Before I Fall Page 2

  I wonder if there is any way to run down to Bragg and get some of the hard stuff. Hell, I am considering chewing on coffee beans at this point. Anything to clear the fog in my brain. But I need the fog to keep the anxiety at bay, so I guess I'm fucked there, too. Guess I should start getting used to things around here. No better place to start than with the coffee, I guess.

  The Grind is busy. Small, low tables are crowded with laptops and books and students all looking intently at their work. It’s like a morgue in here. Everyone is hyper-focused. Don’t these people know how to have a good time? Relax a little bit? There are no seats anywhere. The Grind is apparently a popular if silent, place.

  The tutor walks in at exactly twelve fifty-eight. Two minutes to spare.

  "You're not late." I’m mildly shocked.

  She does that eyebrow thing again, and I have to admit on her, it is pretty fucking sexy. "I tend to be punctual. It's a life skill."

  "Kitty has claws," I say.

  She stiffens. Apparently, the joke's fallen flat. Guess I’m going to have to work on that.

  "Let's get something straight, shall we? My name is Beth, and I'm going to tutor you in business stats. We are not going to be friends or fuck buddies or anything else you might think of. I'm not 'Kitty' or any other pet name. I'm here to get a degree, not a husband."

  My not-strong-enough coffee burns my tongue as her words sink in. She’s damn sure prickly all right. I can’t decide if I admire her spine or I think it’s unnecessary. Hell, it isn’t like I tried to grab her ass or asked her to suck my dick.

  The coffee slides down my throat. "Glad we cleared that up," I say instead. "I wasn't sure if blowjobs came with the tutoring."

  She grinds her teeth. There isn’t much by way of sense of humor in the tutor. She has a no-nonsense look about her. Her dark blond hair is drawn tight to her neck, and I can’t figure out if she is naturally flawless or if she is just damn good with makeup.

  There is a freshness to her, though, that isn’t something I am used to either. Enlisted women, the few I've been around, either try way too hard with too much black eyeliner downrange or aren’t interested in men beyond the buddy level.

  But this academic woman is a new species entirely for me, and as our standoff continues, I realize I have no idea what the rules of engagement are with someone like her. At least not beyond her name is not Kitty and she’s not here for a husband. Oh and can’t forget the no blowjobs thing. She made the rules pretty clear.

  She is fucking stunning and I suddenly can’t talk.

  She clears her throat. "So are we going to stand here and continue to stare at each other, or are we going to get to work? I have somewhere to be in two hours."

  I motion toward the library. "Lead the way."

  Beth

  He's watching my ass as I walk in front of him. He's just the type who would do something like that. The blowjob comment caught me completely off guard. I hate that. I hate that I couldn’t come up with any brilliant, sarcastic response, either. I always think of smartass comebacks fifteen minutes too late.

  So now I am even more irritated than I was when he'd been staring at me class. What the hell had Professor Blake been thinking?

  I lead us to a small table out of the way, where there won't be a lot of disruption. Stats is one of those things that takes a lot of concentration. At least it did for me until I learned the language.

  I pull out the worksheet from class. Homework and lessons. "So let's get the business stuff out of the way," I say. I hate the tone in my voice. I'm not normally a ball-busting bitch, but he's set me off and if being cold and curt is the only way to keep him in line then so be it. "I'd like to be paid each meeting. Cash."

  "What's your rate?"

  I sit back. How the hell did that question catch me off guard? I don’t know. I work part-time at the country club next to campus, but the tips are hit or miss. The thing about the wealthy? Some of them can be downright stingy. Most of the time, I make okay tips. When it isn't, I tried not to be bitter about how they don't need the money like I do.

  I just smile and take their orders.

  I’m stuck. Noah is not my first tutoring job, but my other jobs were paid for by the university. I have no idea how much to charge for freelance work.

  "Fifty dollars an hour, three times a week," he offers abruptly.

  I cover my shock with my hand. "Huh?"

