Chapter 45: Side Effect

"So tell me, Bennett," Knox challenged quietly in a low, serious voice. "Are you going to let me fail tomorrow... or are you helping me prep?"

I crossed my arms over my chest, leaning back against the edge of the kitchen counter. I let the silence stretch between us, taking my sweet time as I pretended to weigh my options.

"Well," I started slowly, tapping my chin with a fingernail. "Let’s see. I have a five-hour shift at Rusty’s Diner starting at three, a thesis outline draft due tomorrow, and back-to-back lectures all morning before your four o’clock exam."

Knox’s jaw tightened. He shifted his weight, clearly unaccustomed to being held at the mercy of anyone, let alone his tutor. "Bennett..."

"Not to mention," I cut in, raising a brow, "the fact that you were a complete asshole on Monday, and you’re still being an asshole with the arrogant tone you’re using with me right now."

A muscle jumped along Knox’s throat. His broad shoulders dropped half an inch as his pride took a hit. He took a slow breath, rubbed the back of his neck, and finally forced the word out of his mouth:

"Please, Bennett."

I gasped in mock shock, pressing a hand to my chest. "Did Knox Sheridan just say please? Mark the calendar. Someone write this down."

"Don’t push it," Knox grumbled, though the lethal edge in his posture had completely melted into reluctant defeat.

I hummed softly, pretending to contemplate a little longer just to make him sweat. After a long five seconds of watching him suffer, I finally sighed. "Fine. I’ll help you."

A faint, arrogant smirk tugged at the corner of Knox’s lips. "You know you didn’t have a choice, Bennett. But you just couldn’t resist making me beg for it first, could you?"

"Don’t flatter yourself, Sheridan," I shot back smoothly, tilting my head. "I’m saving my 4.0 GPA, my job, and my paycheck. You’re just a side effect."

"Right," Knox gritted out, though his dark eyes glinted with a subtle, unreadable warmth. "Of course."

"On one condition," I added, pointing a warning finger at his chest. "We are not doing this session at that STD-infested house you call a home... and we are definitely not doing it here in my apartment."

Knox raised an eyebrow. "Then where?"

"Meet me at Rusty’s Diner tonight," I said. "I offload my shift at eight o’clock. You can wait until I finish closing up, and we’ll do the prep session in a booth."

Knox looked at me for a long moment, then gave a single, firm nod. "Thank you."

"You’re welcome," I said, gesturing toward the front door. "Now, can you please leave so I can get ready for my shift?"

Knox turned around and pulled the door open.

Standing right outside on the welcome mat, her hand hovering mid-air as if about to knock, was Priya.

Knox froze for a split second, giving Priya a tight, curt nod before stepping past her into the hallway and disappearing down the stairs.

Priya stood in the open doorway, her jaw practically on the floor, her eyes darting from the empty hallway back to me.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her.

Priya stepped inside, a wicked, triumphant grin spreading across her face as she shut the door behind her. "Not long enough! Oh my God, Nora! Was that Knox Sheridan saying please? Did I just hallucinate the captain of the hockey team begging you for help in our entryway?"

"He wasn’t begging," I muttered, feeling an unwanted heat rise to my cheeks as I walked back toward my bedroom. "He was just setting up a tutoring session."

"Uh-huh," Priya sang, following me down the hall. "And he just happened to show up at our apartment in person, looking like a moody romance novel hero? Right. Purely professional."

"I have a shift at three, Pri," I called out over my shoulder, ducking into my room to grab my diner uniform. "Save the commentary."

—

By eight o’clock that evening, Rusty’s Diner was quiet and dim.

The dinner rush had cleared out an hour ago, leaving only the soft hum of the jukebox and the smell of toasted bread and fresh coffee in the air.

Denise had already clocked out for the night, leaving me alone to finish wiping down the stainless steel counters and restock the condiment caddies.

I was untying the apron from around my waist when the chime above the front door rang out.

I looked up, expecting to see a late-night trucker looking for a black coffee.

Instead, pushing through the glass door was Knox. He had swapped his black athletic hoodie for a fitted dark sweater and jeans. But what caught me completely off guard wasn’t his clothes... it was what he was carrying in his hands.

He wasn’t empty-handed.

Unlike our first session at the diner, where he had unceremoniously ordered me to fetch him a black coffee while I swept the floors, Knox walked straight up to the booth we used the last time, carrying a large, brown paper bag from the high-end Italian bistro down the street.

The rich, mouth-watering smell of garlic, fresh parmesan, and grilled chicken instantly filled the quiet diner.

Knox set the paper bag down on the laminate table, pulled out a takeout container, a bottle of sparkling water, and set them down directly in front of my seat.

I stopped in my tracks, apron dangling from my hand, staring at the warm food in utter disbelief. "What is this?"

"Takeout," Knox said simply, sliding into the booth seat opposite mine. "I brought you dinner."

I blinked, glancing between the steaming container of chicken alfredo and the man sitting across from me. The contrast between the arrogant jock who had demanded black coffee while I swept the floors less than a week ago and the man sitting here right now hit me hard.

"You... brought me dinner?" I repeated.

"Don’t get used to it, Bennett. You’ve been working a five-hour shift," Knox grumbled, though a faint flush touched his cheekbones as he uncapped his own drink. "I’m not having you pass out while you teach me."

A faint, genuine smile touched the corners of my lips. I pulled off my apron, tossed it onto the seat beside me, and slid into the booth across from him.

Knox reached into his canvas bag, pulled out a thick, blank spiral notebook and a black pen, and laid them flat between our plates.

He looked across the table, his eyes holding mine with a quiet, steady focus that made my pulse skip a beat.

"Eat first," Knox said softly. "Then show me how your brain wants us to do this."