I stood outside Ainsley Kerrigan’s dorm, staring at the door like it was a ticking bomb. It wasn’t even a particularly threatening door—plain, beige, generic like the rest of the dorms on campus—but my heart was hammering in my chest like I was about to face off against Ridgeline’s defensive line.
Except I wasn’t. I was benched. Tomorrow was rivalry game day, and instead of being with my team, hyping them up, I was here. Trying to cram knowledge into my alpha brain like it was a trash compactor and praying it didn’t all spill back out.
I knocked.
The sound was too loud, echoing in the quiet hallway, and for a second, I debated bolting. But then the door opened and every thought of leaving fled from my brain, because there he was. Ainsley Kerrigan. In the flesh.
He stood in the doorway, looking like he wanted to slam it in my face. His glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose—of course they had—and his honey-colored curls were a little messy, like he’d been running his hands through them in frustration. He wore a perfectly pressed button-down shirt that somehow looked both casual and like he was judging me for showing up in a Ridgeline Athletics hoodie.
“Vaughn,” he said, his voice clipped. “You’re early.”
I could tell he didn’t want me here. The way his lips pressed into a thin line screamed get out. But I wasn’t going anywhere. Not until he helped me figure out how to save my grades and, by extension, my ass.
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to look too sheepish. “Calculus test on Monday. Gotta make sure my brain’s… you know, ready.”
His green eyes narrowed like he didn’t believe me, but he stepped aside, letting me in.
The first thing that hit me was the scent.
Everything smelled like him. Like honey drizzled over freshly laundered sheets, warm, sweet, and clean. It was everywhere—in the air, clinging to the books on his shelves, woven into the fabric of the couch. Not as good as his fresh scent, but still, my brain immediately short-circuited. I wanted to bury my face in his pillow, roll around on the rug, and inhale until I was drunk on it.
As if he could read my thoughts, Ainsley snapped out, “Don’t touch anything.”
Resisting the urge to pout, I planted myself in the middle of the room and shoved my hands in my hoodie pocket, settling for looking around without touching.
His dorm was tiny and immaculate. Bookshelves lined the walls, organized by some mysterious system that looked intentional. A desk sat against one wall, covered in color-coded binders, notebooks, and highlighters arranged with military precision. Even his bed was perfectly made, the corners tucked so tightly it could’ve been inspected by a drill sergeant. At the end of the bed, there was a teeny, pumpkin-colored sofa.
“You’re staring,” Ainsley said flatly, shutting the door behind me. “It’s weird.”
“Sorry,” I said, turning to face him. “Your dorm’s just… nice. How come you don’t have a roommate?”
He gave me a look that was 90% suspicion and 10% shut the fuck up. “I was deemed incompatible for shared living freshman year. Are you actually here to study, or are you just trying to procrastinate?”
“No, I’m serious,” I said quickly, sitting down at his desk chair because it was the farthest thing from his bed. “Let’s, uh, do this. Calculus me.”
He sighed and perched on the sofa like he was ready to bolt if I so much as breathed too loud. Balancing his notebook carefully on his knee, he cut a sharp look at me from above the rim of his glasses. “Alright. Let’s review derivatives. What’s the derivative of x cubed?”
I sank my teeth into my bottom lip. “Is that the one with the little three?”
“Yes,” he said slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s 3x squared. We multiply the exponent by the coefficient and then subtract one from the exponent. Ring any bells?”
“Uh-huh,” I said, nodding. “Totally. Got it.”
“You don’t got it,” he said, glaring at me.
I grinned, leaning back. “Hey, you don’t know that. Maybe I’m just a slow processor. It’s not my fault my brain’s not, like, super omega-level efficient.”
His nose scrunched, and it was way cuter than it had any right to be. “That’s not a compliment.”
“Wasn’t meant to be,” I shot back, smirking. “Can you come closer? I like it when…” When I can see your freckles. “When I can see how you write things down. It’s easier.”
Again, Ainsley’s suspicious look came back full force, but he stood up from the sofa with this little huff, all tight lips and narrowed eyes, and pulled a chair over to the desk. Then he started arranging stuff. And by stuff, I mean a perfect grid of paper and notes across the desk like he was drafting blueprints for a rocket launch or something. His handwriting was precise and perfect. Like serial killer neat.