  "Fifty dollars an hour. I saw a sign in the common area charging that much for Spanish. Figure Stats should be at least that much, right?”

  My voice is stuck somewhere in the bottom of my chest. Fifty bucks an hour is a lot of groceries and medication. It feels wrong taking that kind of money, even from Mr. Does-the-Tutoring-Come-with-Blowjobs.

  "Will that be a problem?"

  I shake my head. "No. That's fine." There's a stack of bills that need to be paid. The electricity is a week overdue. I’m counting on tips tonight to make a payment tomorrow to keep them from shutting it off. Again. Between that and the money from tutoring - I could keep the lights on. I can feel my face burning hot. I turn away, digging into my backpack to keep him from seeing my humiliation, not wanting him to see my relief.

  "Same time, same place? Monday, Wednesday and Friday?" My computer flickers to life.

  "Works for me. How much pain should I be prepared for?" He sounds worried. He should. Professor Blake is one of the top in her field, and that's no small feat considering she came up at a time when women were still blazing trails in the business world.

  “Depends on if you do the work or not,” I say. I can’t quite bring myself to offer him comfort. I’m still irritated by the blowjob comment. "So let's get started." I lean over the worksheet. "What questions do you have from class today?"

  I look up to find him watching me. There’s something in his eyes that tugs at me. I don’t want to be tugged at.

  He looks away. He’s strangling that poor pen in his hands. Clearly, I've struck a nerve with my question.

  I wish I didn't remember how that felt. The lost sensation of not having a clue what I was doing. I didn't even know what questions to ask.

  I don’t want to feel anything charitable toward him, but there’s something about the way he shifts. Something that makes him vulnerable.

  I run my tongue over my teeth. This isn’t going well. "Okay look. We'll start with the basics, okay?"

  I open my laptop to the lecture notes.

  He finally notices my computer. "I haven't seen one of the black MacBooks in years," he says.

  He's not being a prick, but I bristle anyway. "It might be old but she’s never failed me."

  "It can run stats software? Isn't that pretty intense processor-wise?"

  I don't feel like telling him that to run said stats program, I have to shut down every other program and clear the cache. I don't want to admit that there's just no money to buy a new computer. I can't even finance one because I don't have the credit for it.

  Business school is about looking the part as much as it is about knowing the game, so none of those words are going to leave my lips.

  "It gets the job done," I say. "Now, the first lecture."

  "I get everything about what stats is supposed to do. I got lost somewhere around regression."

  "Don't worry about regression right now. We're going to focus on understanding what we're looking at first up. Basic concepts."

  I look over at him. He's scowling at the paper. I can see tiny flecks of gold in his dark brown eyes. He drags one hand through his short dark hair and leans forward. He's practically radiating tension, and I can feel it infecting me.

  Damn it, I don't give a shit about his anxiety. I don't care. I can’t.

  "So the normal distribution is?"

  I take a deep breath. This stuff I know. I draw the standard bell-shaped curve on his paper. "The normal distribution says that any results are normally..."

  Noah

  She knows her stuff. She relaxes when she starts talking abou
t confidence intervals and normal distributions. Hell, I can't even spell normal distribution.

  But she has a way of making things make sense.

  And her confidence isn't scary so much as it is really fucking attractive.

  I'm watching her lips move and I swear to God I’m trying to pay attention, but my brain decides to take a detour into not stats-ville. She's got a great mouth. It's a little too wide, and she has a tendency to chew on the inside of her lip when she's focusing.

  I look down because I don't want her to catch me not paying attention. I need to understand this stuff, not stare at her like a lovesick private.

  I'm focusing on confidence intervals when something dings on her computer. She frowns and opens her e-mail. It's angled away so I can't look over her shoulder, but something is clearly wrong. A flush creeps up her neck. She grinds her teeth when she's irritated. I tend to notice that in other people. I do the same thing when the anxiety starts taking hold. At least when it starts. It graduates quickly beyond teeth grinding into something more paralyzing.

