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And I picked this one because it reminded me of his eyes.
So yeah, like an idiot, I wore this dress for him.
But I lie, “Because my friend made me.”
“And why would she do that?” he asks, watching me carefully, intently.
“Because she wants to die at my hands,” I quip. “And because…”
His lips twitch slightly. “Because what?”
“And because…” I ponder over whether or not I should say my next words. But then, “Because she thinks it’s a date.”
Damn it, Penny.
Damn it.
Why?
Why would I say that?
Actually, I know why. Because I’m dying to know.
Because I want it to be.
And I want it so much that I’ve thrown caution to the winds and look, I made a disastrous mistake because his features have drawn up tight at my words. And so before he can say anything to crush all the hope in my chest, I try to cover it up. “I’m not saying that it is. Because I —”
“Sit.”
His command breaks my thoughts and I’m so flustered that I do as he says. Before I realize that that was kind of bossy.
“Are you always this high-handed?” I ask, tipping my chin up at him.
“Pretty much,” he says, shifting in his seat, as if finally settling in.
I notice his shoulders — super broad in his black shirt — relax slightly. “I don’t like taking orders. Just so you know. Since you’ll be tutoring me and all that.”
My words make his lips twitch again as he sits back on his seat, sprawling, expanding, becoming even bigger and broader. More masculine. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I’m not so sure. I —”
“And I haven’t agreed to tutor you yet.”
“What?”
“We’ll see how tonight goes.”
“Are you kidding me?” I narrow my eyes at him. “That was the whole deal.”
“What deal?”
My eyes narrow further and his are shining with amusement. “The deal about you tutoring me. I asked you what you wanted in exchange for tutoring me and you said dinner.”
I’m still slightly confused as to why.
Like, why would he want to have dinner with a girl like me, but the terms were clear.
He shrugs, his sculpted shoulders going up and down so fucking sexily. “Maybe I lied.”
I draw back then, my mouth falling open. “I can’t believe it. I can’t…” I snap my mouth shut before I say, “I’m leaving.”
But before I can move even an inch, he goes, “Relax.” I look at him with suspicion and he explains, “I was kidding. It was a joke. I’m not in the habit of going back on my word.”
I stare at him silently. Then, “So you’re just in the habit of being an asshole, then?”
That amusement in his eyes flashes brighter than before and he repeats, “Pretty much.”
“You know, I don’t think I want you to tutor me anymore.”
“Oh, you want me to tutor you,” he says.
“And why’s that?”
“Because I’m the best,” he states simply, arrogantly.
“And so humble.”
“Yeah, that too.”
I can’t help but lose all my ire at him and settle into my seat. And before I can think too much about it, I say, “You waited.”
“What?”
I duck my eyes for a second before saying, “For me. I was late and… you said you wouldn’t wait more than five minutes.”
“I know what I said,” he murmurs, his eyes strangely intense.
So much so that I want to look away from him, but I can’t. Because somehow, he won’t let me go. He’s holding me captive with his green gaze.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” I tell him.
“So why then?”
I lick my lips. “I was… I was nervous. I kept changing my mind.”
“About coming here.”
“Yes,” I admit, my cheeks burning under his scrutiny. “I mean, I don’t… I don’t understand why you wanted this,” I take a pause here before continuing, “in exchange for tutoring me. But anyway, thanks for waiting.”
I kick myself in my head for saying this.
Especially after the almost-date stuff that I blurted out as soon as I arrived.
But I couldn’t resist. I still don’t know what he wants from me, and I hate being in the dark.
Not that he has any plans of pulling me out of there. Because he stares at me for a few seconds, his deep, intense stare that makes me squirm and blush, before he murmurs, “Their chicken parm is great.”
“What?”
“I think you’d like it.”
“The food, you mean?” I ask lamely.
I’m not sure what he finds amusing but his lips twitch and his eyes shine. “Yes, Penelope, I mean food.”
My heart skips a beat when he says my name. It’s not uncommon for people to call me Penelope. Lots of people do it. My parents, my professors, people who don’t know me that well. Which is basically the whole world except my three best friends, who call me Penny.
But from him, it sounds different, and I mumble, “Chicken parm sounds good.”
I look away when his twitching lips pull up even more and he smiles. Only slightly, but it’s there and it’s beautiful. And I’m a bumbling idiot.
