloud.
“Did I just say that out loud?” she asked the god before her, biting her lip hard as her worst fears were confirmed by way of a nod and a smile.
“Indeed you did, Miss,” he confirmed, accenting his words with a playful wink.
Nicole nodded.
“Yikes, I was afraid of that,” she grinned, adding as she offered her hand, “If you’re not already prepared to turn tail and race headfirst for the nearest exit, Spyder, then do allow me to introduce myself. I’m your new tutor, Nicole Moore. That’s N-i-c-o-l-e and Moore as in Mary Tyler, just in case you need a verified spelling to submit as part of your harassment complaint.”
Spyder guffawed outright.
“Are you kidding, Miss Moore?
“Spyder? My new student’s name is friggin’ Spyder?”
Some days, Nicole Moore figured, were better than others.
“So before the tutoring session, am I going to have to confiscate his graphic novels—or his illegal weapons and/or controlled substances?”
This day, the 22-year-old figured further, was not one of those mythical better days.
Still she knew that she had to honor her commitment as a tutor intern at Fitzgerald State College; a position that, if successfully completed, could be her key to a lucrative assistant professorship at this same university.
“So there will only be a few more Spyders, Jeds or Brittnis to navigate through to achieve a B plus before I’m outta here,” she reminded herself, adding more warmly, “Along, of course, with a number of genuine, hardworking students who—because of either tough home lives or substantial learning challenges—just need a little extra help and guidance. It’s always my pleasure to help these kids. Why do I get the distinct feeling, though, that Spyder belongs more to the former category than the latter?”
Shaking off the feeling of cold, hard dread that threatened to overwhelm her, Nicole adjusted her glasses on the bridge of her nose and settled her rubenesque form in the straight wicker chair that sat behind her work station at the Fitzgerald school library; a basic wooden table that formed a far corner of the basic one story library.
“Show no fear,” she reminded herself, adding as she raised her gaze to behold the young man who currently approached her work station, “or out and out wonder, amazement or good ol’ fashioned covetous desire.”
Indeed, the man who now approached her table probably qualified as the most beautiful male she’d ever seen—if not the most beautiful blasted human being, overall.
Standing tall and statuesque above her desk, the olive eyed brunette regarded her with a dazzling white toothed smile; one that shone forth from a bronzed, chiseled face that also boasted carved cheekbones, full, moist lips and a genuine cleft chin.
“Criminy, I didn’t think that anyone actually had a cleft chin these days, outside of Hollywood,” she mused, arching her eyebrows at this disturbing realization.
Beyond being symmetrically arranged to the point of near flawlessness (OK then, complete and total flawlessness, if she was to be brutally honest), all of these downright fascinating features came framed in a long, silken mane of ebony hair that fell across his muscled shoulders and down his planed back.
“OK dude, so thanks for just triggering my hair fetish,” she gritted her teeth, her gaze lingering for a moment on those luscious, silky locks as she added, “Big time.”
Forcing her gaze away from that luscious mane did little to help this situation, as her eyes ended up travelling down the length of his tall, lean muscled form; a body adorned today in a pair of sinful tight blue jeans and a T-shirt that came emblazoned with his own hand painted image—along with the name “Spyder” printed above in a bold flash of scarlet red calligraphy.
“Well if I was that cute, I wager I’d wear my own picture on some random article of clothing as well,” she mused—realizing too late that she’d mused aloud.
“Did I just say that out loud?” she asked the god before her, biting her lip hard as her worst fears were confirmed by way of a nod and a smile.
“Indeed you did, Miss,” he confirmed, accenting his words with a playful wink.
Nicole nodded.
“Yikes, I was afraid of that,” she grinned, adding as she offered her hand, “If you’re not already prepared to turn tail and race headfirst for the nearest exit, Spyder, then do allow me to introduce myself. I’m your new tutor, Nicole Moore. That’s N-i-c-o-l-e and Moore as in Mary Tyler, just in case you need a verified spelling to submit as part of your harassment complaint.”
Spyder guffawed outright.
“Are you kidding, Miss Moore?
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