Studly Period by Sarina Bowen
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She's a brilliant writing tutor. Too bad she's tongue-tied every time he sits down in front of her...
There
are 1016 people in the freshman class at Harkness College. I can’t be
the only socially awkward nerd girl virgin among them. Right?
It’s
time I learn to talk to guys without blushing and stammering. So I take
a confidence-building job at the student tutoring center. Twelve bucks
an hour, plus human interaction. What could go wrong?
A fun-loving French Canadian hockey hunk, that’s what.
When
Pepe St. George sits down at my tutoring table, my brain shuts off and
my mouth goes right into hyperdrive. Even the sound of my name on his
lips—Josephine—gives me a mini orgasm.
I want to hand him my V-card. But all I manage to hand him is…my thesaurus. And my dignity. All seems lost, until I hatch a plan to get him alone…
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“Bonjour.”
The deep voice—from right above me—startles me so badly that I jump. My
phone goes clattering to the desktop as I whip my chin upward to see
whomever snuck up on me.
“Désolé!” he says. “I should come back later?”
“No,” I say, fumbling my phone back into my bag. “Please sit down.”
My
heart is banging against my ribs, and not only because he startled me.
If possible, I’m even more awkward with men than with women. It’s worse
if they’re attractive.
And this guy? Very
attractive. Wow. He has a wide, handsome face and coal-dark eyes ringed
by impressively thick lashes, and a broad face. Broad shoulders.
Broad everything.
Wow. He must eat a lot of protein. And now I’m staring as he arranges
himself in the chair opposite me and draws out a folder. He’s really
handsome. One of the BPs, for sure.
I
can’t stop staring. There’s something rugged about him that’s hard to
describe. There’s color in his cheeks—at least the part that’s not
covered with dark scruff. And his biceps bulge from the sleeves of his
T-shirt. He reminds me of a superhero going incognito, concealing his
identity among the ordinary college students.
Though the muscles can probably be explained by the logo on his T-shirt—Harkness Hockey.
It’s
always the jocks who need tutoring. I swear. Nadia I have a
disagreement about this. She says that jocks are used to coaching, and
thus accept tutoring help more readily than the general population.
“I think they’re just not as smart,” I always tell her.
She just shakes her head. “You say that, but you’re still intimidated by them. So which is it?”
Indeed.
“How can I help you,” I whisper up at this handsome giant.
He frowns, and then folds massive hands onto the desk between us. “Excusez-moi?”
People
always tell me my voice is soft. That I’m hard to hear. He must agree,
because he leans forward, those big, dark eyes blinking in close
proximity. It doesn’t help the knee-knocking, teeth-rattling nerves that
overtake me whenever a beautiful man looks at me.
Get a grip, Josie. “How can I help you today,” I ask carefully.
“Bon.
I have the paper due for English. And my English is not so excellent.
So I hope you will help me find all the places I fuck it up. I bring
it…” He opens a folder and rifles through some papers.
For a long moment I just blink at him. “Your English…” Did he just say that he didn’t speak the language?
“When
I come to Harkness last year? I don’t speak much English at all,” he
says, dropping a rough draft of an essay on the table between us.
“Please help me find zhe places where I fuck up the grammar.”
His
honesty has stunned me. The Harkness students I’ve met so far would
never admit to any kind of weakness. In fact, they tell me that most
students wait until their grades are in jeopardy to find the tutoring
center at all.
And
I don’t blame them. Struggling? That’s shameful. Harkness is a
top-notch school where everyone worships at the alter of intellectual
exceptionalism. With an admissions rate that hovered around nine
percent, having a big brain is the only way to get in.
Or at least I thought it was. Every year, something like a thousand valedictorians get rejections from Harkness. Who would dream of implying that he isn’t as qualified as the next student?
This guy.
More In This Series
The
Ivy Years novels are a series of inter-connected stand-alone stories.
The first book is The Year We Fell Down, available at:
Amazon: http://geni.us/fdzreach
iBooks: http://geni.us/fdireach
Kobo: http://geni.us/fdkreach
Google: http://geni.us/fdgreach