ROMEO | 18+

5.

"Dunno," he mumbles, lingering his gaze on her thighs as she places one atop the other. "Don't care."

Isla sighs, bending over to untie her shoelaces. "Look, if you're just going to sit there and not make a single effort to help me out, you can ask for another tutor. You're wasting both our times here."

"Feisty," he whispers, blinking before rolling his eyes dramatically. "Fine. Just tell me what to do."

"Have you even opened your textbook?" She gestures to his desk, and he shakes his head. "Attended lectures?" Another silent denial. "Read someone's notes?" He shakes his head again.

"I actually hate this class," he admits, shifting to lie on his back.

"So do I, but here I am." She stands up, making him look at her as she finally kicks her shoes off. "How about you start reading the chapters about international trade?"

He groans. "What chapters are those?"

"One to seven," she replies.

"Fuck my life," he musters. "Are you sure you don't want to hook up? It'll be more fun."

Tempting, but no. Isla exhales loudly before shaking her head. "I'm here to help you have better grades. Nothing else. So get your arse up and start reading before I leave you to your own mess."

Killian sits up, lifting his hands up in surrender. "Fine, fine. I'm on it."

Isla tosses him the textbook. "Can I use a bathroom? I feel a bit dirty with that flour stain on my jumper."

"Sure," Killian nods. "Bathroom is at the end of the corridor—the door on your right. But if you need some girl stuff, Romeo keeps a bag full of them in his personal bathroom."

"His girlfriend's stuff?" Isla can't help but ask, slightly frowning.

"Nah," he trails, waving a dismissive hand in the air. "He doesn't do girlfriends nor doesn't let his hookups stay the night, but he keeps hair ties, makeup wipes, hydrating serum and even tampons and shit in there. 'Just in case' he told me one day."

"Oh." How is she actually supposed to react to this? Shrug it off because she shouldn't be caring? Smile because he is single and available? Oh, wait—Mr. Quinn doesn't do girlfriends, and maybe Isla should have paid more attention to Killian's words when he had put emphasis on that statement.

"Let me know if you need anything," he then says when she doesn't so much as show a flicker of emotion in her eyes. "Or don't. Whatever."

Isla thanks the dark-haired man with a short nod of her head before exiting the room. She wanders in the long corridor, looking at the pictures hanging on the wall—a few shots of Romeo and his team during games, a collage made out of Polaroids in a frame with photos of parties and vacations and friends, a portrait of a younger Romeo she instantly recognises, sat in front of, who she assumes are, his parents.

When Isla enters the bathroom, she is pleasantly surprised by the tidiness of the room. She washes her hands, takes her jumper off, leaving her in jeans and a blouse that might be too thin for the November breeze. Letting her hair out of the disheveled chignon, the locks fall past her shoulders as she places the hair tie on her wrist.