9.Not Dating

9. Not Dating?

I race around the room, tossing shirts every which way as I search for the perfect one. My clothes have exploded everywhere and are covering the couch. When did it become so hard to dress myself?

I'm supposed to meet Samson for a tutoring session. No reason to look nice. I'm not trying to impress him…

With a sigh, I snatch the first shirt that I see and hastily pull the striped tee over my body. A quick glance in the mirror makes me grimace in dissatisfaction.

I'm not trying to impress the man I'm meeting. But I don't want to look hideous either.

Perry rolls his eyes as he watches me. "Calm down, it’s just a date."

“Not a date!” I insist. “We’re just meeting to study.”

"Then why do you even care what shirt you wear?"

"Um…"

"That's what I thought." He grins obnoxiously when I don’t have a good answer.

I snatch up a white button-down, holding it against my chest as I turn back to the mirror. It'll have to do, I guess. I pull it on, smoothing my hands down the soft fabric. I glance in the mirror and then look away. “You’re right. It doesn’t matter. I look fine.”

I force myself to turn and face my roommate. Behind him, there's a colorful explosion on the coffee table. The shirts thrown everywhere are mine, but the scarves littering the coffee table are his. What's his excuse? I think he's just messy. Maybe one of his scarves would help my outfit look complete?

I reach for a deep blue one, draping it around my neck.

“You look ridiculous,” Perry comments immediately.

“You look ridiculous,” I throw back.

“No, I rock my scarves.”

It’s true and very unfair I can’t do the same.

"I’m glad you guys are on good terms again, but there’s no reason to rush into anything," he says.

"Except tutoring. I need to hurry up and improve my grade."

"It’s not the tutoring I’m worried about. You’re getting really into this, and you melted after the last date."

"Not a date either!" Maybe I don’t sound convincing. I turn from one side to the other as I check myself out in the mirror again. I tug off the scarf and sigh.

"Just be careful," he warns me. His tone stops me short. He looks awkward perched on the armrest of the couch since my clothes are taking up the rest of the space, but he sounds serious.

“Do you think this is a bad idea? Do you hate Samson now?”

“No, of course not.”

“Really?” I arch an eyebrow.

He stares back at me frankly, and I can tell he’s being truthful. “I wasn’t happy with him when it looked like he was playing games with you, but given that you won’t even give me a hint about what his problem was, it must be serious. So I can forgive him, as long as he treats you right.”

“We aren’t together.”

“That might be for the best.”

“I thought you were okay with him. Didn't you just tell me that?”

“I am,” he assures me. “Go for it. But do you have to go for it right now? You have a lot going on with school. Why not wait until things calm down in the summer? Just think about it, okay?”

Perry hands me a light blue fitted shirt. I take what he offers and slip it on, appraising my reflection in the mirror. It's a good fit, the material flattering against my frame.

Maybe I should listen to him. Be smart about this. I tell myself I’ll do just that.

I take a deep breath and turn towards the kitchen, realizing there's something I should do before I go to meet Samson. Even if exiled from the bay where I grew up, there are still ways to check in. I still fear something is off.

My magical basin sits on the kitchen table. Gazing down at the still water, I try to focus my energy. "Show me Calypso Bay."

The surface ripples, but instead of the tranquil cove I expect, I see only my own reflection staring back at me, showing me nothing but my own worried expression.

The dark blue basin is made of clay from the bay with a layer of sand and water from the bay poured into it. Even from a distance, I should be able to observe Calypso Bay, but the little looking glass isn't exactly foolproof. That’s why I had to go see what happened for myself after the landslide.

I'll have to try checking on the bay again later. I need to get going or I'll be late meeting Samson at the library. Thinking about who I'm meeting helps distract me from my worries.

It's just tutoring, nothing more. But there's a spring in my step and a smile on my face as I leave.

~

I regret everything. Everything. I read a question for the fifth time and struggle to find the answer.

“This is impossible,” I complain.

“Keep trying,” my tutor advises.

I read the question a sixth time. Nope. “Nope, not happening. Even multiple choice, I have no idea.”

We’re studying in the library. Samson sits across from me, doing no tutoring whatsoever.

Maybe I should tutor him in being a tutor. Then again, I still have no idea how to help him magically. Our elements are so opposite that they always work to destroy each other when combined.

Samson could be a much better tutor than me. He already understands my textbook better than I do. If he weren’t my tutor, I would find that extremely annoying. He glanced at the material for a few minutes and now he’s written out questions like a pop quiz. I'm only about halfway through.

Taking this practice quiz is hard enough. But he keeps watching me, making it even harder to answer all the questions.

“Are you enjoying my misery? You’re being cruel.”

"You’re being cute," he says back.

"What?" I gape at him.

"What?" He acts innocent but that devilish little smirk gives him away.

