“That is the third day in a row he’s come in here and talked to you.” He says it anyway.
“It’s nothing. He came in with his sister, not because of me.”
“Uh huh. Mister Tight End with the nice tight end is flirting with you, Joanna.”
“No, he is not.” There is just…no way he’s purposely seeking me out. Like he said, he came into the store with his sister. There’s no ulterior motive here.
Plus, I refuse to get my hopes up. He’s not my type. And even if he is flirting, he doesn’t mean anything by it. He probably flirts with every girl he encounters. It’s just part of his personality.
But Leon is right. Knox Maguire has come in here the past three days, and I’ve never seen him in our store before.
Like ever.
So why now? And why me?
Who knows.
I’m sure I’m making something out of nothing.
EIGHT
KNOX
I spent somuch time flirting with my bookstore girl, I ended up coming to class late. The one class I absolutely hate and wish I could avoid.
English.
And my professor wasn’t happy about it.
At all.
I slid into a seat at the very back, trying to be discreet, but I didn’t miss the hard look she sent my way. Then when she asked a question about our current read, she called upon me to answer it.
And I faltered. I fumbled and stuttered and made up some bogus answer that had nothing to do with the book. She narrowed her eyes at me and accused me of not reading the material like she wanted to embarrass me, causing the other students in class to titter nervously.
It sucked.
I sit through the rest of class in absolute misery, trying my best to keep my gaze focused on my notebook, scratching a line here and there, but still struggling to even know what the hell she’s talking about.
Considering I’m already behind on the reading, this is the best I can do.
The minute class is over, I’m leaping out of my seat, quickly shoving my stuff into my backpack, so I can hightail it out of there.
“Mr. Maguire, a word please?”
Her snooty tone rubs me the wrong way, but I take in a deep breath, straighten my shoulders and head toward her desk.
Only when the room is empty does she speak.
“You were late. I would appreciate it if you respect my time as much as I respect yours.” She stares down her glasses at me, her gaze cold.
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” I don’t bother with excuses. I know she doesn’t want to hear them.
Professor Johnson leans against the front of her desk, crossing her arms as she contemplates me. Like she doesn’t know what to do with me. “How are you doing so far?”
“In class?”
She nods. “You still haven’t turned in your first assignment.”