We Were Here: A New Adult Romance Prequel to Geoducks Are for Lovers (Modern Love Stories Book 1) (14 page)

“Peter Piper” ~ RUN DMC

I WANTED TO
get stoned.

Punch something.

Listen to rap and curse.

Run.

Drive fast, with all the windows open. No destination or schedule in mind.

Why?

Somehow I was on the verge of failing the statistics section of my global economics and world markets course.

Two weeks into sophomore year and I’d already bombed two quizzes.

Unacceptable for many reasons.

I had to make an appointment with my professor according to his note on the last quiz.

How could I make my first million by thirty if I couldn’t pass a lower level statistics section?

I found Roger in the student union, aka the CAB, hanging out with some chick with a thousand piercings in her ears. With a nod of understanding, he agreed to stop by my room in thirty.

Back in the dorm, I blasted
Licensed to Ill
, and lay on my bed, waiting for Roger to show up with a quarter. Old habits were habits for a reason.

He did the classic shave-and-a-haircut-two-bits knock. He thought he acted smooth and clever. In reality, he was neither. Because his older brother had a direct source for amazing BC bud, I put up with him.

I checked the bag for seeds and stems, then handed over the cash. The stuff was sticky and sweet. We hung out shooting the shit for ten minutes, while I loaded up my bong, stuffed a towel under the door, and opened the window.

“Where’s your roommate?” Roger made himself at home on the empty bed.

“Don’t have one. I have the whole double to myself.”

“No way. How’d you swing that?”

“Amazing what money can do.” I lit up and took a long drag. The water bubbled as smoke billowed up the glass, entering my lungs when I moved my finger. I held my breath, letting the heat burn. After a moment, I exhaled the smoke out my window.

Calm began to invade my bloodstream.

Roger took a hit and then checked his beeper. “Gotta go.”

I wasn’t going to ask him to stay. “Thanks, man.”

He kicked the towel out the way. Half the dorm probably smoked pot, but old habits had also taught me to be smart about it.

After a couple more hits, I replaced the bong in the closet next to the box holding various pipes, and stuffed the baggie in my sock drawer.

The sense of panic and anxiety abated. Feeling like I could breathe again, I opened my statistics text book and started studying before dinner.

According to Donald McDonald, statistician and Santa impersonator, I needed to attend a weekly study group with a tutor if I wanted to get through stats. Okay, he probably didn’t impersonate Kris Kringle, but he could rock the mall Santa gig if he wanted.

He suggested a guy who took his class last year. Joe was a Legal and Public Admin, aka pre-law, major, and some sort of statistics wizard. Whatever floated his boat as long as he could get stats to stick in my brain.

Old McDonald told me to show up in the library on Monday at noon for the weekly study session.

I arrived a couple minutes late after making a stop at my room for a quick smoke. There were only two other people in the room, besides Joe, who sat at the head of the table. He looked like one of those wannabe jocks who kept records of all his favorite baseball players’ stats, but never played a game himself. Could’ve been the backwards Mariners’ cap on his head.

Being late, I’d missed the introductions. The other two students under Joe’s tutelage included a stunning blonde and another girl across the table from her. I didn’t really pay attention to the other girl.

I sat next to the blonde. Her perfume reminded me of my mother’s weekly flower arrangements, which cost a small fortune. She didn’t even look at me; instead, she remained focused on Joe. He explained a problem from our homework, punching away on a giant calculator on the table in front of him.

“I think you missed something in your calculation,” Blondie interrupted him.

Wow. That was bold of her. Telling our tutor he was wrong.

“I have a completely different answer, too.” I finally gave the other girl a good look. She sported short hair and an old man cardigan in olive green. Not unattractive, just plain. Especially when Blondie occupied the same space.

“I don’t think so.” Joe shoved his notebook in our direction. “Check it.”

Blondie studied his calculation, then stood up and walked over to the big white board behind him. After copying the formula and Joe’s numbers onto the board, she paused.

“I see where he went wrong,” other girl said.

Wrong? He was supposed to be teaching us this shit and he got the problem wrong? I stole a look at Blondie’s notes. She’d already done all the work. I could see she had a different result for this problem.

“He missed the seven.” I pointed at the error on the board.

Blondie smiled at me in thanks for taking her side.

I cocked my head in reply. I’d be on her team any day, especially if it was a doubles team.

Joe stared at the board. “You’re right. Excellent catch.”

