Chapter 6: Lines Crossed
840 Words
Author's Point of View:
“You walk fast,” he said as they were almost at the exit of the building. He took a few long strides and was soon standing next to her looking down.
“You sit too long,” she replied, brushing past him toward the doors.
Outside, the air was crisp—the kind of cool that snuck under her sleeves and made her grateful. It also helped cool the heat curling low in her stomach. Being alone with him always seemed to short-circuit her logical brain. She didn’t like that one bit.
Jaxon followed her anyway, his hands buried in his hoodie pockets, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “We need to talk about the project, right? Might as well start now.”
Elise sighed but didn’t argue. They found one of the stone tables under the big white oak tree near the humanities building. The marble surface was cold against her forearms, grounding.
“Fine,” she said, flipping open her laptop. “Let’s go over the assignment again before we waste time.”
He leaned forward, elbows on the table, the sleeves of his hoodie pulled up just enough to reveal the tattoo curling along his wrist. Numbers and lines. Predictable, like him pretending not to care about anything.
“Remind me what we’re reading again?” he asked.
She rolled her eyes. “You were in the same class, Jaxon.”
“Yeah, but I was thinking about lunch.”
She huffed, biting back a smile. “It’s The Probability of Love by Isla Carr. The professor said it’s a contemporary series about emotional reasoning and decision-making in relationships. We’re supposed to analyze how the characters’ choices reflect psychological and behavioral patterns.”
He blinked. “So basically, a romance novel with homework.”
“Exactly.”
He tilted his head, mocked seriously. “What’s it about?”
“It’s about a psych major and a math major who meet in a behavioral science class and fall for each other while studying human attraction.”
Jaxon laughed softly, that low sound that always found its way under her skin. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope,” she said, typing quickly to avoid looking at him.
“I’m a math major, what do you study again?” he inquired.
“Psychology — whatever you're implying is never going to happen. I'm already seeing someone,” she felt the heat rushing to her face upon realization.
“Obviously not it was just an observation,” he said, his tone teasing but quiet. Then, more sincerely: “So what’s the plan?”
She glanced at her screen, quickly changing the topic. “We have to submit the first draft in three weeks. It’s a thirty-page analysis—half on character study, half on emotional progression. We’ll need to finish all three books in the series first.”
“Three books?” His groan made her laugh.
“Relax, they’re not long. The professor said it’s more about interpretation than plot summary.”
“Interpretation. Right. My favorite thing.”
She smirked. “I’m sure you’ll survive, math boy.”
He leaned closer, enough that she could smell his cologne—warm, spicy, a little too intoxicating for this hour of the day. “You know, psychology and actuarial science aren’t that different,” he said. “We both study behavior—yours human, mine statistical.”
“Except you can’t measure love in probabilities,” she shot back.
His smile deepened. “You’d be surprised.”
Her pulse tripped. She shut the laptop a little too quickly. “Anyway—today’s Tuesday. Let's each start reading tonight, and meet on Saturday to discuss.”
“Saturday works,” he said easily. “We can meet at your place, right? Easier to focus there.”
Her head snapped up. “No.”
The word came out sharper than she intended. His eyebrows lifted in amused surprise.
“I mean—” she rushed to clarify, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “I live right next to you. People might get the wrong idea. And besides, my apartment’s a mess.”
“Mess doesn’t scare me, I’m in no position to judge myself,” he said, his tone lazy but eyes too focused.
“Well, it scares me,” she muttered, standing and slinging her bag onto her shoulder. “We can meet at the movie theater food court. Saturday morning. I have my afternoon shift there anyway.”
He nodded slowly, like he was filing that away. “Food court at the movies. Got it.”
She gave him a tight smile. “Good. Then maybe we can actually get something productive done.”
As she started walking toward the bus stop, she could feel him still watching her. There was something about the way Jaxon looked at her—as if he could already see the story forming between them, and he was just waiting for her to admit it.
- Writer
