have to ask.” I stop her, my hand grabbing her wrist as she’s started to leave. “Why the hell are you dating that asshole?” Her cheeks turn darker. “That’s an inappropriate question to ask me. I’m your tutor. And your TA,” she stammers. There’s a dangerous thrill zinging up my spine, distracting me from the dwindling crowd around our professor and my actual reason for staying after class. Making Ro blush and stammer might be a new favorite pastime of mine—great for me and my desperate need for distraction; terrible for her and my grades.
