Page 21 of Tutored in Love
More than passed.
I look again at my 80 percent and laugh out loud. I still have to score well on everything that remains in order to pass the class, but I’m more excited about this B minus than I’ve ever been about an A in any other class. The burst of energy and relief has me wanting to twirl, dance, run, maybe even sing my way down the long bank of stairs that leads off campus. I’m reassessing my skepticism about musicals when I indulge in a little twirl that sends me right into someone coming the other way.
“Sorry!” I say, laughing even more when I see that it’s Ethan that I’ve nearly bowled over. He catches me by the waist and keeps us both from falling, laughing with me and holding me closer than strictly necessary.
“What’s got you so happy?”
“I got an eighty on my math midterm!”
“That’s cause for celebration!” he says, pulling me even closer. “What should we do?”
I chuckle and lift a brow at his forwardness. “We?”
He nods flirtatiously, reminding me that our last class was yesterday and sending a different kind of thrill through me.
“Aren’t you going somewhere?” I give a meaningful tug on his backpack.
“Nowhere important.” He does a one-eighty and takes my hand, leading me down the stairs. “Have you eaten?”
With that, Ethan whisks me away. His car—a nice one—is waiting in the parking lot at the bottom, and he keeps my hand until he opens the passenger door and sees me safely seated.
He keeps me laughing all the way to a fast-casual restaurant, feeds my ego throughout the meal, and touches me at every opportunity. Elbow, hand, waist, hair. I can’t remember the last time I received so much attention. It’s intoxicating enough to squash the niggle of hesitation supplied by the more logical part of my brain.
After dinner he drives to an elementary school in a residential area east of campus and pushes me on probably the last existing really good elementary school swing in existence—a great hexagonal arrangement that dares me to reach my feet out and touch the top center ring at the height of my swing.
The sun has long since set and my hands are nearly numb when Ethan pulls me out of my swing and into a hug.
“This has been so fun!” I say, hugging him back. “Thank you for celebrating with me. I haven’t felt this relaxed in ages.”
“My pleasure,” he says, and in a moment the friendly hug has morphed into something more. His hands move to my waist, and he pulls back a bit, his eyes dropping to my lips. I barely have time to question whether this is what I want before he leans in. My neck muscles decide for me, landing his lips squarely on my cheek.
Awkward.
“Ouch,” he says, pulling back with a grimace. “A swing and a miss. Did I read that wrong?”
“Ethan, I’m sorry.” I don’t know how to explain this thing that I don’t understand yet myself, but maybe it has something to do with watching Ivy and Dave’s friendship grow—without the physical aspect to confuse or rush things.
Ethan’s still holding me, though the romance of the moment is gone. “What are we doing here?” I ask.
“I thought that was pretty obvious.” He smirks at me, confidence unscathed. “I mean, it’s just for fun, right?” His eyes drop briefly to my lips in question.
“I don’t usually... kiss guys I’m not dating.” I wince. “Are we dating?”
“Well, we went to dinner...”
I can’t help but chuckle. He’s incorrigible. “So we’re dating now?” I say.
“Uh...”
“I didn’t think so.” I move out of his arms, and he looks worried.
“Grace, listen.” He recaptures my hand to stop my retreat. “I didn’t mean to... I thought you needed a pick-me-up.”
“You were right.” I give his hand a squeeze. “I did, and I appreciate you taking me to dinner, and I had a fantastic time—”
“But I took it a little too far.” He sighs deeply, lets go of my hand to ruffle his stylishly messy hair, and manages to look sheepish. “Still friends?”
“Still friends,” I say, and I mean it. Just not with benefits.