“Focus, Vaughn. If you don’t pass this test, your Coach won’t care how well you throw a football. He’ll bench you for the rest of the season.”
He was right. No GPA, no play. But still, I couldn’t focus on the numbers in front of me. Every time I tried, my eyes would wander back to him. The way his curls bounced when he flipped a page, the way he fiddled with his pen, tapping it against his notebook in rapid-fire little bursts like he couldn’t decide whether to stab me with it or himself.
“So, what’s your major?” I interrupted him. It was rude, sure, but I was curious about him. Plus, I freaking loved the way his freckled nose scrunched up whenever I tried to make small talk.
He froze mid-sentence, looking up at me like I’d just sprouted a second head. “What does that have to do with calculus?”
“Nothing,” I said easily. “Just curious.”
“Biological Sciences,” he answered slowly, his tone clipped. “With a focus on neuroscience.”
“Damn,” I said, impressed despite myself. “Neuroscience? Like… brains?”
“Yes, Vaughn. Like brains.”
“That’s, uh, kind of intense. What do you even do with that degree? Become a brain surgeon or something?”
Ainsley’s green eyes flicked up to me, and the irritation there could’ve melted steel. “No. I’m not interested in surgery. My focus is on research.”
“Research?” I repeated, genuinely interested now. “What kind of research?”
He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure I’d understand. Which, okay, fair. But I was trying here. “Instinctual behavior,” he said finally. “And hormonal dynamics in alphas and omegas.”
I blinked again, this time slower. “Wait. You’re telling me you study… us?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” he said, straightening his glasses. “I’m particularly interested in the interplay between instinctual responses and hormonal influences in social and environmental contexts. How scents, for example, can influence cognitive and behavioral patterns.”
For a second, all I could do was stare.
He glared at me, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “Focus, Vaughn. We’re here to study, not discuss my career goals.”
“Right, right,” I muttered. But even as he launched into some convoluted explanation about derivatives, I couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d said. So casually, too, like it wasn’t the most mind-blowing thing I’d ever heard.
He studied scents. Freaking scents. The same scents that had me lying awake in my bed last night, trying to figure out why his had hit me like a linebacker out of nowhere.
I shifted in my chair, pretending to care about the notes he was neatly laying out in front of me. My brain wasn’t anywhere near calculus. After I’d smelled him under his path yesterday, I’d felt more clear-headed than I had in weeks. Months. Maybe even my entire life.
And yeah, I’d left a little obsessed—I’d hardly been able to sleep, too busy laying in bed and searching smell alpha omega brain learning science on my phone. I had no idea how many scent glands omegas had, or what chemicals made them smell the way they did, but I had learned a few things—mostly that scent can mess with your brain, your emotions, and, apparently, your ability to think straight.
Now, here was Ainsley, the walking encyclopedia of omega scent science, sitting right across from me. If anyone knew what the hell had happened to me when I caught a whiff of him yesterday, it was him. He probably had answers. Maybe even a whole PowerPoint presentation.
I tapped my finger against the desk, watching him as he adjusted his glasses and flipped through his notes, totally oblivious to my internal crisis. Should I ask him? Could I?
Hey, Ainsley, why does your scent make me feel like my brain got hit by lightning?
No, too weird.
Ainsley, can you explain why I spent three hours last night staring at my ceiling, thinking about honey and rain?
Definitely not.
Kerrigan, you know all the science stuff about scents, right? So… is it normal to feel like you’d murder someone just to smell an omega again? Asking for a friend.
Absolutely not.
I chewed the inside of my cheek, trying to figure out if there was a non-insane way to bring it up. But the more I thought about it, the dumber the whole idea felt. This was Ainsley. He already thought I was a meathead. If I told him his scent turned my brain into soup, he’d probably kick me out of his dorm and file a restraining order.
But God, I wanted to know. Wanted to hear him explain it, like he always explained things, with his sharp voice and that little wrinkle between his brows. He’d probably use a bunch of big words I wouldn’t understand, but that didn’t matter. I’d listen to him talk about scent molecules and whatever else just to see if it would make me feel less crazy.
