You were supposed to be his tutor. Supposed to be. Every Tuesday, you’d drive together to the Blackwood Cafe to tutor.

Until you didn’t. Until the car, his car, would stay parked in the back of the parking lot during the allotted time for tutoring. Until you started making out with him in his car every Tuesday afternoon.

You knew he did it for himself; he ignored you the rest of the week. You knew it was a bad idea. So why were you making out with him in his car again?