Page 6 of Foolish Games

“You’re a nerd,” he says. “Figure it out.”

I glare down at him. “I’m not here to play games. So spit it out, or I walk.”

He sighs and leans forward, raking a hand through his bronze hair. “What do you think it means? You get to put it on your college applications, like you said. Everything works out in your perfect little world like it always does.”

“And yours,” I point out. “It’s not like you want to spend your study halls with me, either.”

“Yeah, but I still don’t get help. They’ll say it’s my fault that my grades haven’t improved because I’m getting tutoring, so I must just be lazy and stupid. They’d never question you. You’re on honor roll and all that bullshit.”

“You think I want to lie on my college applications?” I hiss, noticing some others watching us. “I’d rather actually help someone who wants help.”

“Then sit the fuck down,” he snaps, kicking my chair back. “And stop acting like you’re too good to bother explaining anything to a pea brain like me. If you’re so smart, shouldn’t you be able to teach me something?”

“I’m not going to do your homework for you,” I warn, sliding into the chair but not setting my books down yet. “So if that’s what you think is going on here, you need to find another tutor.”

He glares across the table at me like he’s picturing wrapping his huge hands around my throat. “I never said that.”

I shake away the image of his strong, calloused fingers cutting off my airway—and the mortifying things it does to my body. “I just want us both to be clear about our expectations before we start,” I say, drawing myself up in my chair and trying to get my indecent thoughts under control. “I’ve heard how much y’all get away with. I’m not going to enable or coddle you.”

“And I’m not going kiss your ass for doing your job,” he says. “Don’t expect me to overflow with gratitude. You signed up for this.”

“Fine,” I say, setting down my books. “Agreed. And let’s not talk more than we have to. School work is the only topic allowed. So. Let’s see this paper.”

He grudgingly opens his binder, watching me as he pulls out two pages stapled together at the top corner. Then he hesitates, looking down at it like he doesn’t want to show it to me.

I sigh and hold out a hand. “Get real, Sebastian. You really think I’m going to copy your ideas or something? Let me read it.”

He shakes his head, scowls at me, and shoves it across the table. Then he sits back, crossing his arms again and glowering at me while I read. I try not to let it distract me, but I can’t help feeling the weight of his gaze on me. I tuck my caramel hair behind my ear, hating myself for wondering what he thinks when he looks at me. I force myself not to do something cute like bite my lip while I read. I’m being ridiculous. He goes for girls like Keisha, the captain of the cheer squad, not nerds like me.

But damn it. Why does he have to be so hot? It’s distracting as hell, especially when he sits like that and makes his muscles bulge that way.

“What are you looking at, four-eyes?”

I jerk my attention up to him, only to see that he’s not even looking at me anymore. He’s glaring at Jerome, who’s stuttering and fumbling his way through an apology. Poor kid.

I glare at Sebastian. “Leave him alone.”

“What are you going to do about it?” he challenges. “Do your boyfriends always send you to defend them?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I snap.

“Really?” Sebastian asks, cocking his head. “He follows you around drooling on your heels all day. I figured he was either your boyfriend or your dog.”

“Shut up,” I say, my cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I’m dating his best friend. He doesn’t see me that way. We’re just friends.”

Sebastian smirks. “Yeah, okay. I thought nerds were supposed to be smart.”

“Homework only, remember?” I ask, tapping his paper. “First, you need to add some punctuation. It’s hard to understand what you’re trying to say without breaks between your thoughts.”

He sighs and pulls the paper back, frowning down at it. He adds in a few marks with his pencil and then glances up at me. “For real though. Which one is your boyfriend?”

“Punctuation,” I say, raising a brow and gesturing to his paper.

“Hey, I’m working,” he protests. “We can talk at the same time. It keeps my mind from wandering. Is it Carrot Top over there?”

I level him with a look. “His name is Chaz, and yes.”

“Huh.” Sebastian goes back to marking his paper, and I cross my arms and glare at him. He shows no signs that he notices. Instead, he asks a couple questions about whether a comma is needed in a sentence.

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