He droned on and I stared at his neat handwriting and perfect little graphs, feeling frustration build inside me as I struggled back and forth. To bring it up or not bring it up…
“What about the glasses?” I asked, interrupting him again with a safer question. “You actually need those, or are they just for the whole ‘intimidating tutor’ look?”
Ainsley’s eyes narrowed behind said glasses. “Yes, I need them. They’re prescription.”
“Cute,” I said without thinking.
His cheeks turned pink, and he immediately looked away, pretending to scribble something in his notebook. My chest swelled with a stupid, primal kind of pride. I didn’t know why, but it felt as good as scoring a touchdown, or maybe even better, in a different way. I made him blush. I did that.
He glanced back at me and his cheeks got even pinker when he noticed I was still staring. “Stop,” he said sharply.
“Stop what?” I asked innocently.
“You know what,” he hissed out through clenched teeth. He was really getting worked up, I could tell, and a part of me almost felt bad. Almost.
I leaned back, grinning. “Can’t help it. You’re cute when you’re mad.”
He glared at me, his green eyes flashing. “For the last time, are we going to study, or are you just going to keep interrogating me?”
“I don’t know,” I said, pretending to think about it. “You’re way more interesting than calculus.”
“Vaughn. I have way better things to do on a Sunday evening—”
“Fine, fine,” I said, holding up my hands. “Speaking of focus, though…” Before I could think too hard about it, I just blurted it out.
“So, like… why did your scent make my brain go weird yesterday?” I tilted my head, trying to play it cool even as my heart hammered in my chest. “I mean, it kinda helped me focus, right? There’s gotta be a reason for that. C’mon, educate me.”
Ainsley went completely still, his pen hovering above the page. His lips pressed into a thin line, and for a second, I thought he was going to ignore me altogether. But then he sighed—his classic I’m-surrounded-by-idiots sigh—and set his pen down, turning those sharp green eyes on me.
“There is a reason,” he said, voice clipped. “Omega scents can influence certain parts of the brain, particularly the hippocampus. It’s not uncommon for alphas to experience improved focus or memory recall when exposed to omega scents.”
The hippo-what? I blinked. “Wait, really? Like, scientifically?”
“Yes, Vaughn. Scientifically.” He adjusted his glasses, looking at me like I’d just discovered fire. “The hippocampus is involved in memory and spatial navigation. Omega scent can stimulate activity in that region for alphas, which might explain why you think it helped you ‘focus.’”
“Dude,” I said, leaning forward, way too interested. “So, like, your brain juice responds to the smell and makes it all... smart. That’s actually kinda cool.”
“It’s biology,” he said flatly, clearly unimpressed by my enthusiasm. “But there are other factors to consider. Risks, for example. Omega scent doesn’t just stimulate cognitive function. It can also—”
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
He hesitated, like he didn’t want to finish the sentence.
“It can also what?” I pressed, practically bouncing in my seat. I wanted to scoot closer, but I knew that’d be too much for him.
Ainsley’s jaw tightened. “It can trigger certain… biological responses. Heats. Ruts. Things that are not conducive to academic environments.”
The word heat hung in the air like a live wire, and suddenly my brain went haywire all over again. I mean, I knew what heats were. Everyone did. Same with ruts. But it was all this vague, taboo thing you weren’t supposed to talk about unless you were sitting through one of those awkward, state-mandated biology lectures.
I knew that logically, I should drop it. Talking about sex with your omega tutor was… well, it was bad. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t drop it, I wanted to know as much as I could get him to tell me.
“Heats, huh?” I said, leaning even closer, my grin turning sly. “So, uh… what’s that like?”
Ainsley’s cheeks flushed pink, and he straightened in his chair like he was bracing for impact. “Absolutely not.”
“Aw, come on,” I said, smirking now. “You’re all about science. Educate me, Kerrigan.”
“You already know what you need to know,” he snapped, clearly flustered. “A reproductive state facilitated by a surge in hormonal activity, and the reason why scent patches exist in the first place. And no, we are not discussing it further.”
“But—”
“No.” His voice was sharp, cutting off whatever dumb follow-up question was forming in my mouth. “I’m not elaborating.”