Nope, I can’t give in. We need to get back on track. “Samson, you might not realize how serious my situation is.” Ugh, I hate to admit that and have to stare at my book and not him. “I’m seriously about to fail this class and you took one look at the book and now you could teach a class on it. Which is great, actually. Teach me. I need your wisdom.”

“I know what you need.” Since he’s being flirty, I half worry he’s talking about the equipment in his lap. “Confidence.”

"What? What does confidence have to do with anything?"

"Argyle, you’ve clearly spent a lot of time studying this material. You know it better than you think. You just need to stop second guessing yourself.”

No, he can’t be right.

“I watched you fill out the answers, Argyle. You passed."

I glance down at the quiz, the one I’m supposedly passing so far. "Are you sure you weren’t grading me too easily? There’s no way I passed when I can’t understand—"

"Finish the rest. You know the answers, whether you’re aware of that or not."

Now that’s just silly. “Don’t you think I know whether I know something or not?”

Watching him with an annoyed glare, I see him think something over and watch as a smirk blooms on his face. I have enough time to think uh-oh and then he’s leaning over across the table towards me.

Samson reaches over, makes a weird gesture, and puts his hand near my forehead. “Okay, let’s see where you left off.” He jabs a thumb at a question. “Okay, right here. Don’t think, just answer.”

“Samson, what are you doing?”

“Gun to your head. What’s the answer?”

"Gun, what gun?" We’re supposed to be discussing medical law, not firearms.

“Gun. Right here.” He pulls his hand back to show me his fingers are indeed shaped like a gun.

He holds an imaginary gun to my head. I can see amusement in his eyes, but he’s serious enough that he isn't dropping the imaginary weapon. In this tiny study room, his arm easily clears the distance as he leans across the table. He makes a noise and pulls his thumb back as if cocking the gun.

Samson points his finger towards the air and imitates firing into the sky. “Bang, bang.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” I say.

"Wait.” He holsters the 'weapon.' “Have you heard this expression before?”

"Yes, I just don’t see—"

"Then just humor me.” He raises his finger-gun again and puts it back to my temple. “Answer the question."

"Stop playing around."

"Better hurry up,” he sing-songs. “Or I’m gonna pull the trigger."

"Samson," I huff, refusing to play along.

"Argyle."

"Sorin."

"Argyle."

Ugh, fine. "The answer is A.” I think.

"See, you got it." Samson pulls the gun back to himself and shoots it in the air a few times, celebrating.

"Do you think one answer means something?" I ask, exasperated. I refuse to find this cute.

"Okay, try the next one.” He blows on the pistol to cool it after firing. “What's the next answer?"

"Uh, C? No, B.”

“Are you sure?”

For this question, I am fairly sure of the answer. The trouble is that Samson holding his finger out and blowing on it looks fairly erotic and so it's hard to think of anything but that mental image.

“I-I’m sure. B.”

“Okay, good. No gun to your head." He makes a show of holstering his weapon. Dammit, it is a little cute. "Try the rest of the multiple-choice questions."

Since he’s made it clear he’s not going to let this go until I play along, I do my best to fill in the answers. When I show him my answers, he nods, not surprised.

"You understand the material,” he says without a doubt.

"But my grade doesn't reflect that."

"Because it’s not just about the material or your comprehension. Tons of people have test anxiety. You can know all the answers until the moment you’re graded. This being your first time in any human school, I’d be more worried if you weren’t nervous. It must be very scary to jump right into the deep end."

"Is that a water joke?"

"Nope." Now all humor is gone as he stares at me seriously. "This is scary, but you can do it."

“Whatever you say,” I murmur, unable to see that unwavering faith in me anymore. I glance down at my paper.

“You got into college. You deserve to be here, Argyle," he continues. "You aren’t the typical student, so what? Neither am I. I’m supposed to have better control. But I overcame a lot to be here, and I deserve a chance. So do you."

To lighten the mood, I make a joke. "Wow, you really are wise."

"You told me to believe in myself. I trust you, so I’m trying. Can you do the same for me?"

"Yeah,” I say. “I can try."

He does seem to know what he’s talking about. And I’m touched that he believes in me that strongly. He isn’t the kind of person who would bullshit or say something he doesn’t mean, not about this. And if my problem is confidence, then I should try to believe in myself. Believe I can do this.

I try to read the next chapter in my textbook. If I have any questions, I can go over them with my tutor. I can’t even get through a page. This time, my confidence isn’t the problem. Neither is the material.

It’s Samson.

God, how is he so sweet without even trying? How can I study when he’s so unexpectedly sweet?

Sweet and staring at me. I feel his eyes on me. Sure enough, when I look up, he gazes right back at me. He doesn't even look away when he's caught.

"You're still watching me."

"You're still being cute," he says.

"I am not." I glare, which only makes him smile more. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Probably."

"Then why do you keep looking at me?"

Samson keeps staring, looking me right in the eye. "Because you’re cute."

"O-oh."

