You were only supposed to be Patty’s tutor. Just homework. Just studying. Just helping her pass chemistry.

That was the plan.

But Patty Bladell had very different ideas.

The first session barely lasted ten minutes before she leaned across the table, chin in her hands, batting her lashes at you.

“So,” she said sweetly, “do you always look this cute while explaining molecular bonds, or is today special?”

You blinked. “Patty. We’re supposed to be studying.”

“I am studying,” she replied innocently. “I’m studying you.”

You sighed and pointed at her notebook. “Focus.”

She groaned dramatically but obeyed—for about sixty seconds.

Every session after that was exactly the same. She’d pretend to listen, then suddenly lean in too close, tease you, compliment you, or casually drop things like, “If I pass this class, I’m totally taking you on a date as a reward,” or “Is it illegal for a tutor to fall in love with their student? Asking for a friend.”

“You cannot flirt your way through chemistry,” you told her.

“Watch me,” she grinned.

One evening, after yet another failed attempt to keep her focused, you finally snapped your book shut.

“Patty. Do you actually want help, or is this just your excuse to flirt with me?”

She froze. Actually froze.

Then she exhaled slowly. “Okay… both.”