I'd eyed him before in class, surreptitiously, looking away sharply when it seemed he would catch me at it. He was fascinating to me, physically. His shoulder-length, curly hair put me in mind of an Argentinean football player, and he gave the illusion of being tall, somehow, though I'd seen him in a crowd and he wasn't.
He didn't seem to have any friends in the class, though he seemed friendly with everyone— not the loner type, not like me— and on that day he was sitting alone, toying idly with his pen.
On an impulse, very unlike me, I walked straight up and stood above him.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" I asked.
He smiled and gestured, and I felt a quickening of heartbeat, a chill running over my shoulders. His face was so many things at once. Strong, soft, mischievous. Hot.
Before I could blush I turned, on the pretext of slipping off my bag and sliding into the seat beside him. I felt his eyes on me and looked up. He was still smiling.
"I'm Andriy," he said.
"Laura," I replied.
By the time I had taken out my books the lecturer had started, and there was nothing else to be said. My attention remained divided between the lesson and Andriy. His cologne was making me light-headed, in a way that caused me to scold myself for being ridiculous. His forearms and hands were muscular and sleek.
The lecture seemed to end abruptly, the sound of so many people packing up at once rising to a roar in my ears. I blinked. Andriy was still looking at his page, tapping his pen thoughtfully. He looked up to me with dark chocolate eyes.
"Confusing," he laughed, and closed the book.
"I could help," I'd blurted out before my brain had the slightest chance to think about it. A suspicion formed itself in the back of my mind. Not another one, I moaned internally, not again.
For a moment he just looked at me, then he nodded.
"That would be fantastic. What are you doing at three tomorrow?"
"Nothing," I replied, almost truthfully.
"I'll meet you out the front of the library, then?" He asked, as he slung his bag over his shoulder.
"Sounds great!" I beamed. He walked off, but I lingered, putting my things away, smelling his scent still.
I put it out of my mind, as much as possible. I told myself I was just helping a guy with his studies, that this had nothing to do with anything. I was finding it hard to convince myself.
I was there at ten to three. I had initially planned to get there right on time, but habit won out over concerns of appearances in the end. I had accepted my own dare and wore a low-cut top which exposed my belly where it didn't quite meet my tight, faded jeans.
The glass of the library's front windows was reasonably reflective on such a cloudy day, and while I appeared to look around, I studied myself. Did I look like I was trying too hard? I began to fear so, and entertain wild notions of running home to change into something else. Taking a deep breath, I straightened my thin-framed glasses and ran fingers through my newly-washed hair.
It was at that point I saw him in the glass. He was no more than five steps away, walking casually. He had to have seen me preening myself girlishly. God, what would he think?
I turned as nonchalantly as possibly, and acted surprised to see him there, but not too surprised. Pleasantly surprised. He was smiling again, but this time there was something in it. Was he laughing at me?
"Hi," I said, brightly.
"Hi," he responded. Definitely amused.
"On the second floor, do you think?" I asked, trying to escape his regard.
"Sure," He agreed easily, and we went inside.
We had found a secluded corner of the library and sat side-by-side. As promised, I helped him with his class work. His problems all stemmed from one misconception, and it didn't take long for him to understand the rest easily. After only half an hour by the library clock, it seemed he had it down. I thought, maybe, this time I'd been wrong.
Just when he seemed on the point of thanking me and leaving, I felt, under the table, his ankle hook just slightly around mine. My heart jumped.
"And what about this question?" He asked, so seemingly unaware of it that I doubted for a minute. We had just covered what he was pointing to, though.
"Simple," I smiled at him. With my heartbeat rising I shifted closer and pressed my leg firmly into his. "It's just like this one."
I looked up and he dragged his eyes hastily to mine, from where they had been looking over my exposed breasts. From the bottom of my vision I could see my pink lace bra holding them firm, while my top had opened with my leaning. I assumed he could, too.
"Oh, really?" He said, sounding just a hint breathless. "Maybe you could go over it again?"
I did, but neither of us was listening to what I was saying. He began ever so slowly to move his leg against mine. Subtly, so it could have just been a shift at first, but when I smiled, never stopping my explanation of the question, more and more. I felt him through my jeans and had to fight to keep my voice steady. Something like an ache started up in my body.
I finally exhausted my explanation, and there was a few moments of silence.
"Oh," he said. "I see," and with that, shifted his hand and laid it on my exposed belly.
I gasped. I couldn't help it, the nervous shock that ran through me as his cool hand pressed against my sensitive middle was too much. He looked apprehensive suddenly, but perhaps seeing the look on my face, kept his hand there.
Now my heart was racing, heat was flooding through my body and, it seemed, my brain. I'd known it, somehow. Just like the other two times. My jeans felt tighter than ever and, as if in a dream, I dropped my hand from the table and gripped the inside of his thigh, just above the knee.
