Despising you

Chapter 9

L i s a

Here she is. Jennie Kim is in my house; in my bedroom, sitting on my bed. Somehow, I'm not repulsed by the situation, but that's probably because I touched myself to the thought of her more than once, on this very bed.

I've tried to repress the thought and it's been fairly easy, considering I've only been tutoring Jennie over email. She doesn't even stop by Miss Choi's anymore; she just orders for delivery.

I could have continued tutoring Jennie over email, but I need to properly see her progress. So, she needs to get over her problems as do I, because I need that commendation letter sent off.

"I've compiled a list of flash cards that we need to revise. We can start with a quiz—"

"Do we have to? Can't we just do something easier?" She cuts me off, massaging her head as if she's so exhausted.

She didn't even fight with me when I told her that I would tutor her at my home, nor did she make any bitchy comments about my house. Instead, she insisted on driving her own car here and I happily obliged.

Part of me is satisfied by the peace, but the other part is bewildered at her muteness. It's also bothering me; I prefer it when she's bitchy for some reason. So, I'm going to try my best to irritate her.

I fake a frown. "Aww, are you tired from a long day of doing nothing?"

Come on, I know this quiet act isn't going to last long. It's only a matter of time before she reverts back to her bitchy self—

"Fuck you." She spits out harshly. Well, that was quick.

"No, thanks. You aren't my type," I retort, taking note of the tension swimming in her intense blue eyes.

"I'm everyone's type."

She's so absolute in her statement. Not an ounce of doubt in her eyes and I can't refute it. She is gorgeous, that's obvious. If her personality wasn't so morbidly rancid, of course, she would be my type.

"Not mine." I shoot back adamantly.

Her silky blonde hair isn't my type, nor are her siren-like blue eyes or her ethereal body. Not a single part of her is my type.

"What's your type then?" She crosses her arms like a petulant little child who isn't getting her way.

"Not you," I repeat and at this point she's livid.

She storms up from my bed and gets in my face looking down on me. "You're so fucking—"

"Sexy? Intelligent? Hot as fuck?"

"Intolerable!" She screams, interrupting me as I did to her. Her face is flushed red. I'm stifling a laugh at how angry I've made her, that is, until she speaks again. "I'm getting out of here!"

Before she can walk away, I grab her arm. "Hey, you're not going anywhere. We have to study."

"Don't touch me," she grits out, yanking her arm from mine. It's ironic how the tables have turned. Usually I'm the one doing that.

"Chill out." I furrow my eyebrows. "What is wrong with you today?"

"Seeing your face irritates me." She snaps back at me, breathing heavily. Then she steps back away from me and runs her hands through her hair.

That's not it. She sees my perfect face most days and loves riling me up. Today, she's different. She must have had cheerleading practice. Anytime her practice is tougher than usual, she becomes exhausted and quiet.

I shrug my shoulders. "You can be as irritated as you want. That doesn't change the fact that we have to study. Unless you want to be kicked off your team."