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like an idiot. He was so fun to rile up, especially when his face got all pink like that. I wondered what he was thinking, looking so flustered, and I also wondered if I should stop messing with him. But I wasn’t really messing with him—I was genuinely curious—and besides, in for a nickel, in for a footlong, as they said. Might as well keep going.
“Okay, but—hypothetically—what happens if someone doesn’t wear a patch?”
Ainsley looked like he was ready to throw his pen at my face. “Do you want to get banned from tutoring? Because that’s where this conversation is heading.”
“Jeez, fine,” I said, raising my hands in mock surrender. “I was just asking. You’re my tutor, after all.”
“And as your tutor,” he said, glaring at me, “I’m telling you to focus on calculus.”
He turned back to his notes, but his ears were still red, and I couldn’t stop staring. Heat and rut, huh? I’d always thought they were just… you know, things that happened to other people. But now, with Ainsley sitting right there, looking like he wanted to crawl under the desk to escape this conversation, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Not in a gross way. Just… curious. Totally normal curiosity. I mean, probably. I already knew I was attracted to him—majorly. If he’d been anyone besides himself and not my tutor, I would’ve had him in that tiny bed of his already.
But he was Ainsley Kerrigan. The smartest, most savage nerd I’d ever met, and I knew that he meant his threat about ‘banning me from tutoring’. And I needed him, smarts and savagery and all.
----------------------------------------
I slumped back in Ainsley’s desk chair, staring at the notebook in front of me like it had just insulted my mom. The squiggles on the page—I mean, the calculus problems—looked like alien hieroglyphs, and no matter how hard I squinted at them, they refused to make sense. My pen hovered uselessly over the paper before I slammed it down in defeat.
“I don’t get it,” I muttered, rubbing my hands over my face.
“You’re not even trying,” Ainsley said flatly. He was at his tiny kitchenette, fiddling with a kettle, clearly annoyed with me—and probably with life in general.
“I am trying!” I shot back. “This is me trying! It just… doesn’t stick, okay?”
Ainsley didn’t respond right away. He just poured water into the kettle, his movements brisk and efficient, like even making tea had to meet some invisible standard of perfection. His curls bounced as he moved, and the sight should’ve been calming.
But it wasn’t. The frustration bubbling in my chest was only getting worse, the sort of feeling I got before I completely lost my shit. My knee bounced uncontrollably, and I drummed my fingers against the desk, glaring at the problem he’d written out in his unnervingly perfect handwriting.
He came back to the desk, setting a mug down on the far corner before sitting on the little pumpkin-colored sofa with his own cup. He glanced at me over the rim of his glasses, his expression both expectant and unimpressed.
“It’s matcha tea. Maybe it will help you focus,” he said, like it was just that easy. “What’s the derivative of x cubed?”
I didn’t touch the tea. Instead, I clenched my jaw, staring at the numbers. “It’s… the one with the little three.”
“We’ve been over this,” Ainsley said, exasperation creeping into his tone. “You multiply the exponent by the coefficient—”
“I know what you said!” I snapped, louder than I meant to. “I just… I don’t know, okay?”
The words hung in the air between us, and suddenly I felt like the world’s biggest idiot. My shoulders slumped, and for once, I was the one to avoid Ainsley’s gaze. My chest was getting all tight, and I could feel my throat closing up. Fuck, am I going to cry? Over calculus?
“Forget it,” I muttered, shoving the notebook away. My chair scraped against the floor as I leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “This is pointless.”
Ainsley raised an eyebrow, his lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s not pointless. You just—”
“I just what?” I snapped, cutting him off. I knew I was being an asshole, but I couldn’t help it. “Need to focus? Need to try harder? I’ve been trying, Kerrigan. I’ve been trying this whole damn time, and it’s not clicking.”
The frustration boiling in my chest needed somewhere to go, and apparently, Ainsley’s dorm was ground zero.
“I’m not smart like you, okay?” I said, my voice cracking slightly. “I can’t just… look at numbers and make sense of them. You explain it a hundred times, and I still feel like I’m staring at a foreign language.”
Ainsley’s expression softened, just a little, but he didn’t say anything, which made the words keep spilling out. “Do you know what it’s like? Sitting in class, watching everyone else get it, and knowing you never will? Watching them laugh at you behind your back because you’re the dumb alpha who only cares about football?”
