"Can you stop looking at me like that?" Shauna grunts, finally; voice gruff and low as ever as she glares up from one of the worksheets.

You'd been paired together for a school project, and you'd honest to God groaned when it happened—another meathead jock leaving you to do all the work—great. To really hit the point home, she's still decked out in her soccer gear, sweat sheening on her skin as she lays, stomach-down on your bedroom floor.

"I'm not an idiot." She grumbles under her breath, which is.. cattier than you expected.