Page 6 of Lessons in Love

A ghost of a smile passes over her face. And that’s when it clicks. She’s stressed. Like maximum level stressed. And the semester hasn’t even started. “I know it seems like a lot now, but we’ll get through this and you can graduate and go off and do whatever you need to do.”

Something in the way she looks at me makes me not want to leave her here alone. The facade of confidence and capability she held up when I arrived is slowly being chipped away, and what lies beneath draws me in. She sighs, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

“I know, I know. Just twelve weeks of this and then we’re done.”

“Yeah. Just twelve weeks.”

3

CHAPTER THREE

Eden.

“Oh my god. I think you have the cutest tutor ever!”

It’s been less than five minutes since Oliver left and Gemma slid into the seat opposite me, and she can’t stop gushing over him.

“You’re a lesbian in a relationship with a woman who you adore. What do you know about cute men?”

I should have known Gemma would also go to the café where I had organised to meet up with Oliver. And sit there. And watch us. Like a crazy stalker. And now she’s giving me a rundown of the whole conversation from her perspective. Which is just what I needed when I’m still trying to calm down the butterflies in my stomach. I try to ignore her and continue tapping away on my laptop, setting out my study plan for this subject.

“Just the way he looked at you! And a coffee drinker? He’s perfect.”

“You heard what he ordered? Stalker. And we’re in Melbourne. Everyone drinks coffee.”

She’s not wrong. He is cute. But he is not what I need right now.

“I was right next to the counter,” Gemma shrugs, not letting my comment dull her enthusiasm. “Come on, he might be fun!” She sing-songs.

“I need to focus on—”

“On this semester, I know.” Gemma finishes my sentence for me and laughs as the crease between my eyebrows form. “But the semester is only twelve weeks long. He could be a good way to spend your time…”

She’s right. With his hair and gorgeous smile, I could feel myself falling with every word he said. But I can’t—and I won’t—let him come in between me and my grades. This year is one where I need to knuckle down and focus on my work. And myself. Not cute boys with green eyes who gently tease you. Who I’ll be in close contact with for the rest of the semester. Who I’ll be spending almost all my spare time with. I groan and rub my face.

“Oh, come on,” Gemma laughs. “Having a cute boy as your tutor isn’t going to kill you.”

“It might,” I grumble. “Besides, he could already have a girlfriend. And our relationship has to be strictly professional. No funny business. He’s going to make sure I don’t fail, and I— “

“Won’t fall in love with him?” Gemma artfully dodges the pencil that I throw at her. The other café patrons shoot daggers at us as Gemma gasps in mock horror.

“Resorting to violence are we now? You are one cruel lady.” Her phone buzzes before she can continue her assault on me. A photo of Gemma’s girlfriend pops up on the screen and her smile softens. “I’ll meet you back at the rooms, okay?”

Sam and Gemma struggle to find time to talk to each other most days, so I understand completely when she rushes out, grinning from ear to ear. Sam is working as a farmhand in Gemma’s hometown, so their daily routines usually don’t line up well. I wave goodbye, then settle back in with my laptop.

Gemma’s right, of course. She always is. That man was absolutely gorgeous. And must be smart if he’s offering tutoring services. I sigh into my mug. My Honours program seems to be getting closer and closer every single day. I just need to pass this subject.

* * *

I should really be focusing on this lecture, but my eyes keep drifting back to my phone. The screen is still black, just like it was before this lecture started. And ten minutes ago. And five minutes after that. Checking it again, I re-read the last message I sent.

Eden Miller:

Anything I should focus on for the first week?

I’m in my first lecture of the semester, and for the life of me, I can’t concentrate. If Gemma was here she’d give me that knowing look, easily telling exactly what’s on my mind. But she’s not. She’s off focusing on her Fine Arts course – probably moulding a pair of clay boobs or something if we’re going off of what she did last semester, and I’m here listening to the professor drone on and on about chemical reactions. Scribbling down some barely coherent notes, my phone buzzes. My heart jumps into my throat.

Oliver James: