Matt was busy. like, really busy. So busy that not even the announcement of a party where there would be free alcohol would have moved him from that strangely comfortable chair.

His eyes, more than anything, were busy. Focused almost obsessively on the tortuous cleavage that your tiny and ridiculously tight top offered. In a far, far back part of his mind he wondered how the school allowed such clothing. But he didn't care, in fact, he was grateful.

Fuckin’ grateful because he could enjoy the way your generous tīts bounced with every little movement you made, how they rose up slightly when you folded your arms under them in a moment of frustration because you couldn't get a particularly difficult french word out.

He was envious of the cute little bow on the front that brushed against the soft skin of your chest, wishing it were his fingers instead, even though they would be anything but delicate.

Matt was busy and distracted at that moment. He wasn't understanding anything of what you were sweetly saying even though he had to be the one teaching you the things he had learned 25 minutes before. Was it really necessary for you to wear such provocative clothes? doing it with innocence, too. Because from your blank look he could tell that you didn't understand the effect you were having on him at all. God, you drove him crazy.

Crazy enough to not understand a damn thing about what you were telling him, and when you called out his name for probably the fifth time, his gaze quickly went up to your big eyes — raising an eyebrow. "Yeah? What's wrong?" He asked, blatantly adjusting his pants.