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. “And they’re right. I mean, look at me. All I’m good for is throwing a ball. That’s it. Without football, I’m… nothing.”
The last word came out quieter than I meant it to, and I immediately regretted saying it. My chest felt tight, and my face was burning, but I couldn’t stop now. “And it’s not like anyone expects me to be anything else. My coaches, my professors, even my parents. As long as I can win games and don’t cause any scandals, who cares if I’m failing calculus?”
Ainsley shifted on the sofa, his green eyes locked on me. He wasn’t glaring, wasn’t rolling his eyes, wasn’t hitting me with some sarcastic comeback. He just… listened. And for some reason, that made it worse.
“I hate feeling like this,” I admitted, my voice rough. “Like I’m stuck. Like I’m always gonna be the guy who can’t keep up. No matter how hard I try, it’s never enough.”
I dropped my head into my hands, gripping my hair tightly. “I just… I don’t wanna feel like this anymore. I don’t wanna feel dumb.”
The room was quiet for a long moment. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might burst out of my chest, and I half-expected Ainsley to kick me out for losing my shit in his dorm. But when he finally spoke, his voice was calm. Steady.
“You’re not dumb, Vaughn,” he said softly. “And you’re not stuck.”
I looked up, my throat tight. “Feels like I am.”
“You’re not,” he repeated, leaning forward slightly. His gaze was sharp, but not in that judgy, superior way he usually looked at me. It was… compassionate. Which somehow made it even harder to hear. “You’re not stupid. You’re frustrated. There’s a difference.”
The words just kept tumbling out of me, unfiltered and messy. “Yeah, but what happens if I fail this test, huh? Coach benches me for the season, my scholarship’s at risk, and then what? I lose everything I worked for because I can’t understand a stupid derivative.”
I let out a sharp breath, my fingers curling into fists in my lap. “Maybe I’m just not cut out for this. Maybe I really am as dumb as everyone thinks I am.”
“Vaughn,” he said quietly, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “You’re not dumb.”
“You don’t have to lie,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.
“I’m not lying,” he said, his voice sharper now, like he was annoyed I’d even suggested it. “Alphas aren’t inherently dumb. They just… lean on their privilege too much and don’t think critically about their environment. It doesn’t mean you’re incapable of learning. It means you need to—”
I laughed bitterly, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees. “Focus. Right. Easier said than done.”
Ainsley huffed, probably gearing up to lecture me again, but I couldn’t stop myself from saying the thing that had been eating at me since I walked through his door.
“I didn’t feel dumb yesterday,” I said, my voice quieter now. “Not after I smelled you. I felt… I don’t know. Smart. Clear-headed. Like I could actually do this.” I lifted my head to meet his gaze, and the intensity of it surprised even me. “I want to feel that again.”
Ainsley froze, his eyes wide, and I realized too late that I might’ve just crossed some invisible line. But instead of kicking me out, he reached for his mug again, his fingers tightening around the handle like he wanted to crush it.
“That’s not…” he started, then stopped, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “That’s not how this works.”
“Isn’t it, though?” I asked, sitting up straighter. “You said omega scent can influence the brain, right? Maybe it’s the key. Maybe it’ll help me focus—help me learn. We could, I don’t know, test it.”
“No,” Ainsley said immediately, his voice firm. “There are risks. It’s why scent patches exist in the first place.”
“But I’m not asking you to take it off forever,” I argued. “Just for a little bit. Just to see if it works.”
Ainsley’s eyes narrowed. “Vaughn, this is wildly inappropriate.”
“Please,” I said, my voice softer now. “I’m not trying to be weird, I swear. I just… I don’t want to fail. I want to do better. And yesterday, after… Well, you know, I felt like I actually could. I don’t know how else to explain it.”
He stared at me, his expression unreadable, and for a moment I thought he was going to kick me out. But then he sighed, long and slow, and leaned back against the sofa.
“This is a bad idea,” he muttered, almost to himself. “A very, very bad idea.”
My chest swelled with hope. “So… is that a yes?” Holy shit. Was he actually going to take his patch off? I sat up a little straighter, eyeing him in disbelief.