  I glance at my watch. It's almost time for her to go. I have no idea how I'm going to get my homework done, but I'll figure it out later. I'm meeting a couple of former military guys some place called Baywater Inn in a few hours. Plenty of time for me to get my homework done. Or at least attempt it. Because, of course, LT put me in touch with these guys, too.

  But watching her, something is clearly wrong. I want to ask, but given how our history isn’t exactly on the confide-your-darkest-secrets level, I don’t.

  She snaps her laptop closed and sighs. "I've got to run and make a phone call. Are you set for your assignment for lab?"

  "I'll figure it out."

  Her lips press into a flat line. "You can always look it up online."

  "Sure thing."

  She’s distracted now. Not paying attention. I watch her move. There’s an edge to her seriousness now, a tension in the long lines of her neck. A strand of hair falls free from the knot and brushes her temple. I want to tuck it back into place, but I’m pretty sure if I tried it, I'd be rewarded with a knee in the balls. And I like them where they are, thanks. I've come too close to losing them to risk them now.

  I pull out my wallet and hand her two twenties and a ten. She hesitates then offers the ten back. "We didn't do the full hour." I refuse the money. "Keep it. Obviously you've got something to take care of. Don't worry about it."

  She sucks in a deep breath like she's going to argue but then clamps her mouth shut. "Thank you."

  She didn't choke on it, but it’s a close thing. I am suddenly deeply curious about what has gotten her all wound up in such a short amount of time.

  Maybe I'll get a chance to ask her some day.

  I definitely have the impression that Beth Lamont isn’t into warm cuddles and hugs. She strikes me as independent and tough.

  And I admire the hell out of that attitude, even as she scares the shit out of me with how smart she is.

  Chapter 3

  Beth

  I don't generally hate my job at the Baywater Inn. My boss isn't a prick, at least not an obvious one. I sometimes catch him checking out my ass, and he likes us to look a certain way on the job, but I suppose that comes with the territory. I guess the wealthy clientele don't like slobs serving them food, so he wants us to be neat and clean and if you happen to be a little perky, well then, added bonus. Usually.

  I've heard the monthly club dues are something like ten grand. That's less than my dad's last emergency room visit but more than I make in a year. I guess if you have a lot of money, that amount isn't staggering.

  My friend Abby is off tonight. I hope she's not sick. It's not like her to miss work and when she's around, work is so much more fun. She's the kind of friend whose sarcasm makes the entire day brighter. I want to text her to see if she's okay, but I'm almost over my texting limit for the month. I'll have to wait to e-mail her.

  I set the dessert in the center of the table for the ladies who clearly spend their days enjoying the finer things in life. Their hands are perfectly manicured, their skin flawless. I wanted to hate these people when I first started here, but aside from a random douchebag, most of the clients are polite in a non-dickhead kind of way. Hopefully, they’ll tip well today.

  "Is there anything else I can get you?"

  The older blonde, who doesn't look a day over thirty, shakes her head, and I leave them to tend my next table. Becky, the hostess, has seated a group of four guys at a corner table.

  I start on my routine for serving a new table. I lay out the tiny drink napkins and start on the pleasantries.

  "I'm Beth and I'll be taking care of you this afternoon. Can I get you started with anything from the bar?"

  I scan each of the faces of the men until I get to him.

  To Noah. My breath locks in my throat as our eyes collide. There's a quirk at the edge of his mouth. A cocky arrogance that was missing earlier when we were doing stats. I feel it rather than see it. My stomach tightens as the moment extends beyond recognition and into something uncomfortable and tense.

  Will he point out that I'm tutoring him or will he pretend he doesn't know me?

  "Hey," he says.

  He's going to acknowledge me. Color me surprised. I've tutored before. Some of the guys on the basketball team and a softball player last spring. And I've encountered some of them here.

  I can't explain my reaction to him. I can't control the warmth that prickles across my skin at his quiet acknowledgment.

