By the Numbers (Love Logic #3) - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,3

and respond to Professor Keagan.

“Forty-thousand kilometers per hour.”

The professor nods and turns back to the smart board. Next to me, my friend breathes a sigh of relief.

“I didn’t think you were paying attention,” he whispers, darting a glance at my paper, the blush on his face deepening when he sees the sketch of the still not totally perfect erect cock. I’m not sure what there is for him to be so embarrassed about. He has a boyfriend; I’m sure he’s seen a dick before. Not to mention, I assume he also has a dick that he’s probably seen. Although, assuming can be a hazardous pasttime. For all I know, neither Elijah nor Pax have penises. It’s not exactly my business either way.

I shrug and erase the poor shading before trying again. “I’m listening as much as I need to be.”

I never did get around to studying over the weekend. But so far, I could practically teach this class. More people should read the textbook, all the information is right there.

I grin with satisfaction when I finally manage to capture the true beauty of a nicely proportioned, delightfully erect cock.

When I woke up Sunday morning, my ass still sore from the night before, I laid in bed, contemplating my poor decision making regarding my sex life over the past year. I came to the conclusion that it’s time I take a step back to re-evaluate my approach. Based on my preoccupation only thirty hours later with the perfect dick, this may be more challenging than I initially thought.

I always enjoy a good challenge.

Class ends and we all pack away our things and start to file out. Elijah walks quietly beside me, fidgeting with his glasses and the strap on his bag the way he always does when there’s something on his mind.

“Pax is still out of town, right?” I ask. His boyfriend travels nearly every week for work, which means Monday through Thursday, he’s usually on his own at their apartment.

“He’ll be home tomorrow.”

“You should come over for dinner tonight. It’s Theo’s turn to cook.”

“Sure,” he agrees. “I should probably work on this stuff for a little while first though.” He nods his head back toward the class we just left. “I’ll come by in a few hours?”

“Perfect.” That means I can swing by the Math Center for a while first. That thought is enough to energize me more than hours and hours of sitting through lectures on aerospace engineering and astrophysics.

I really shouldn’t have signed up for summer classes, not that my parents would hear any of that nonsense. Sometimes it’s easier to go along with what they want rather than starting a fight about it. And by sometimes, I mean, I’m hoping eventually I’ll grow a spine and tell them to back off and let me make some of my own decisions.

Elijah and I part ways and I head toward the Math Center a few blocks away. I randomly walked past this place right after I moved here last year, and I remember having the strangest flutter of excitement at the thought of tutoring younger kids in math. So, I went inside and signed up as a volunteer. Since then, I’ve been tutoring a few nights a week, whenever I can manage to fit it into my schedule. Which is another great reason to de-prioritize sex right now.

A smile automatically spreads over my face when the building comes into view, Alfie, one of my favorite students standing right in front of it, shuffling his feet against the sidewalk.

“Aw, waiting for me, kid?” I ask when I get close. He looks up and his frown turns into a halfhearted attempt at a smile.

“Just hoping if I stand out here long enough, I might magically become good at math before I go inside.” He stuffs his hands into his pockets and lets his shoulders sag.

“First of all, no one here is good at math, that’s the whole point,” I say with a wry grin.

“You’re good at math,” he argues, shaking his head to get his bangs off of his forehead without having to take his hands out of his pockets.

I roll my eyes. “That’s why I’m the tutor. If I was bad at math, we’d all be fu-in trouble.” Phew, close catch. Can’t be dropping the f-bomb in front of ten-year-old kids. At least I’m pretty sure you can’t. He’s probably the only ten-year-old I’ve been around since, well, not even since I was ten. I was already in advanced classes