“It’s a temporary yes,” he snapped, glaring at me. “Just to prove to you that you are not, in fact, dumb. And if you so much as breathe wrong, I’m throwing you out.”
Oh, God. He was. He was going to take it off. Hardly daring to breathe in case I did it wrong, I held up my hands in mock surrender. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a scout,” he muttered, reaching up to peel the patch off his neck. The second it was free, it was like the air in the room changed. His scent was already in the room, since everything in it was his and he probably didn’t wear scent patches when it was just him, but the faded snatches of smell on the furniture couldn’t compare to the freshness that was pouring out from his skin, his hair, every inch of his tiny body, wrapping around me like a honeyed, delicious hug.
Warm, sweet, grounding. Fucking heaven. If heaven smelled like anything.
For the first time all night, my brain felt like it wasn’t fighting against me. Every bit of stress faded from me, the tightness in my chest evaporating, my shoulders relaxing. I forgot his warning about “breathing wrong” and inhaled greedily, half-closing my eyes to savor the taste-smell. Smells tasted, right? I swore his did.
“Alright,” Ainsley said sharply, snapping me out of it. “Focus. What’s the derivative of x cubed?”
“Uh…” I opened my eyes to stare at the notebook in front of me. What had previously looked like gibberish still looked like gibberish, but… I knew what it meant. “Three x squared.”
I glanced over at Ainsley just in time to catch his surprised blink. “Correct,” he said.
“Hell yeah,” I said, grinning and sitting up even straighter in my chair. I could feel the difference—it was like my brain was actually… Braining now. Doing the stuff it was supposed to.
“Don’t get cocky,” Ainsley snapped, but his lips twitched like he was fighting off a smile. “Next question. What’s the derivative of 5x to the fourth?”
I took a deep breath, inhaling more of that scent—God, it was everywhere, swirling around me like it was pulling the answers straight out of my brain. “Uh… twenty x cubed?”
Ainsley’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he nodded. “That’s right.”
“That’s right,” I repeated, unable to help the grin that spread across my face. I picked up my pen and pointed it at him. “You hear that? I’m on fire.”
“That’s four correct out of twenty,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Next, what’s the derivative of 6x?”
This one was easy. I didn’t even have to think about it. “Six,” I said immediately.
Ainsley tilted his head, studying me. “Correct.”
“Of course I’m correct,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “I’m a calculus genius now. It’s the scent, isn’t it? It’s making me smarter.”
“It’s not making you smarter,” Ainsley said flatly, glaring at me over the rim of his glasses. “It’s stimulating your hippocampus, which is improving your focus. That’s not the same thing.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, waving him off. “It’s working, though, right? I’m killing it.”
“For now,” he muttered, clearly unimpressed. “Let’s see how you do with integrals. What’s the integral of x squared?”
I blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… wait. That’s different from derivatives, right?”
“Yes,” he said. “It’s the reverse process. Think about it. What function has a derivative of x squared?”
I frowned, tapping my pen against the desk as I inhaled another lungful of that magical scent. My brain churned, and for once, it didn’t feel like I was trying to run through wet cement. “Okay. Uhhh… X cubed divided by three?”
Ainsley’s eyes widened just a fraction, and he nodded. “Correct.”
“Holy shit,” I muttered, staring at the notebook in disbelief. “I’m actually doing this.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Ainsley warned, but I could hear the faintest trace of approval in his voice. “What’s the integral of 2x?”
“X squared,” I said, without hesitation.
Ainsley nodded again, and for a split second, I thought I saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward. “Good.”
“Good?” I repeated, grinning even wider. “Try great. I’m on a roll.”
“You’re tolerable,” he corrected, adjusting his glasses.
But I didn’t care what he said. I was too busy reveling in the fact that I was actually getting this. The numbers made sense. The equations didn’t look like gibberish anymore. And it was all because of him. It wasn’t just the way his scent cleared up my head and made the numbers actually make sense—it was him. That scent was him. It wasn’t some abstract thing floating in the air.
