Living With The Player

**CAMILLA RENÉE**Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

SATURDAY.

Flipping the straps of my dress up my hand and over my shoulders, I continuously reminded myself how easy this should be.

It’s the same as a teacher’s job.

The student which in this case is Dylan Emerton, that student seats far away and listens as the teacher, me, speaks to him.

I make sure he understands and afterwards, we can both put an end to the tortue and call it a day. Easy as that.

“With Dylan Emerton, you and I both know that’s a joke.”

My mind wouldn’t even buldge no matter how many times I grit my teeth or curl my fingers, even if they turn white before the end of today, somehow we both know Dylan makes everything more stressful than need be.

I purposely skipped breakfast with the “family” which was weird even to me. I’ve wished for my parents presence for days, they return and I avoid them.

The talk. That’s what I’m calling it now. The one I’ve agreed to for almost a week yet neither of us have found time for it. Oh well.

My cell chimed over the desk while my head was buried in a book likewise my stomach rumbled from the lack of food in over twelve hours. Just lots and lots of alcohol.

Skimming through some other notifications from Snapchat, Instagram, and a bunch of other apps, I opened my inbox which had more than one unread messages.

The most recent was from Dylan.

I cringed my nose wishing I had left it unseen as in on the table. The first like was visible. It was the tutoring.

“You chickened out didn’t you?”

That’s what it read specifically. The three dots afterwards were clues that the message contained more.

I had two more texts. Kyle and the unknown number which I deduced as Miranda.

Shrugging at the former, my ex boyfriend and cheater, I picked Miranda instead who didn’t cheat.

“I just wanted to check in. I wasn’t sure what happened last night. If you made it home safe. I’m sorry about everything that happen. I really hope you give me a call or at least respond to my texts.”

The usual cry emoji was attached in several places mostly after each line.

I relaxed on my pillow, arching my back further into the bed. My tongue clicked against my upper lips while responding to her text and saving the contact.

“I’m fine. Hungover before. Tired now. Exhausted later. But fine.”

I attached a smiley face and moved out of her conversation.

Maybe just see what the idiot wants. “Camilla, I know you’re angry.”

As you should. I mumbled incoherently.

“I know you’re angry, but I am worried. Highly worried. Please just…”

That was it. Then a sad emoji after the dotted lines.

Fuck you.

He wasn’t in the room, but…

“Fuck you.”

I groaned deeply.

“I thought you would never ask.”

“Oh shit!”

I cursed, lifting my head and tucking my cell away.

“Dylan?”

I question, hovering my hand over my chest.

He had a smile ongoing, spread over everywhere. His grin was suspicious.

“What did you say?”

“You said fuck you. I said I thought you would never ask. It’s not easy holding on for weeks. Well done.”

His brows shot up as did his ego.

“I wasn’t referring to you and the only time we are going to fuck as you so disgustingly put it is in your dreams.”

“Tch. You’d think that.”

He tilted his head gazing at the corner of my bed.

“What are you going in my room? Plus why do you never knock?”

“It’s my house Camilla.”

“It’s my room.”

I retorted balling both hands beside my feet.

“Still my house.”

“Shut up!”

“Am I getting on your nerves?”

He lowered his brows

“You are. I want you out.”

“You already said you would tutor me and Bianca I think is very sexy. We would have been doing other things than learning about the state capitol, but I turned her down for you. So you’re tutoring me.”

He folded his arms while I cringed during half of his talk

“You are disgusting.”

I spat out, pulling my covers.

“Go visit Bianca. I have no interest in tutoring you. Not anymore.”

“You had no interests in doing it after yesterday. That’s why you hid yourself in here. You don’t want to see me. In fact you’re wishing I’d leave and it’s not because I’m annoying or you don’t want to see me, it’s because you’re scared.”

He left the doorway, taking a step inside, shutting the door behind him.

I leaned further into the bed, my eyes turning darker while watching him lock my door and being mute about it.

