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It had been a treacherous few weeks since I started tutoring Jeremiah out of my own will. I hated every moment of it.
Especially who Jeremiah was as a person.
He kept eyeing me, and making ribald and licentious remarks about my appearance.
He's gay, and he wants me. It's clear as day by now.
Although he hasn't admitted anything, no straight man constantly makes sexual jokes about another man's appearance the way he does.
what worsens it is that i like it sometimes.
"Are you listening to a single thing i'm telling you?" I complained at his horny complacency.
"With that shirt on, i'm focused on one thing, and it's not whatever it is you've got written on that board." He referred to my compression shirt.
"Jesus—Can you stop! You keep acting like you want to fuck me or something and it's unsettling." I covered myself in my jacket to show less, "You need to pay attention to this material, otherwise i won't get my extra credit points," I prevaricated.
"Is that why you're doing this? or is it because you don't want me to get kicked off the team?" He tilted his head, looking for an answer he already knows.
and don't lie, you've been trying to save his spot on that team for a week now. if you didn't care, you wouldn't be here.
fuck my life.
"Do you know the answer to the question or not." I ignored his painfully correct words.
He put his pencil down on the desk and stood up, "Why don't I ask you a question," He stepped closer to me.
His appearance was eye candy itself, a white compression shirt that hugged his muscles perfectly followed by great sweatpants.
a despicable combo.
As he got closer, I inched back into the wooden desk the professor normally sat at—gripping onto the table and leaning back on it for support as he got closer.
"why are you still acting like you hate me?" He whispered in my face.
"because i do," I terribly lied.
He smirked, "then why are you helping me? because it's certainly not for those extra credit points," He confirmed.
"i—well—" I continued to back up into the desk, knocking some things over.
Nervously, I said, "answer the question please," I begged.
He looked back up at the board and grabbed the dry erase marker next to me.
He went to the board and started solving the solution above. I watched him closely work his way around the board, effortlessly drawing out his thought process.
