Tutoring Sessions with Ace

Emma’s POV

The first thing I noticed about the Moreland Apartments was the noise. 

Someone’s bass rattled the thin walls on the third floor, and the elevator smelled faintly of pizza and weed.

Welcome to off-campus living, I guess.

Dragging my suitcase down the hall, I kept repeating the one rule they’d drilled into my ears at the leasing office: no fighting with your roommate.

That was it. No curfew, no quiet hours, no dress code. Just no fighting. Which immediately told me I’d probably get stuck with someone impossible.

I was okay with the rule though. My last roommate gave me hell.

She kept stealing my food and acted like I was crazy. Anyways, that’s in the past.

I balanced my boxes on my hip and searched for number 3B. My new home. My fresh start. My—

The door opened before I even reached for the key.

And there he was.

A shirtless man in my apartment. Tattoos are curling over his chest and disappearing down the ridges of his abdomen, like some kind of ad for bad decisions.

His light brown hair was messed up like he’d just rolled out of bed, a cocky curve at the corner of his mouth.

His dark brown eyes that scanned me up and down like he was already bored.

For one very stupid, very embarrassing second, I froze. Because, well, damn. He was hot. The kind of hot you knew was dangerous. The kind you knew came with warning labels.

It was not every time that I stood next to ridiculously gorgeous creatures. Except for the dolphin at the museum a few days ago.

Then he said, “Not today,” and slammed the door in my face.

I stood there, blinking at the wood.

What. The. Hell.

I jiggled the handle. Locked.

Seriously?

I shoved the key into the lock, twisted, and pushed the door open with my shoulder.

“Excuse me. Who the hell do you think you are?” I snapped, hauling my suitcase inside. “But last time I checked, I live here.”

He was halfway across the living room, tugging on a T-shirt like nothing had happened.

“Congratulations,” he said flatly, not even looking at me. “Gold star for you.”

My mouth dropped open. “You just slammed the door in my face!”

Finally, he turned. And God help me, the smirk was worse than the tattoos. “Thought you were one of the stalkers.”

“Stalkers?” I repeated, incredulous.

He shrugged, grabbing a set of keys off the counter. “Girls who don’t know the meaning of no. You’d be surprised how many think breaking into my apartment is a good idea.”

I blinked at him. “So your solution was to slam the door on me, your girlfriend’s roommate?”

He looked confused. “I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“This is my apartment.”

I gasped. What. In. The. Actual. Fuck.

“What do you mean? My roommate should be a girl.”

His face formed that annoying smirk again. “As you can see, I’m all man. You can check to confirm,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at me.

Ewww, yuck. I almost bleched in disgust.

“No thank you. Next time you slap the door in my face I would be stroking something heavy at you.”

That smug grin spread wider. “Are you threatening me?.”

I smiled sweetly. “It’s not a threat,” I paused, staring deep into his eyes. “It’s a promise.”

I could have sworn he shivered before he masked it with an indifferent smile.

“I know your type.”

My brain short-circuited. “The type?”

“Yeah. The kind who pretends she’s not interested, but secretly wants to see me shirtless.” He gestured at himself. “Mission accomplished, by the way.”

Oh, he was insufferable. Absolutely insufferable.

“You’re unbelievable.” I yanked my suitcase toward the hallway. “Stay out of my way.”

“Don’t worry, Professor,” he called after me, amusement dripping from every syllable. “The place is big enough for both of us.”

Professor? What did that even mean?

I slammed my new bedroom door behind me, tossed my suitcase on the bed, and muttered, “No fighting, my ass.”

———

By midnight, the walls were shaking.

I had a presentation the next day, so of course I was curled up at my desk with my laptop, notecards, and highlighters.

And of course my roommate, the human migraine, decided it was the perfect time to blast music.

I shoved my chair back and marched to his door.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

No answer.

I knocked harder. “Hey, you!”

The music got louder.

I knocked again, ready to break the one apartment rule on day one.

Finally, the door cracked open, and Ace leaned against the frame, grinning like he’d been waiting for me.

“Enjoying the concert?” he asked over the thump of the bass.

“Turn it down!” I shouted.

He cupped his ear. “What’s that? You like it louder?”

My jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me right now?”

“Relax, Professor.”

“My name is not professor,” I crossed my hand over my chest. His eyes flickered down to my breast making me painfully aware of my tank top.

“Maybe if you tell me your name I will stop.”

“It’s Emma.”

“Emma,” he repeated, my name sounding so silky on his lips. He tapped his finger to his jaw a few times before continuing. “I think I’m going to stick with Professor.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” To think I thought he had something important to say.

“Relax, this is college. People play music.”

“This is college, people study and I have a presentation tomorrow!”

His eyes flicked to the stack of notecards in my hand. “Of course you do.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Are you always this uptight, or am I just lucky?”

I glared. “I’m not uptight. I’m considerate. Something you clearly know nothing about.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes, like I’d struck a nerve. But then the smirk returned. “I’ll think about it.” And he shut the door in my face. Again.

I stood there, fists clenched, vibrating with rage.

Then I did what any rational adult would do: I stomped through the apartment looking for the circuit breaker.

No luck in the kitchen. Nothing in the hall closet. I even checked behind the washing machine. Nada.

Defeated, I slumped back to my room. Leaned against the wall. And there it was — a faint red at the top of my desk.

I marched straight towards it.

The breaker box was in my room.

Slowly, I climbed onto my desk chair, popped it open, and found the switch labeled “Bedroom 2.” With the most wicked grin, I flipped it off.

Instant silence.

I hopped down, locked my door, and sat back at my desk, heart racing.

For the first time all night, peace.

Until the knocking started.

“Professor!” His voice boomed from the hall. “Is there a power outage in your room?.”

I didn’t reply, I only smirked at my notecards. “Two can play at that game,” I whispered.

“Open the door!”

“Busy studying!”

His laughter echoed through the wall. “Really, Professor.”

And just like that, I knew living here was going to be hell.

And maybe the most fun I ever had.