19
Chanel
The key to any successful viral marketing campaign is that you can’t lose momentum.
It doesn’t matter if one of your videos went viral once; if you aren’t quick to follow it up with something else, people will lose interest. They’ll forget why they saved the video in the first place, they’ll move on with their lives, their attention will be stolen by another trendy brand or hot influencer with shiny teeth.
The same goes for Ares. I knew I had his attention when we were kissing the other night. I could tellthat he desired me, if only for that moment. But it has to last beyond the moment, especially with prom happening in just over a week.
So the morning after I come back from Ares’s apartment, I text him:
we still need to decide on a place for math tutoring btw
Half an hour later, he texts back.
We can do it at my place?
A ridiculous, triumphant grin bursts over my face, and I have to take a breath and restrain myself from agreeing too fast. This is exactly what I wanted, what I had hoped for. If Ares and I start hanging out regularly in private at his apartment, I’ll be closer to my target than ever.
yeah ok,I text back, after a reasonable amount of time has passed, then stare at our brief text exchange, my stomach already flipping at the thought of seeing him alone again. I never thought I’d be this giddy over the prospect of math tutoring.
Part of me is almost afraid that it’s too good to be true, that he’ll change his mind and cancel. But he simply sends me his address again and confirms the time. So the following evening, when the light leaks out of the sky and the moon rises over the city, my driver drops me off outside his building.
Before I leave the car, I do a careful evaluation of my reflection using my phone’s front camera. Hair is fluffed: check. Lips are glossy: check. No lipstick on teeth: check. No smudged mascara: check. Skirt is rolled up, shirt collar pulled down: check, check.
He’s already waiting for me down in the foyer. From the moment I walk in, his gaze sweeps over me, taking me in with the kind of quiet, scorching intensity that makes me feel zipped open, makes my blood burn like lighter fluid.
“Hey,” he says. “You ready?”
“Yeah, I’m always ready,” I say, in a voice that sounds like it’s fighting a bit too hard to be casual. Because none of this feels casual at all. Not when he’s leading me inside by the wrist, his thumb brushing over where my pulse point is, and I wonder ifhe can detect how my heartbeat changes, how all the cells in my body reorient themselves to him. It’s only a physical response. A good thing, so I don’t have to fake my attraction to him to carry out my plan.
I don’t even have to think about pretending when he walks me into the living room. I slip my shoes off and lift my head, expectant, waiting for him to kiss me, for his fingers to find the small of my waist and pull me in—
“Where are your books?” he says.
I blink. “Huh?”
“Your math textbooks.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “Why, were you planning on doing something else?”
“No,” I say quickly, ducking my head so he can’t see the flush spreading across my cheeks. I’m usually good at predicting what guys want, and when, but Ares keeps throwing my rhythm off.
“Let’s study over here.” He helps spread a freshly printed worksheet out on his kitchen table, slides into the seat next to me, and jumps into the first question without any preamble. To give him credit, Ares isn’t a bad math tutor. He’s surprisingly patient and to the point, and doesn’t overcomplicate concepts. The one time I’d asked Henry Li to help me with math, he’d introduced three entirely new theories and referenced so many obscure mathematicians that I’d ended up more confused than I was in the beginning.
But with Ares, the random numbers and symbols actually start to make sense. He walks me through every step, and works the questions out with me until we’ve completed half the practice worksheet from our last math class.
“Yes, exactly, like that,” he says approvingly when I solve an equation on my own for the first time, and I feel a surprising rush of pride. “Now, try this one. It’s trickier, but the basic rules are the same.”
I manage to sit through a whole hour of this before I can’t concentrate any longer. All I can focus on is the loud, incessant ticking of the clock in the kitchen, a reminder of the time running out. There’s beenwaytoo much productivity tonight, and not nearly enough physical proximity.
“My neck’s sore,” I grumble, dropping my pen.
Ares casts me a faintly amused look. “You want a break?”
“I think I need one. Like, seriously,” I say. “There’s a huge knot in my muscles.”
“Really?” he says, still with the same amused expression, like he’s humoring me.
“You can feel it.” I grab his arm and, when he doesn’t resist, guide his hand to the base of my neck. “Here.”
