Shatter (True Believers #4)(2)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“No problem.” His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed, his upper lip curling up to indicate it was in fact a huge problem. He was annoyed at the interruption.

Feeling stupid, I turned on my heel and went for an empty table. Darwin must be running a few minutes late. I would check my e-mail on my phone and see if he had canceled or something.

“Kylie?”

I stopped short, and turned. The other guy had pulled out his earbuds and he was giving me a smile.

“Yes.”

“I’m Darwin.” He stood up and came toward me, sticking his hand out. “Nice to meet you.”

This was Darwin? For real? Huh. I shouldn’t have been so quick to judge. I hated when people assumed I was just another dumb blonde. But seriously, this guy was cute. He had eyes that crinkled when he smiled in greeting, a patch of beard on his chin, and eyelashes behind his glasses that made me bitter on behalf of wispy-eyelashed blond women everywhere. He was about five eleven, lanky but not skinny, and despite the jeans and T-shirt, looked every inch a man, not a kid.

“Nice to meet you, too.” I took his hand and shook it carefully. His grip was appropriately solid, but not grabby or lingering. His palm wasn’t damp. “Thanks for helping me out. I’ve been . . . struggling.” That was an understatement.

“Sit down and we’ll see where you’re at.” He pulled out a chair for me and sat in the one he’d been occupying before, his tablet propped on his bag so he could see the screen.

I sat down, feeling disarmed by his friendly smile. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I would have preferred a stern and studious tutor. I wasn’t sure I could handle kindness without comparing it to the cruelty Nathan had shown me. That’s what I kept doing. Every time someone was even remotely and casually nice to me, I immediately wondered why Nathan could have so intentionally and viciously hurt me. Which then made me feel terrible. Like maybe there was something wrong with me. That the more he had gotten to know me, the more he thought I wasn’t entitled to his respect. I didn’t want to think about that, but I couldn’t help it. It charged in without warning.

As I pulled out my laptop and found my study guide, I studied Darwin.

His hair wasn’t military short, but not long either, just enough length to look appropriately effortless with a hint of hair product. I knew hair product. You could not fool me. He was definitely using it, but it was most likely just a molding mud he ran through his hair post-shower in a pea-sized dose. A man who cared enough to control frizz was a notch up in my estimation. But if they spent more time on their blowout than I did, we had a problem. There was a fine line for acceptable male grooming practices. In that middle territory between high maintenance and caveman was where I found men to be attractive.

Not that I found him attractive. I didn’t find anyone attractive. I had been in love. You don’t just suddenly start finding other guys attractive when your heart has been hand-fed to jackals.

“So what do you think is the main issue?” he asked me, shifting a little closer to me so he could take a look at what was on my screen.

“I’m failing chemistry.”

He laughed. “Well, I know that. But when did you start having problems?”

“When the class started.”

His lips pressed together and he pushed up his glasses. “Okay, let’s just start going through the study guide together and we’ll see if we can figure out what’s tripping you up.”

“Okay,” I said doubtfully. The coffee shop was warm and I shrugged out of my jacket.

His hand came out and helped me drag my left sleeve all the way off. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” He draped the freed sleeve over my chair. “So why can’t isolated atoms be measured?”

Um. I thought about it. But I seriously had no idea. None whatsoever. I didn’t even remember discussing atoms at all, but since this was a chem class, we must have at some time. “Because they’re alone and there’s no one to hold the measuring tape?”

He gave me a grin. “No. It’s because we can’t determine the location of the electrons around the atom’s nucleus.”

“Right.” Oh my God, I was already lost. Wait. I had never been found.

“But we can estimate the size of an atom by assuming that the radius of an atom is half the distance between adjacent atoms in a solid. This is best for elements that are metals, because they form solids composed of extended planes of atoms of that element. The results of the measurements are called metallic radii.”

I tried not to panic. “So . . . do I just have to memorize the definition? Is the exam just going to ask me to define ‘metallic radii’?”

“Yes, and there may be an example where you have to estimate the size of the atom.” He ripped a piece of paper and started drawing a formula. He was left-handed and his pen moved efficiently and confidently. “See? Like this.”

Yeah. No. I figured if I at least got the definition and bombed the formulas, I would maybe get a D and that was all I needed to pass. “Uh-huh,” I said, noncommittedly.

“The metallic radius becomes larger as we go down a column of the periodic table because the valence electrons are placed in larger orbitals.”

I could feel my lip starting to tremble and I blinked hard, afraid I might embarrass the hell out of myself and start crying. He might as well be speaking Klingon for all I understood what he was saying. Actually, I might understand Klingon better. I went through a Star Trek phase in middle school.

When I didn’t say anything, he glanced over at me and his face became alarmed. “What’s wrong?”

“I think a whole semester of chemistry is a lot to cram into one night,” I said in a small voice.

“Good thing you have the best tutor.” He winked at me. “They don’t call me Darwin for nothing.”

“Is that your real name?”

“No. It’s Jonathon.”

“That’s a nice name.”

“Thanks. I got saddled with the Darwin nickname when I won the state physics competition in high school. It stuck.”

For some reason, that made me feel better. “I played volleyball in high school. My nickname was Bump.”

He laughed. “Really? And how did you feel about that?”

“I hated it. Who wants to be called Bump? It made me feel like my butt is big.”

Darwin, or Jonathon, gave me a puzzled look. “Isn’t a bump a . . .” He used his wrists to demonstrate hitting the ball.