“Why are you scared? It’s the question I’m asking myself.”

“You just locked me inside my room. That should be your answer.”

I stuttered.

“Should it?”

“Y-Yes.”

I cleared my throat, pulling my legs closer to myself.

“I don’t think that Camilla. I think you’re scared of something else.”

A tiny scoff escaped the side of his lips, his head remained tilted.

“I am not scared of anything.”

“Not even if I crawl into your bed, back you up against the wall, I’ve been calculating if my hands would fit and they would. If I do that, I’ll kiss you. Hard. You aren’t scared of that Camilla?”

A lump formed quickly in my throat, I swallowed hard.

“Yes I’m scared and I’ll walk away. No I’m not scared and I’ll kiss you. Choice is yours.”

My head began spinning. He had that grin up again. The one were he smiles like he owns the fucking world. Like he owns me which is something I will not have.

Straightening my back, I kept my chin up and exhaled.

“My books are over that table. Since you’re here, let’s get started we don’t have all day.”

My response caught him by surprise, his demeanor shaped into just that.

Surprise. That bad boy aura, talks of kisses, hard kisses, they usually have all the girl squirming and soon after begging for him to touch them. It didn’t work on me. It doesn’t work on me.

“Do you still need me to tutor you?”

I asked feigning boldness. I was bold. Just not this much.

“Sure. I need you.”

The words rolled off his tongue like nothing, but for me they sent a few shivers.

I scoffed, taking the blanket off my legs, plopping my weight over the bed to keep the phone and book I was reading.

He went ahead to pull the table and chair towards my bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t you want to stay comfortable while tutoring?”

He cocked his head, blinking his lids at me.

“Don’t play funny.”

I warned.

“I’m not.”

“Don’t smirk at me. Don’t smile. Don’t grin. Just seat there and listen while I teach.”

“Got it.”

He shook his head more than once. I checked for any signs of mockery, but his face was neutral thus far.

“Good.”

I responded, seating at the edge of the bed.

I missed my left leg which was twisted to seat on the bed, in that manner I fell through, nearly colliding with the floor, with my head of course.

Noticing this, Dylan pulled his chair backwards, lept forward and grabbed my shoulders with his hands.

It was close, my hair fell through, covering half of my face, the tip grazing the floor just a little.

“You’re clumsy. You see me as the bad guy yet I just saved you from a very bad headache.”

“Thank you.”

I replied sarcastically.

“You don’t seem very thankfully Camilla.”

He taunted

“Let me up.”

I wasn’t well balanced, plus he was gripping my shoulders too tightly.

“Say thank you and mean it.”

He answered.

“Thank you.”

“Mean it Camilla.”

He replied as though this were some sing game.

“I already said thank you. What do you want me to do?”

“Mean. It.”

He emphasized.

“Thank you Dylan for not letting me fall.”

I gritted my teeth harshly.

“Great.”

Swiftly, he pulled me up while I adjusted my legs to prevent myself from falling again.

“What are we doing?”

“Literature.”

“You have problems with literature? Who had problems with literature? It’s like the easiest course to pass?”

He smirked.

I glared quickly.

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

I folded my arms while he got the books out, my literature notes then began flipping the page.

“What’s this?”

He asked, I cocked my head, dropping my gaze to the note. My eyes widened with realisation.

“It’s nothing. Give it.”

I leaned forward trying to swipe it, he withdrew his hands quickly, a daring smirk playing across his lips.

“You wrote a poem about Kyle. That’s what this looks like.”

I bit my tongue to prevent myself from speaking out. It wasn’t about Kyle. Sadly.

“Yes. Now give it.”

My tone dropped. I didn’t like being reminded of things. Things about my best.

Slowly, he handed the note over, I took it from his grip setting it on the bed.

“We’ll use the textbooks then.”

He offered. I kept my hands crossed afterwards, tucking my hair from covering any part of my face.

****