“Then when I send you something don't avoid it just because you're busy,” she tells me sternly.
I clench my fists tightly and huff loudly. She's such a terrible hypocrite. Telling me not to avoid things, like she isn't avoiding what happened between us yesterday.
While she was tutoring me, I was distracted, but now her words are grating on my nerves.
I roll my eyes. “Okay, mom.”
“You're such a child.” She scoffs, narrowing her eyes.
“You're just being dramatic, I can read those notes whenever, what are they, like two pages? I could do that in my sleep—”
“Try ten pages.” She cuts me off.
“Ten pages?! For what?”
What is she writing? A short story? Ten pages!
“It's genetics; it's a lot to study.” She shrugs her shoulders.
“Sounds boring,” I say in an uninterested tone, leaning back on my palms.
Maybe I am trying to provoke her, maybe I want her to be annoyed at how nonchalant I'm being so she can understand what I feel like. Regardless, it's working. Her chest is heaving slightly and she's clenching her jaw tightly.
I'm bothering her.
“This is important, Juliette.” She grits out the words.
“Still sounds boring, Adaline,” I retort, fake yawning, which accidentally brings on a real yawn. This clearly sets her off.
She stands up abruptly, her hands on her hips as she stares down at me. “Why are you being so difficult?!”
Me? I'm the one being difficult? Oh no, she doesn't get to do this, not for a second. I'm glad we got the tutoring out of the way because now, all that's running through my head is confronting her without any interruptions at all.
I stand up, mirroring her actions and now, we're inches away from each other. “I'm the one being difficult?”
“Yes—”
“I'm not the one who's avoiding the fact that we kissed yesterday!” I freeze as the words leave my mouth and clearly, so does she.
It's almost laughable how quickly redness overtakes her cheeks, but I can't laugh, not when my own voice is stuck in my throat.
“What?” she utters breathlessly, her eyes boring deeply into mine.
“Y—you heard me,” I retort, balling my fists up to stop my hands from shaking.
I sound ridiculous, like some girl who is desperate, but I can't control the words leaving my mouth any more than I can control how my body reacts to having Adaline this close.
Chills. Heat. Pure agony.
“I'm supposed to be tutoring you, Juliette, not rehashing our kiss,” she says irritated, running a hand through her jet-black hair.
“So, you do remember it?” I say, scoffing.
“Oh my God!” She groans out loudly. “What is fucking wrong with you?!”
She's seriously asking me that? How can she not tell that she's the problem? Her avoiding me and the fact that I can never tell what she's thinking.
She's so good at this façade that it's become a part of her, like she's some sort of arrogant statue and I hate that I'm trying to crack her. Why do I care?
