Chapter 9 #2
Jason shook his head fast, like he could shake the confession right back into his chest. “That sounded bad. Not stupid like you’re bad. Stupid like I can’t think straight. Which is funny because you’re the straightest guy I’ve ever met.”
“I’m not straight,” I said automatically.
He blinked, then let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. “Right. Not what I meant. You know what I meant.”
I did. I understood entirely, and it made my skin feel too tight.
I crossed my arms, needing distance in some form. “So you skipped the session because I make you stupid.”
Jason ran a hand through his hair. “I skipped because I didn’t know what to do.”
“Then do the logical thing,” I said. “Show up anyway.”
He looked at me like he wanted to. Like he was trying to align himself with logic and failing.
“My logic broke outside your house last night,” he said.
My chest tightened so suddenly I had to breathe in through my nose just to keep my face steady.
“Jason,” I said, low and careful.
He waved a hand, as if he could erase the topic. “No. Look. I don’t want to make it weird.”
“It’s already weird.”
He laughed again, helpless. “Yeah. Okay. It’s already weird.”
We held each other’s gaze. Peanut hopped between us, then flopped around with a sigh, perfectly content to exist in the middle of emotional devastation.
Jason’s eyes softened. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward situation.”
I forced a shrug. “You didn’t. It’s fine.”
He stared at me, then leaned forward slightly. “Stop saying that.”
“But it’s fine.”
Jason’s eyes held mine for a beat too long, like he was waiting for me to say something that would either save him or finish him off. I didn’t give him either. I let the silence do what it always did best. Smother.
I shifted the strap of my backpack higher on my shoulder and nodded toward the desk. “I brought practice,” I said. “Just assignments. You do them, I tell you where you go wrong, you do them again.”
Jason’s shoulders dropped a fraction, relief disguised as a shrug. “Okay. Yeah. That’s good. That’s normal.”
Normal. Right.
I crossed the room and set my notebook and the printed sheets on his desk, stacking them with more care than the paper deserved. My fingers moved like everything was fine, and I wasn’t still aware of his mouth on mine, like my thoughts hadn’t been dragging that moment around by the collar all day.
Jason hesitated behind me. Peanut had hopped down from the bed and was nosing at my shoes again, tail swishing like he had forgiven every human mistake in existence.
“Do you want…water or something?” Jason asked.
“I’m good.”
I took a chair by the desk, then changed my mind immediately. Sitting beside him would be too much. My skin was already too aware of his, as if my body had memorized him in one stupid second and now wanted more data.
He was too shirtless, too free with himself and his movements, and too likely to touch me in passing.
So I stepped back and sat on the edge of his bed instead, turning sideways and propping a pillow behind me. I leaned my elbow into it and rested my cheek against my hand.
Jason moved to the desk and sat. The chair creaked under him. He dragged the first sheet closer, picked up a pencil, and stared at the questions like they were written in an ancient language.
“Okay,” he murmured. “Okay. I can do this.”
“Yes,” I said. “You can.”
He glanced at me, quick and searching, then back down. The pencil hovered over the page.
A few seconds passed.
Then his voice came softer. “You look tired.”
I blinked, surprised by the observation. He had no business noticing me like that. He noticed everyone. That was his whole thing. Easy charm, easy attention, handed out like flyers.
But this didn’t feel like that.
“I didn’t sleep well,” I admitted.
Jason’s brows pulled together. “Because of…Stats?”
I let out a short breath that could have been a laugh if I had the energy. “Sure. Let’s blame Stats.”
His mouth twitched, but he didn’t push. He looked down again, as if he’d heard the warning in my tone and decided not to test it.
A minute later, he asked, “So what’d you do today. Besides not sleeping.”
I stared at the ceiling for half a second, then back at the side of his head. His hair was still damp at the nape, like he’d showered recently. The room smelled like him and clean laundry and something faintly sweet.
“I went to the gym,” I said.
Jason’s pencil stopped.
He turned slowly in his chair, eyebrows raised, eyes bright with surprise. “Gym?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t you mock me, too.”
His mouth opened, and then he looked genuinely offended. “Mock? Why would I mock you?”
I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re surprised I went to the gym.”
Jason leaned back, palms up in surrender. “No. I think it’s cool.” He paused, then added, earnest and a little helpless, “But…you should’ve told me. I could tutor you. Squid pro quo.”
I stared at him.
He stared back, blinking innocently.
“Quid pro quo,” I corrected, because I was physically incapable of letting that go.
Jason bit his lip.
The sight punched something warm and stupid through my chest.
“Oh,” I said, very flat. “You did that on purpose.”
His eyes gleamed with triumph. “Mm, it’s called humor. Remember?”
I huffed a laugh despite myself, then pointed at the paper with my free hand. “Get on with the assignment before I fall asleep.”
“Yes, sir,” he said, and his tone was light, but he still didn’t look away from me for a second too long. Then he turned back to the desk and finally started writing.
The scratch of pencil on paper filled the room, steady and mundane. It should have soothed me. It almost did.
Jason worked slowly, pausing often, erasing, muttering under his breath. Once, he glanced at me and asked, “This is mean. Like, mean mean, right.”
“It’s mean,” I said. “Not cruel. Just mean.”
“Statistics is a bully,” he grumbled.
“It’s a tool,” I corrected automatically.
He made a low sound of suffering but kept going, and for a while, that was all it was.
Paper. Pencil. Peanut circling and settling at my feet like a warm weighted blanket that filled you with joy simply by being around.
The edge of Jason’s concentration, the way his shoulders tightened when he got stuck, the way he exhaled sharply when he got something right.
The kiss stayed in the room with us anyway, uninvited. A third presence neither of us wanted to think about.
I shifted slightly against the pillow, trying to find a position that didn’t make my muscles ache. The gym had been a terrible idea. My body felt like it had been dismantled and reassembled by someone who hated me.
Jason’s voice drifted back to me. “If you’re tired, you can crash for a minute.”
I blinked. “I’m fine.”
“You’re literally falling asleep sitting up,” he said, and there was no teasing in it.
“I’m not,” I lied, even as my eyelids felt heavier.
He didn’t call me on it. He only bent closer to the paper and kept working, pencil moving with more purpose now, as if he was trying to prove something to me without saying a word.
My gaze blurred a little. The room was warm. The bed was soft beneath me. Peanut’s steady breathing anchored me in place. The sound of Jason’s pencil had turned into a metronome.
I told myself I would stay awake. I told myself I needed to watch him, to correct him, to make sure he didn’t decide to “eyeball” an answer and call it a day.
I told myself a lot of things.
My eyes closed for what felt like one second.
When they opened again, the room had shifted slightly. Jason was still at the desk, shoulders hunched, pencil tapping once against the page like he was thinking hard, but his hair was a lot more ruffled.
He glanced back at me and froze.
“You asleep?” he whispered, like he was talking to someone skittish.
I wanted to answer. I wanted to prove I wasn’t.
But my eyelids were already sinking again, and the last thing I saw before the dark took me was Jason turning back to the assignment with a careful sort of determination, as if he’d decided that, for once, he was going to do it right. That and a smile.
Then sleep pulled me under, deep and quiet, with the ghost of his mouth still lingering on mine.