Instead, he leans over my shoulder, bracing one hand on the floor on the other side of me, trapping me.His chest brushes against my arm.Heat seeps through the thin fabric of my shirt.His breath ghosts my neck, and I freeze, every nerve firing at once.
“Relax,” he murmurs, close enough that his voice slips over my skin.“I’m just looking.”
Bullshit.
His fingers catch the end of my hair where it curls over my shoulder.He twirls it once, casually in a manner that feels dangerous.As if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it.
My pulse kicks hard.Loud and embarrassing.
I suddenly become very aware of the space between us and how it’s not enough.I notice my own breathing, how badly I want to push him away, and how much worse it would feel if he pulled back on his own.
I push myself to keep talking, even though my voice sounds weaker now.“You need to focus.This isn’t a joke.”
His mouth moves closer to my ear.“Neither is this.”
I close my eyes for a moment and hate him for noticing everything.
I open my eyes again, determined to put an end to this.
“Don’t,” I say.
He doesn’t move or pull away.His fingers remain tangled in my hair.
“Don’t what?”
My voice sounds thinner this time.“Touch me.”
“Do you always get this tense?”he asks, fingers still touching my hair.
I lurch forward, tearing free of him so quickly I lose my balance.My cheeks flush, heat spreading across my face.“What is wrong with you?”
“Plenty.”He grins
“I am serious,” I snap.“You don’t get to do that.”
“Do what?”
“That.”I gesture wildly in the space between us, hands shaking despite my best effort to steady them.“Do not invade my space.Play with my hair.Act like this is some kind of game.”
Something in his expression shifts.The grin fades, not completely, but enough.His eyes darken, sharpen.
“You’re the one who came to my house,” he says.
“For school.”
“Sure.”
“I mean it,” I say, firmer now.“This isn’t whatever bullshit you think it is.”
He watches me for a long second without speaking.The room appears smaller.Quieter.Even the hum of the speaker seems to fade, leaving nothing but the sound of my own breathing.
“You’re shaking,” he says finally.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
I press my palms flat against my thighs, trying to stop the tremor.Or at least I try to.“Let’s get back to the assignment.”
