"I called you 'that attractive,' which is technically underselling it," I said, trying to sound casual while my little brother decided to revolt in my pants when she squeezed my legs her bare legs. "Starting with 'you're so hot you're making me forget pharmacology' seemed too aggressive for a first coffee meeting."
'Did I just call this a date? Fuck. I did.'
"So, this is a date?" She leaned back, teasing, but there was curiosity lurking under her grin, teasing my legs under table. "I thought this was just academic tutoring."
"It can be both. Multitasking."
"You're seventeen."
"Seventeen next month, technically. And you're twenty-five. Just numbers."
"Eight years isn't just numbers, Peter." Her tone wasn't angry. Not really. It was sharp, aware, and yes… intrigued. "What would people say if they knew I was on a date with a student?"
"Probably the same thing those guys over there are thinking—that I either sold my soul or saved your life to get coffee with you."
