Tru Love by Rian Kelley Page A

Truman enters her space. It is seriously harder to breathe when he’s close to her.
    He waits for her to look up before he says anything and then it’s only a brief ‘thanks.’ He’s back to the Truman she first met in front of the bookstore, when he pulled her from the path of a speeding car and the next day--yesterday--wondered if she had a death wish, only the frown isn’t as deep.
    “Sure,” Genny says. She hands him her binder. “Maybe copy the notes first.” She hopes he doesn’t ask her to explain them. “There are two problems. No one finished in class, but they’re due tomorrow.”
                  He finds the divider marked math and opens to the last page of notes. Genny spots her doodling across the top of the page and cringes. Stars. A full moon and beneath it the head of a baying wolf. Truman’s name in an elaborate script with a crescent moon sketched into the ‘n.’
                  She feels his eyes on her and wishes she could sink through the floor. She resists the urge to look at him.
                  “Genny,” he whispers and she wonders how one person’s voice can be so alluring. “And I thought you didn’t like me.”
                  “I don’t,” she says, and it might even be true. Can you be attracted to someone you don’t like? Maybe. If she knew him better, would that kill the attraction or only make it worse? “I don’t know you.”
                  “I’m an OK guy,” he says.
                  “I’m glad you think so.”
                  He laughs softly. “I’m just trying to reassure you. But don’t take my word for it”
                  She ignores his comment, and the tone of his voice, which is more like the flow of water on rock than anything belonging to a mere human.
                  Mr. Plume clears his throat as a pointed reminder.
                  “Notes,” she prompts. “You’re supposed to be copying them.”
                  She picks up her copy of Pride and Prejudice and starts reading. Of course, she can’t concentrate on the words. She tries breathing through her mouth, thinking that if she can block the fresh air, citrusy scent of his skin she could actually focus on the drama in her hands. But it doesn’t work, because then it’s the rise and fall of his chest that catches her attention, and the sure movement of his hand across the page. His fingers are long, his writing smooth and readable. In fact, she notices that he’s not writing anything about calculus at all. When he’s done, he turns the page so she can read it better:
                                                             Movie tomorrow night?
                   Genny realizes she’s sitting forward in her chair, leaning into his personal space. When he smiles, the movement is so close, so tangible, so tempting , that her lips respond.
                  Then she slams on the brakes, closes her mouth and pretends a kiss was the last thing on her mind. A little late on cue, she pushes herself back in her chair.
                  And his smile grows bigger, full of knowing, and pulls on her senses.
                  She was never this attracted to Hunter.
    She lets the thought sit idle in her mind. She stares at it without picking it apart. She lets the truth seep into her bones. She is attracted to Truman Lennox. No more denial.
    But that doesn’t mean she has to do anything about it.
    She shakes her head, but feeling that isn’t enough even for her, says, “No. Thanks.”
    “Why?”
    She frowns and the skin above her nose creases. “I have plans.”
                  She hasn’t forgotten that she’s supposed to invite Truman to her father’s baseball game.
                  “What?” he presses. “You’re not back with the