Survival Skills: for Dating || ✓

Survival Skill 25: Thou must tutor the Neanderthal

Survival Skill 25: Thou must tutor the Neanderthal

I plopped my backpack on Rex' bed. “So, I'm actually here to tutor you?”

“Yup,” he said popping the “p.”

“It's not some code name for trying to get in girls' pants?”

“Uhh,” He paused. “Well, for you it isn't.”

I rolled my eyes, plopping on his bed, wishing that he hadn't any bed activities there. “I am in between thinking that you're sweet and/or revolting at the same time.”

“I'll go with sweet - “

“Nope, you're more revolting.”

He grinned and before I got the chance to analyze his motives, he lunged towards me and I let out a startled squeak as Rex trapped me between his arms. His bed deep due to our combined weight. Rex leaned forwards until our noses and foreheads were touching and smirked. “How's that for revolting?”

“Get off me you Neanderthal.”

He leaned in closer, if that was even possible. “Neanderthal?” he repeated, his lips getting dangerously close to mine. “Haven't heard that in a while.”

“GET OFF OR THE ONLY THING YOU'LL BE LEARNING IS HOW TO MAKE A HOLE ON THE WALL USING YOUR OWN HEAD.”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,”

I glared at him. God. He was annoying. “I thought you weren't going to make this a code name for getting in my pants?”

“You thought this was how I got into girl's pants?” He chuckled lightly. “Oh, you ain't seen nothing yet, Georgie.”

Great. The nickname's back. “RULE # 3!”

“Rule # 8.”

I shoved him away. “Rule # 6!” I spat, glaring at him. “I swear to God, Parker. Stop or I'll rip off your eyebrows.”

He chuckled, sending vibrations against my body, before pulling away with a satisfied smirk. “I really like how's this date's starting out.”

Sending him a vicious look, I sat up and started getting text books out. “Shut up, Parker and let's actually start studying.”

“Oh, God, not Latin,” he whined as soon as I took hold of the textbook we had for that subject.

“I heard your getting D's here.”

“They're just letters.”

“They're grades, Rex,” I reminded, “You need them for SAT's.”

Groaning, he plopped down next to me and took hold of the book. “Fine,” he said, “teach away, tutor.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“What do you know about Marco Polo?”

“Worst childhood game I ever played because I always lose.”

I rolled my eyes at the typical answer from Rex Parker. “I mean the person,”

“He's from Europe,” he responded, spinning a basketball on his index finger.

I scowled at him. “No wonder you get a C- in this class,”

“Can we stop this?” he asked, making the ball fall on the bed. “You thought me Latin, Math and, now, History. My brain can only take so much, George.”

“But you barely use your brain,” I mumbled to myself.

“The point of making comments to yourself is to not make the person you're referring to, hear it,” he told me upon hearing my words.