Idiots According To Tig

Three

Tig widens her eyes apologetically at her neighbour as the nail varnish she has been picking at for the past half an hour pings into his face. His very nice, sulking face, actually. And he is sort of pouting, really cutely, as he brushes away the cherry red polish chips. Tig congratulates herself for wearing a cute outfit that day as sulky boy glances at her cleavage in the most unsubtle way - ever.

But she sort of doesn't mind; he really is very hot, although he looks like he just woke up. She knows he did - when she came in his head was resting on the desk and he was sort of snoring. Anyway, his hair's jet black and a ruffled mess, his eyebrows are thick but neat and his face is tanned and sharp. Especially his jaw. Oh my God, his jaw line... Tig could cut herself slapping that face. His long sleeve blue t-shirt has four buttons at the top, all undone revealing a sliver of tanned chest.

Eventually, he glances up from her boobs and gives her this looks. It's like he's saying 'you're hot but I'm hotter - and I'm pissed'. It's kind of a turn on for Tig, but then so are sociopaths.

He gives her that 'sup' nod that guys give each other instead of actually saying 'sup', and mutters, "Nice tits."

Tig is a feminist. But since she genuinely does have 'nice tits' and has actually received many comments on them, she has thought about this a lot. And while she abhors objectification, she sort of figures that it's basically a compliment for someone to say 'nice tits', and she's a feminist not an arsehole - she can't just reject this compliment because it's about a part of her body that is considered sexual. And hey, she's proud of her body - what's the difference between someone complimenting your eyes and someone complimenting your boobs, anyway?

So, in deciding that she'd rather not be an arsehole to this really hot guy, she says "thank you" and flashes him her biggest, whitest smile while pushing her breasts slightly closer to him. Just because she believes that women have the right to be educated etcetera, doesn't mean she can't use her sexuality.

They both turn back to the lecture, although Tig isn't actually paying attention. Why is he taking creative writing? Aspiring poet, author, playwright? Maybe his Dad wants him to be a doctor or something else that typically appeals to parents, and he's rebelling. Perhaps his acting coach wanted him to understand scripts better. Possibly he thinks it's an easy A. She wonders if he needs a tutor.

The class finishes with a deafening bell and a scuffle of chair legs. It doesn't take long for Tig to shove her unopened notebook into her long-strapped tote and sway her way to the front of the hall.

"Miss Jones?" The hot guy's standing at the front with the professor. His brow's furrowed and lip curled. Maybe he actually does need a tutor.

Like a dog she answers to his call. Miss Jones raised a questioning eyebrow as she sauntered to where the matching pair were standing, gazing the same appreciative gaze.

"This is my son, Jake," the resemblance was uncanny; Mr Reynolds' hair was a little longer than his son's, and was gelled back almost greasily, but the tanned, angular face was still there. He reaches one hand to Tig's lower back, and gently pulls her closer. Sleazy, much. "He just transferred here, and I was hoping my star student would show him around?"

It being the second week of term, Tiger assumed her title as 'star student' wasn't entirely because of her literary prowess.

Despite being irritated at his distinct paedophilia, she light-heartedly giggled, and stepped away from his hand. "Anywhere in particular?"

"If you could take him in to town, introduce him to a few people that would be great. He doesn't have friends, see if you can change that."

"Dad!" From one word, Tiger could already tell that he was a heavy smoker. Turn off.

The two leave the class together and Jake takes out a blue and silver roll up cigarette machine. Predictable. He puts the paper in. Tiger watches him add the filter and tobacco with disgust. "So; what do you guys do for fun around here?"

Tig softly mutters the lyrics to The Big Bang Theory theme tune, but notices Jake giving her a funny look, so replies, "The same as everywhere else." She hears a dim voice in her head wondering whether or not he would sleep with her.

A text popped up on her phone from Martha: 'stay away from new boy, ik what you're like'. The bitch.

"Where's the best place to get drunk?" The light stubble coating his jaw and his smoldering brow are really hot.

"My place."

The key turns and they rush through the door, which slams behind them. He grips her arse tightly and pushes her against the kitchen counter, immediately entering her mouth with his tongue. This is unexpected.

Maybe Tig should have been thinking about the fact that she's barely known this man five minutes before kissing him back, but she instead decides to rip his shirt over his head, breaking contact only for a split second before reconnecting their lips. It was a good decision. They stumble through the living area of the apartment, navigating their way around the haphazardly placed objects blocking them from reaching their final destination: Tiger's bed.

As the second door in thirty seconds slams behind them, Martha manages to overcome her initial shock for long enough to sarcastically greet her frienemy, "hi". Unfortunately, her study buddy doesn't manage to shut his gawping mouth for long enough to pay the same courtesy.