on being there at all, and then found a seat in the back and waited to get his assessment paper back. The instructor smiled at him as she set down the paper and moved on. Annoyed that his heart was beating faster—it was only a math paper, for Pete’s sake—Finn flipped the paper over, then fought a smile as the taut muscles in his shoulders relaxed.
The only ink on the paper was turquoise, rather than killer red, a brief note asking him to show more of his work. He could do that—although he wasn’t all that good at laying out the steps in his head on paper in a way that others could easily follow. He knew that because it had driven Mrs. Birdie nuts. And many times he tackled things in a roundabout way that made sense to him, but wasn’t the prescribed method for solving the problem. But what did it matter as long as he came up with the proper solution?
Bottom line—this paper showed that he wasn’t deluding himself. He could do math. Did he need English at all?
Well...yes—if he was going to get a degree. But he didn’t need English right now. This semester he’d focus on his math class, learn to follow the prescribed steps and how to show his work. By the end of the semester, he’d be more comfortable in an academic environment and have a better idea of how to tackle learning without feeling intimidated. And he wasn’t going to give Molly another shot at eviscerating him.
And maybe tonight was the time to tell her that. Nicely, of course.
* * *
TRUE TO FORM, Molly was already breaking her promise to herself not to stay late on campus working. But the grading was piling up and if she didn’t keep on top of it, she’d get buried. Besides, Allie Brody might need to knock on the wall.
She set down her pen, pulled her glasses off and pressed the heels of her hands to her tired eyes.
“Hey...”
Molly jumped a mile at the unexpected male voice, automatically reached for her glasses and instead hit them with the back of her hand, sending them skittering onto the floor. Finn bent down to pick them up and solemnly handed them back to her. Molly set the heavy dark brown frames back on the desk. Having Finn a little out of focus wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“You missed class yesterday.”
Finn leaned carelessly against the door frame, the picture of the who-gives-a-damn jock he’d been in high school. “I’m going to drop it. I thought I’d give you official notice.”
Molly looked down at the papers in front of her. There were remarks written on the top one, but nothing like what she’d done to Finn. “But you haven’t dropped it yet?” When she looked back up at him, she saw him watching her carefully.
“Tomorrow. Just thought I’d let you know.” He smiled tightly and then pushed off the door frame and walked back down the hall, leaving Molly staring at the empty space he’d just filled. For a moment she sat stone still, then she jumped to her feet, grabbed her glasses so she didn’t trip over anything and started after Finn. He was already on his way out the main exit, so she hurried her steps, finally giving up and calling his name after pushing through the glass-and-steel doors.
He slowed down, then stopped and turned. Now she’d done it. She’d engaged and she had to follow through.
Drawing in a deep breath that wasn’t nearly as calming as she’d hoped it would be, she started toward him. “I think we should talk about this.”
“No offense, Molly, but there’s not a lot to say.”
Molly stopped a few feet away from him. “I want you to know that I wasn’t engaging in some sort of petty revenge when I marked your paper.”
He said nothing as he studied her with those striking hazel eyes, but if he hoped to fluster her, it wasn’t going to work. Much.
All right. It wasn’t going to work in any way that showed.
“I didn’t say one thing on your paper that wasn’t true, but... I was a bit overzealous with my pen.”
“Yet there was no petty revenge involved.” Finn sauntered forward as he spoke. A slow, almost predatory movement, as if he were a big cat moving in on his prey. Molly’s prey days were over, so she took a step forward, too. A brisk no-nonsense step that brought them almost chest to chest. Miscalculation on her part, but she wasn’t going to have him in the power role.
And she wasn’t going to react to the heat coming off his body or the fact that his scent now seemed to surround her and certain parts of her body were taking notice. That was what the Finns of the world, the Blakes of the world, banked on.
“Perhaps a little.” She’d almost stuttered. Damn. The old Molly was starting to take over now that they were so close, and she would not have that. She pushed her glasses up a little higher, straightened her back. Finn’s gaze narrowed, as if he was wondering what she was doing.
“And you have me pegged as a dumb athlete who was handed a diploma he didn’t deserve.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m not talking about what you said, Molly. I’m asking about what you think.” His voice went down a notch. “Is that what you think?”
Molly couldn’t help it—she glanced down, her gaze fixing on the gray cotton T-shirt that covered his flat abs...he’d been an athlete and it looked as if he still was—then forced her chin back up, meeting his eyes. “The idea had crossed my mind.”
“Points for honesty.”
She pulled in a breath. Big mistake. The heady scent of the man about two inches away from her once again filled her nostrils and she felt herself leaning forward, even closer to him, which was nuts, since she was already way too close for comfort.
“But I don’t think that’s the problem.”
She felt him go still, she was that close.
“What,” he asked softly, “do you think the problem is?”
She raised her chin, shaking back her hair in the process. “Have you ever been checked for dyslexia?”
“Dyslexia?” He frowned. “I don’t turn letters around.”
“It’s more than that.”
“Yeah? What else is it?” Finn took a step back, finally freeing up the space around her, and folded his arms over his chest.
“It has to do with organizing thoughts and finding the right word and translating what happens inside your brain onto paper.”
“I see.”
He was now officially closed off, his expression stony, his eyes narrowed as he regarded her.
“There’s a lot of information about it, if you look into it.”
“Yes...but will I be able to read it?” He was being sarcastic. Before she could answer, he said, “Thank you for the helpful suggestion, Molly. And the diagnosis.”
“I’m not diagnosing you. I’m offering up a suggestion as to what you might look into to—”
“Explain