  "Nice to see you again, Noah," I manage. My voice loses its smooth edge, and I feel awkward and tense.

  "Beth is tutoring me in Stats," he tells the other men. "So I don't embarrass myself and all that."

  The big guy with his back to the wide bay window grins. "You were the TA in Stats last semester, weren't you?"

  I remember him now with the context. Josh Douglas. He was a big guy who transferred in from another school and opted to take Stats a second time when he didn't have to. "Yes, that was me."

  This is strange, this collision of two worlds. Usually there's a tacit nod or a quiet greeting, but this feels like I've been sucked into their orbit. It's not a comforting feeling because the worlds blur and along with them, the rules. I don’t want to stand here talking about stats and class when I have drinks to serve and other customers to wait on.

  "Gents, what'll it be? I think we need to let Beth here get back to work." This from the thin man to my left. There is a softness to his face that contrasts sharply with the hard lines of his body.

  Noah is watching me when I take their drink orders to the bar. He's sat with his back to the wall again, giving him a clear view of the hallway that leads back to the kitchen. He is the first thing I see when I come around the corner, and I notice him now, every time.

  Because he is still watching for me. That is the only way to explain how his eyes happen to catch mine each time I step out of the dimly lit hallway and into his field of vision. There is a darkness there, an intensity that is both off-putting and enticing.

  But there is something else there. Something that tempts me to take a single step into the darkness and let it envelop me.

  It is a temptation I can’t afford. A single mistake would ruin everything I have worked my ass off to achieve.

  But it is a fantasy that I can indulge in if I let myself. A little fantasy never hurt anyone.

  I carry the drinks to their table, pretending this is like every other table. It is a normal job. There is no need for the tension in my belly, the heat crawling across my skin. I stand between Noah and Josh now, intensely aware of Noah in a way I haven't been aware of a guy in a long time.

  I go through the motions but mentally, I retreat.

  There is no room in my life for this kind of fantasy stupidity.

  Regardless of the warmth that unfurls in my belly and penetrates my veins.

  Noah Warren is off limits.

  Noah

  There's something about seein
g her in the crisp white shirt and black skirt that twists up my insides and reminds me that I'm not dead and not a eunuch.

  I hadn't expected to see her at the country club. 'Course I hadn’t really known what I'd see at a country club. Hell, I am so far out of my league in this place, it isn’t even funny. There are thousand-dollar sports coats tossed over chairs like they’re ten dollar throwaways from Old Navy.

  Beth moves like she fits completely in the scene. She wears comfort in her smile and competence in everything she does.

  But there is something starkly feminine about her now. Something different from the cool, sexy confidence when she’d been instructing me in stats. There she'd been all business, focused on the numbers, the equations, and the work. She'd been in her flow taking me through the arguments and she’d made them sound less foreign.

  I felt better about my chances of actually passing this class. And I really can’t fail. It is such a freak accident that I’m even here. I will not let LT down. Failing is absolutely not an option.

  Beth leans across the table to place our drinks down. She looks down at me. "Only water?"

  "I'm driving," I say. The truth. My hands aren't shaking anymore from leaving the parking garage. I’m still not used to how things rise up and take over when I’m least expecting them.

  My shoulder aches and I rotate it to relieve the stiffness. The pain there is a dull echo now. As long as I stay ahead of it, I'm fine.

  "Okay then." She takes our orders and disappears into that dark hallway where I assume the kitchen is.

  "So what's the deal with her?" Josh asks.

  "She's tutoring me," I say again. Also the truth. It is so easy these days. There are fewer lies to keep track of. I can almost believe I’ve got my shit together.

  Kind of a relief, honestly.

  "Yeah? Anything else come with that service?"

  I turn a hard look on Caleb. I've just met him, but decided inside of five minutes that he and I were never going to be friends. Caleb has this sense of superiority about him that used to drive me nuts about our company executive officer. The XO had to make sure everyone knew he was the smartest guy in the room and Caleb is just like that.