Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59405 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
“Damn, that sounds scary,” he commented with a low whistle.
“It is! And statistics is nothing more than a series of endless word problems.”
“Not really. It’s about concepts.” He shifted on the bench, bending his knee as he faced me with an almost manic look of excitement. “And life is a series of concepts rationed by levels of probability.”
I fixed him with a blank stare, then blinked madly as my brain tried to compute how someone who looked so fierce could sound like such a geek. Better question—why did that turn me on?
“Like I said, I don’t get it.”
“I guarantee you understand more than you give yourself credit for.” He raised his hand before I could disagree. “Think of it this way. In any given situation, there can be a multitude of outcomes. A, B, C, etcetera. Take me for example. I got out of school four months ago. I have a few options. I could A, get a so-called real job with real benefits or B, tutor math and coach wrestling. There’s always C…I could continue working as an escort and—”
“You’re an escort?”
Rory held my gaze for a second, then threw his head back and laughed like a loon. “No, I just wanted to make sure I had your attention. Look, it’s simple. Statistics is all about finding probability. However, you have to research the subject before you can make an educated guess.”
“So you’re saying I should get to know you to see if you’d make a decent escort?”
“It would help,” he commented with a sly wink. “For the record, I’d suck at it. I have zero patience, and I hate being told what to wear or how to act. I think my tolerance level for all things bullshit is lowering with age.”
“How old are you?” I interrupted.
“Twenty-four. Didn’t we go over that?”
“No. I don’t even know where you’re from. I don’t know anything about you except that you’re an after-school counselor at the Y and that you used to wrestle in college.”
He let out a beleaguered sigh and gave me a sideways once-over. “I’m from Long Beach. I’ve lived in the LBC my whole life. I had grand plans to go out of state for college, but the scholarship I was counting on didn’t include room and board, so I came here. I graduated last May, top of my class, if that matters to you. And now I’m on a job hunt. I do the counselor thing, and I’m a trainer. I’ve thought about expanding my client list ’cause the money is decent, but I could probably do better if I used my degree. I have résumés out and I’ve even gone on a few interviews, but I haven’t found anything yet.”
“You will,” I assured him. “Or maybe you should get your master’s degree first.”
“Thanks, Dad. I’ll think about it.”
I gave a half laugh. “Sorry. I sound like my father. He’s nagging me to go to law school after I graduate.”
“If that’s your passion, go for it. Rack up all those degrees, frame ’em, and hang ’em on a wall. Grad school costs money, though, and baby…I’m broke,” he huffed.
“You could apply for grants and scholarships,” I suggested.
“Sure, but I’d rather work and if possible, not take on any debt.” He regarded me thoughtfully, then inclined his head. “So you’re going to be a lawyer, eh? Law school is—”
“I’m not going to law school,” I intercepted vehemently.
Rory’s gaze sharpened. “What do you want to do?”
The urge to confide in someone besides Max was strong. But I didn’t know Rory, and I was too superstitious to share my plans with a stranger and upset my karmic shot at a new start. I looked away for a moment, then turned back to him with a blank expression.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I just know I’m not going to law school.”
His eagle-eyed look flustered me. He didn’t prod, though. He nodded in silent understanding and flattened his hand over the textbook.
“Well, maybe statistics can help.”
“I doubt it, but as long as I pass and graduate on time, I’ll consider it a win.”
He let out a half laugh and pursed his lips. “Fair enough. I can help. We can get down and dirty next time, but like I said, I bet you know more than you think you do. Quarterbacks use statistics all the time.”
“How do you figure?”
“Every time you decide who to throw the ball to in a clutch play, you use experience and data to analyze the field before you act. It’s math.”
“That seems like a stretch.”
Rory shrugged. “It’s not, grasshopper. And I’m the genius here. Not you.”
I barked a quick laugh and cocked my head. I liked him. His sense of humor had a gentle bite he balanced nicely with a dose of self-deprecation. His looks, size, and unexpectedly big brain were intimidating and yet, there was something approachable and honest about Rory that made me think he’d be personally invested in my success if he was my tutor.