The Tutor (BOOK 2: OMEN KING SERIES)

|𝟷𝟺|

Jenny Johnson

I nervously tap my fingers against the big black door to Romeo's dorm, each rap echoing in the quiet hall like a heartbeat counting down my anxiety. The hope that he's actually here flickers like a candle in the wind. God, what if a naked girl opens the door instead? My stomach churns at the thought, twisting tighter with each knock.

The deadline for his English paper looms closer, and I want, no, need him to pass. I can't go back empty-handed, not with the five grand I owe my uncle and the scholarship hanging by a thread. Tutoring him has to mean something, it has to.

I knock again, my fingers tapping a frantic rhythm against the wood. Moments stretch into eternity before the door swings open. There he is—Romeo—standing before me with that messy black hair and dark eyes that always seem to sparkle with mischief. But it's the fact that he's completely shirtless that sends my mind racing.

I try to drag my gaze away from his lean muscles and those perfect abs. Jesus, he's even hotter up close. Shame floods me for staring, but I can't help it. He must work hard for a body like that, and it's infuriatingly distracting.

"Blondie, I thought we agreed, no more sleepovers?" His voice is low, a husky whisper that wraps around me like a warm blanket, teasing and inviting all at once.

I roll my eyes, forcing myself to meet his gaze. "We're not having a sleepover, idiot. We're studying. Remember?"

He leans against the doorframe, that devilish grin spreading across his face, and my heart does a somersault. "So, you're saying any other day you'd stay over and have a sleepover with me?"

I fight the heat creeping into my cheeks, diverting my eyes to the pile of books in my hands. "Are you going to let me in or not?"

"Not," he smirks, but thankfully he steps aside, letting me pass.

As I enter the dorm, it's dark and silent, the low hum of the television the only sound. No Tim, no Ant, none of the usual chaos. Just me and this moron. The room is surprisingly clean, aside from the random duffle bags strewn about. I guess his friends are at hockey practice. A small relief washes over me; I could use a break from the noise.

Romeo shuts the door behind me, and that lingering gaze of his sends a jolt through me. His eyes travel up and down my body, igniting a trail of heat that makes me feel both exposed and alive.

I'm in a tight long-sleeve pink shirt and denim shorts, my trusty Converse on my feet, but the way he looks at me, I might as well be wearing nothing.

The bruises have healed, the scratches have faded, and all that's left are the memories.

"Take a picture. It'll last longer," I mutter, shifting my thoughts away from Harlow.

His chuckle is low, a sexy sound that reverberates through the quiet. "Don't tempt me."

"Put on a shirt, would you? No one wants to see your half-naked body." I shake my head, trying to clear the thoughts that have suddenly formed in my mind.

What is wrong with me? God, was it the lack of sex that had me staring at this man-whore's abs or the fact that he's undeniably good-looking? I've had sex countless times before, and I've managed to turn off my libido like a switch. So, why couldn't I do that now?

No, once he says something stupid, it'll all go back to normal. I'm just hormonal and lonely.

"Liar," he shoots back, that infuriating smile still plastered across his face. "Everyone wants to see my body, naked or not."

"I hate to break it to you, but I came to study, not to stare at your naked chest all day." I slide past him, forcing myself to focus on the stairs ahead, my pulse quickening with each step I take towards his room.