“Stats.”
“What?”
“It’s called Stasticsssss,” he says, hissing the “s” for further emphasis. “Not Statistic.” His gaze stays fixated on that stupid phone.
“Have you taken Statsssss,” I hiss back.
“Yes, it’s an under level requirement for business majors at Princeton,” he says sharply. “Obviously Penn has different standards.”
Being insulted by my tutor isn’t a new thing for me, but I’m not takinghisjabs easily. Maybe because he seems more interested in pictures of rich kids showing off their Ferraris and guzzling liquor.
“You know, Rose claimed that you’re some kind of hot-shot tutor on campus—that you even have a waiting list,” I snap.
“I am. And I do.”
“People actually pay you to ignore them?” I shut my book. I’ve known Sebastian since I was ten, but I spent more time at the Hale residence than my own, soknowis really up for debate. He has always been into appearances, especiallyclothes (which as a fashion designer, Rose values in a friend), and his ostentatiousness is nothing new.
But I didn’t know he was such a raging dick.
He’s actuallylookingat me this time. “They pay me for other things.”
Likesexualthings? I frown. No, that can’t be right.
Can it?
He sees my brows scrunch in confusion.
“I do have a waiting list,” he says, “but not for tutoring.”
That clarifies nothing. A naked Sebastian pops in my head, getting propositioned for sex like a gigolo. I withhold the urge to ask if he’s a hooker. Although it’s there, threatening to be blurted out.
“Then…what?” I mumble. Wow, that took a lot of self-control.
His leg drops from his knee and he leans forward to grab his leather briefcase. What if he sells sex toys? Okay, doubtful, but he would jump up ten points in likability for me.
He pulls something heavy out and sets it on my textbook before zipping his briefcase closed.
These aren’t dildos or vibrators or Ben Wa balls.
It’s paper. Stacks of stapledpaperwith red markings along the margin.
They’re old exams.
This is one of those moments where someone hands you a joint and you have to make a choice to either pass it on or take a puff.
“Isn’t this cheating?” I ask, not touching the papers on my lap. Fingering one may just corrupt me.
Sebastian slides a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and slaps the carton on his palm. “Don’t scribble the answers on your hand,” he says. “Memorize them. That can’t be too difficult for you, can it?”
He twirls a cigarette between two fingers.
“Rose won’t like it if you smoke in here.”
Sebastian arches that one brow again and gives me a look likeI know Rose better than you. He lights the cigarette.
Fine. Rose will do a better job reprimanding him anyway. I flip through the old exams, most of them marked up with A’s. “What if the questions are different?”
“You have Dr. Harris,” Sebastian says. “He always recycles questions from tests. Just be sure to memorize all of them.”