How did we start talking about this? We really should study. I should really be putting a stop to this and doing something sensible.

“You aren’t just cute,” he declares. “You’re downright adorable.”

“I am not,” I protest while trying to bury my flushing face in the textbook.

“What about sexy?” he tries. “Irresistible?”

“Shut up.” What a great idea. “You should be quiet. We’re in a library, you know.”

“In a private study room in a library,” he corrects.

"Which means we should be studying."

"I'm just going over the facts. You being adorable is a fact.”

He's having so much fun teasing me, his lips curling up in a smirk. But it's not just teasing. He's speaking the truth, his truth, and enjoying how flustered I get by him and his stupid sexy smirk. I shift slightly forward without realizing it, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

“Nope, no, I won’t hear this.” I force myself to pull away and get up. I head to the door, threatening to leave.

“You’re even more adorable when you pout about not being adorable. Another fact.”

I turn around, back to him. There isn't enough space in the small study room. His knees are nearly touching my legs. The longer I stare into his heated gaze, the harder it is to be rational, but I try. “Well, you know what you are?

“What am I?” he wonders quietly.

Interesting, infuriating, sexy. Any of them, all of them. It's not a multiple-choice question, not until adding ‘D, all of the above' because they're all true. How did a simple study session turn into flirting over our textbooks? It seemed so innocent and fun a moment ago and now—now it's more than that.

Now I'm standing over him and he watches me with an easy smile. All I want is to get closer. Suddenly, I'm moving, pulling his face towards mine as I kiss him.

His lips meet mine and I freeze. It’s a little awkward. I'm half standing, half crouched over to reach his lips and not quite sure what to commit to—sitting or standing. If I rise, will he get up with me? If I sit, where will I sit? I can't go and get the chair on the other side of the table without ruining the moment. Speaking of the moment, I should probably do something. Now that our lips are pressed together, I can't let this go to waste.

Samson gets with the program. He stands up, pivoting perfectly to reverse our positions so he's standing where I was, and now I'm sitting on top of the table. Oh, on the table. That’s another seating choice that did not immediately occur to me.

And then all my worries float away, kissed away by him as he licks into my mouth. I let him in, winding my arms around his neck and using a hand to pull him closer.

Kissing him makes me think of water, how a light trickle can turn into a downpour. We go from drip, drip, drip to a torrent so easily, kissing like we're consumed by a flood of passion or lust or something that has me moaning into his mouth and trying to pull him up onto the table with me.

It's so hot and so good. I think Samson really might climb onto the table, and it creaks when he puts more of his weight on the surface.

And then the moment ends. We pull away in order to breathe and to avoid breaking library property. The torrent goes back to a drip, then dries up completely.

What did Perry say about not getting carried away? That maybe this wasn’t the best time to rush into anything. Jumping my tutor in the library is probably the exact opposite of his sensible advice.

“Oh, I didn't mean to do that,” I whisper.

“I'm not complaining.”

“Me either.” We're still so close. I need to get a hold of myself. “But we should probably talk before we do that again. Should we do that again? Or should I back up? We should talk. Right?”

“Probably,” he sighs.

With great effort, I make myself put distance between us and take a step back. “It’s just that school, magic, and relationships can all get pretty complicated on their own. Adding them all together…”

“Did I come on too strong?” he worries. “We were trying to study, I should have taken it more seriously.”

“You were only trying to get me to relax. I’m the one who jumped on you and now I’m lecturing you about thinking things through. Talk about mixed signals.”

“Oh, you mean like shamelessly flirting with a guy and then running away when he finally makes a move?” Like he did at the club. He’s watching me with a soft expression, not looking upset in the slightest. “Those were some pretty mixed signals too.”

“Still, I feel silly. It’s just a kiss. It’s not like we need to put labels on it or anything.”

“Hey, I get it. We should both be focusing on school.”

Exactly. I need to focus on my education and not how Samson’s lips look slick and kiss-bitten; did I bite his lip? I must have. I’d like to do it again.

I shake my head and try to clear it. My first semester of schooling ever might not be the best time to think about dating. And we’re supposed to be tutoring each other. What if things get weird between us again? Our powers are already so opposed, we can’t have anything else getting in the way.

“We’ve been getting closer, but we didn’t really stop to consider whether this is a good idea,” he says. “I'm not even sure I’d be able to handle… handle something like this, without getting carried away and losing control."

Like this? Like a kiss? Surely he doesn’t avoid sex altogether? He continues before I figure anything out.

“Maybe we should cool it on the kissing for a while? Take things slow.”

“Yeah,” I agree. “Slow’s good.”

As a water nymph, diving into the deep end is my specialty. But I'm a fish out of water, trying to start over on land. He's a firebrand student who becomes unstable whenever he gets too emotional. Maybe we shouldn’t get too carried away while we figure out tutoring each other and our studies.

Yeah. I can do that. I think.