I shot him a sidelong glance. Was he testing us by making mistakes and hoping we’d catch them? This being my first study group ever, I had no idea how these things worked. I’d never had to put much effort into studying or classes before. Somehow, I coasted. Smarter and more clever than was probably good for me.

Blondie resumed her seat, slid Joe his notebook, and then turned to me. “Did you bring your homework?”

Oh, right. I pulled everything out of my backpack. “I did.”

“What are you stuck on?” Joe asked. “Let’s have it.”

I shuffled through papers, looking for the worksheet. Next to me Blondie sighed and tapped her pen on the table.

“Here it is. I had an issue with the population variance on the second question.”

“Oh, that’s an easy one.” Blondie once again went up to the white board. Erasing the previous equation made her ass wiggle in her jeans. No baggy man cardigan for her. Her figure looked athletic and toned, not like a jock, though. She probably worked out in one of those thong leotards like on Jane Fonda’s aerobics videos. A guy could hope.

She wrote everything down and then turned to me expectantly.

I stared at Joe, waiting for him to speak up and guide us.

“Wanna take a shot?” Blondie asked me directly.

I scratched behind my ear and squinted at the numbers. Everyone focused on me, waiting for me to solve it. If I could have figured it out, I wouldn’t need this weird ass study group.

Sighing, Blondie began adding to the formula while explaining her work. I couldn’t figure out if she were a kiss-ass or one of those know-it-all girls who had to always be right.

“If you’re doing simple random sampling, use the sample standard deviation?” Joe’s voice went up at the end like he didn’t know the answer.

“That’s the most basic approach.” Other girl’s voice held the same disbelief at this clown I felt. I gave her and her ugly sweater a mental high five.

“I understood that part. The calculation at the end throws me off.” I pointed to the board.

Blondie explained her work, slowly and thoroughly. She was much better at this than Joe. Maybe he was some sort of savant. Like he could count cards at casinos, but didn’t know to look both ways when crossing the street.

We worked through the rest of the questions. At the end of the session, I felt better about the equations. Maybe I wouldn’t bomb this week’s quiz.

As we packed up our stuff, we agreed to meet again on Wednesday after class.

I found myself following Joe out the door.

“Thanks for the session, Joe.” Slinging my backpack over my shoulder, I caught up to him.

“I don’t think she heard you.”

I flinched. “She?” Whoa, what?

“I’m Curtis. She’s Jo.” He pointed down the hall at Blondie.

Ah, that made more sense. I snapped my jaw shut and followed her departure with my eyes. My stats tutor wasn’t a doofus savant. She was a beautiful girl with a big brain and a sweet ass.

“Around the Way Girl” ~ LL Cool J

IMPRESSING MY TUTOR
ended up being better motivation than the threat of not passing global economics.

I wasn’t late on Wednesday. In fact, I arrived early and I had an extra to-go cup of coffee in front of me. Because I’d bet she took it sweet and milky, a bunch of creamers and a selection of real and fake sugar sat on a napkin next to the cup.

Cardigan showed up first and eyed my coffees. “Double-fisting?”

The old adage about bringing enough for the whole class flitted through my head. Shit. Obvious much?

My plan didn’t really work out the way I’d hoped. Curtis took the seat closest to me, leaving the head of the table for Jo or the seat next to Cardigan.

Jo arrived and sat at the far end of the table.

Aborting the mission, I pushed the extra cup across the table. I didn’t need two cups of coffee.

“That’s sweet of you.” Cardigan grinned at me.

I returned her thanks with a closed mouth smile. “No problem.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to have drinks in the library, but I’m going to pretend I didn’t see those.” Jo gestured at our cups.

This was not going as I’d planned.

Worse, she nailed me—and not in the good way—on two of the problems. Instead of letting us ask questions, she made each of us go to the white board and copy our own work for the group to figure out where we went wrong.

Every once in a while, I’d catch her checking me out. Her pert nose would wrinkle when one of us went off track with a problem. An adorable line appeared between her brows as she attempted to backtrack and find our errors.

Today, her long golden hair had been woven into a braid. She wore black leggings with sneakers and an oversized sweatshirt. Even casual, she looked beautiful.

She had no idea who I was, where I came from, or how much money my father made. To her, I was some schlub who couldn’t master something she could do easily.

Nor could I charm my way out of these calculations or buy myself a better grade. This was uncharted water for me.

Her no-nonsense attitude turned me on. I felt out of her league, which had never happened to me before. In the past, even at both of my former boarding schools surrounded by household names, trust fund kids, and a few distant royals from smaller European countries, I’d never felt anything but among my own kind.