before.”
Sometimes several someones. The relationships were always regular; mutually beneficial and bordering on official at times. So much neater and tidier than what I’m doing now with Cleo. So much more... sound—in every way.
She frowns at my answer, as if she’s turning it over in her head and isn’t sure what to make of it. Then she looks down at our joined hands. “For a domineering prick, you’re pretty big into hand-holding, aren’t you?”
I grin, and quickly roll my lips together. “You’re mine for now,” I murmur to the top of her dark head. She tries to pull ahead of me, but I ignore that fact and focus on the warmth of her hand in mine, on her small-but-curvy body. I tighten my grip and force her to break her fast stride. She looks back at me, and I bring her hand to my lips. “I want to keep you close.”
She snorts and increases her pace until she’s dragging me behind her. I’m surprised to find I’m feeling... lighter. The weight that seemed ever-present on my shoulders seems to have drifted off—at least until I see the mail bin at the top of the library’s brick steps.
Emptiness yawns inside me: a crushing need for what I can’t have.
As Cleo flounces to the glass doors, I drop another half-step behind. I slide the post card out of my back pocket and reach around behind her to toss it inside.
She spins, a blur of black fabric to match her raven hair. “Did you just mail a letter?” she demands. It’s the same tone she uses for everything: some funky blend of incredulity and amusement—as if she’s ready and waiting to comment on any toe I put out of place.
I murmur, “Kellan business.”
Pain cries through me, and I tell myself to try to forget about the postcard. After all, there is no address on it: no mailing, no return. It, like the few others I’ve written since May, will be discarded.
And still, the words echo in my mind.
I’m sorry, Sloth.
I’m so sorry.
“HOLY SHIT, I THINK I GET IT!”
I give Kellan my surprised bug eyes, which probably scare the crap out of him, because we’re sitting thigh-to-thigh on a narrow, padded bench in one of those little closet-rooms-for-rent inside the library.
He’s got his right ankle resting atop his left knee, and my calculus textbook spread over his muscular calf and thigh. He’s only been at it for about thirty minutes, and most of the time I’ve been distracted by his huge shoulders edging into my space as he gestures to the pages. But just now, something clicked inside my head.
“So... to find an antiderivativesfor a function f , just reverse the process for differentiation?”
The corners of his mouth twitch. He nods slowly as his eyes twinkle.
“So you can usually find an antiderivativesby reversing the power rule. And the indefinite integral is like... a reference to all the different antiderivatives of a single continuous function. Because there isn’t just one. There’s a bunch of different ones. Even an infinite number? ”
His grins smugly. “I told you.”
“I can’t believe it. I mean... Cannot. Believe. It.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “Kellan, you should be a math teacher. A professor!”
He snorts.
“Seriously! How did you know how to explain it to me? I’m an idiot with this stuff. I wasn’t even good at algebra.”
He looks down at me through his long lashes, and I feel my body temperature spike. With his deep blue eyes, his high cheekbones, and those sculpted lips, he’s just so... striking. His skin is smooth and tanned, with just a little stubble on his jaw and cheeks—more than most college guys have, I can’t help noting. His hair is short and soft-looking, and just a little wavy: the just-rolled-out-of-bed look, which contrasts nicely with his dressy clothes.
He lifts a shoulder, and I swear that simple motion makes sweat pop out on my forehead. “You caught on fast,” he says.
“Yeah, cause you have serious skills.”
He shakes his head.
“Too cool for
Sometimes several someones. The relationships were always regular; mutually beneficial and bordering on official at times. So much neater and tidier than what I’m doing now with Cleo. So much more... sound—in every way.
She frowns at my answer, as if she’s turning it over in her head and isn’t sure what to make of it. Then she looks down at our joined hands. “For a domineering prick, you’re pretty big into hand-holding, aren’t you?”
I grin, and quickly roll my lips together. “You’re mine for now,” I murmur to the top of her dark head. She tries to pull ahead of me, but I ignore that fact and focus on the warmth of her hand in mine, on her small-but-curvy body. I tighten my grip and force her to break her fast stride. She looks back at me, and I bring her hand to my lips. “I want to keep you close.”
She snorts and increases her pace until she’s dragging me behind her. I’m surprised to find I’m feeling... lighter. The weight that seemed ever-present on my shoulders seems to have drifted off—at least until I see the mail bin at the top of the library’s brick steps.
Emptiness yawns inside me: a crushing need for what I can’t have.
As Cleo flounces to the glass doors, I drop another half-step behind. I slide the post card out of my back pocket and reach around behind her to toss it inside.
She spins, a blur of black fabric to match her raven hair. “Did you just mail a letter?” she demands. It’s the same tone she uses for everything: some funky blend of incredulity and amusement—as if she’s ready and waiting to comment on any toe I put out of place.
I murmur, “Kellan business.”
Pain cries through me, and I tell myself to try to forget about the postcard. After all, there is no address on it: no mailing, no return. It, like the few others I’ve written since May, will be discarded.
And still, the words echo in my mind.
I’m sorry, Sloth.
I’m so sorry.
“HOLY SHIT, I THINK I GET IT!”
I give Kellan my surprised bug eyes, which probably scare the crap out of him, because we’re sitting thigh-to-thigh on a narrow, padded bench in one of those little closet-rooms-for-rent inside the library.
He’s got his right ankle resting atop his left knee, and my calculus textbook spread over his muscular calf and thigh. He’s only been at it for about thirty minutes, and most of the time I’ve been distracted by his huge shoulders edging into my space as he gestures to the pages. But just now, something clicked inside my head.
“So... to find an antiderivativesfor a function f , just reverse the process for differentiation?”
The corners of his mouth twitch. He nods slowly as his eyes twinkle.
“So you can usually find an antiderivativesby reversing the power rule. And the indefinite integral is like... a reference to all the different antiderivatives of a single continuous function. Because there isn’t just one. There’s a bunch of different ones. Even an infinite number? ”
His grins smugly. “I told you.”
“I can’t believe it. I mean... Cannot. Believe. It.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “Kellan, you should be a math teacher. A professor!”
He snorts.
“Seriously! How did you know how to explain it to me? I’m an idiot with this stuff. I wasn’t even good at algebra.”
He looks down at me through his long lashes, and I feel my body temperature spike. With his deep blue eyes, his high cheekbones, and those sculpted lips, he’s just so... striking. His skin is smooth and tanned, with just a little stubble on his jaw and cheeks—more than most college guys have, I can’t help noting. His hair is short and soft-looking, and just a little wavy: the just-rolled-out-of-bed look, which contrasts nicely with his dressy clothes.
He lifts a shoulder, and I swear that simple motion makes sweat pop out on my forehead. “You caught on fast,” he says.
“Yeah, cause you have serious skills.”
He shakes his head.
“Too cool for
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