My eyes drifted toward him, and suddenly, the equations on the page weren’t the only thing on my mind. His curls bounced a little when he wrote something down, and I caught myself wondering what they’d feel like wrapped around my fingers. His freckles caught the light every time he tilted his head, and it made me think about pressing my lips to the bridge of his nose, just to see if they tasted as sweet as he smelled.
And his neck. Oh, God, his neck. It was right there, all pale and delicate, the spot where his patch usually sat now bare. I could see the faintest hint of a pulse beneath his skin, steady and strong, and it sent this primal shiver down my spine. The kind of shiver that said, mine.
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the desk and inhaling deeply. It was impossible not to. That scent was like… I don’t know, a drug or something. It made my brain hum in all the right ways, like it had flipped some kind of switch I didn’t even know I had.
“Stop sniffing the air,” Ainsley snapped, his voice cutting through my thoughts.
“I’m not sniffing,” I said quickly, though I definitely was. “I’m just… breathing. Big difference.”
“You’re insufferable,” he muttered, scribbling something in his notebook.
“Yeah, but I’m a smart insufferable now,” I said, pointing my pen at him. “Thanks to you.”
“It’s not me,” he said, glaring at me. “It’s biology.”
“Sure, sure,” I said, grinning. “But let’s be honest. Your scent is, like, next-level. You should bottle this stuff. You’d make a fortune.”
I shifted in my chair, trying to focus on the equation in front of me, but my eyes kept wandering. To his hands—those long, slender fingers tapping against the desk, perfectly precise as they wrote out the next problem. What would it feel like if he touched me? Would his hands be cold, or warm? Would they linger, tracing lines over my skin the way they did over the notebook?
I suddenly wanted to do other things. Things that definitely weren’t appropriate for a tutoring session. Things that involved his lips, his skin, his everything.
I shook my head, trying to shove the thoughts away, but it was impossible with that scent wrapping around me, crawling into my brain and short-circuiting everything. I knew I was attracted to him, but I was realizing it was more than that. It wasn’t just that I wanted him—it was that I wanted to ruin him in the best way possible. Wanted to hear him say my name in that snippy, bossy voice, but softer this time. Breathless.
“Vaughn,” he said, his tone warning. As if he knew what I was thinking. I forced my big brain back to the conversation, holding up my hands.
“I’m just saying,” I said, smirking. “It’s working. I’m learning. This is what teamwork looks like.”
“This isn’t teamwork,” Ainsley said, narrowing his eyes at me. “This is me tolerating your existence.”
“Same thing,” I said, smirking. “Hit me with another one. I’m ready.”
Ainsley sighed, but there was a faint pink flush creeping up his neck, and I couldn’t help but feel a little proud of myself. He was annoyed, sure, but I was also pretty sure he was impressed. And that? That felt better than nailing a game-winning pass.
What would he look like sprawled out on that pumpkin-colored sofa? Would he still be all prim and proper, or would he let himself go? Would he push at me with those tiny hands, all annoyed, or would he pull me closer? Could I make him lose control, just once? I blinked down at my notebook, trying to focus on the numbers, but my brain had officially gone rogue.
Focus. Right. Numbers. Derivatives. Not his scent. Not his neck. Not how it would feel to sink my teeth into the spot just below his jaw and—
“Alright,” he said, flipping to a fresh page in his notebook. “What’s the derivative of 7x to the fifth?”
I inhaled deeply, letting his scent flood my brain one more time. “Easy. Thirty-five x to the fourth.”
Ainsley blinked, then nodded. “Correct.”
“Damn right it is,” I said, leaning back in my chair and basking in my newfound genius. “I’m unstoppable.”
Ainsley rolled his eyes, but I didn’t miss the way his lips twitched again, for the third time in a row, like he was fighting off an almost-smile. “We’ll see how long that lasts.”
I was pretty sure it could last forever, as long as he kept the patch off, but of course he ended up putting it back on. I swallowed my disappointed whine as all of his scent faded, leaving behind the scent of tea and paper—two things I cared nothing about.
But I’d had to move my notebook to my lap to hide my raging hard-on and as much as I hated to admit it, it was probably for the best that he called an end to the session when he did. Everything about him made my brain buzz and my body heat in ways I didn’t even want to understand.
I left his dorm feeling better about calculus but more confused about everything else.