Roommates With Benefits [BL]

Chapter 139: The Tutor and the Trust Fund Kid

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I paused. "...For what?"

Jeremy looked genuinely uncomfortable, not the fake kind, but the real deal, a bit awkward around the edges.

"My friends. Gabriel especially." His expression became apologetic. "They were pretty rude that night. They can be a bit much, especially when they think someone’s moving in on their territory with Damien. It got out of hand, and I’m really sorry if it ruined the vibe for you."

"Is that unusual for them?"

He sighed, like he’d answered this before. "...Unfortunately, no."

That made me laugh before I realized it. "I wasn’t exactly on my best behavior either."

"You were drunk?"

"I was." I said, rubbing the back of my neck as embarrassment crept up my face. "I was already pretty fucking pissed off to begin with . Sorry for adding to the drama. I definitely didn’t help keep things chill."

"You looked like you were genuinely thinking about throwing someone into the pool."

"I seriously considered it. I showed restraint."

"I appreciate the restraint, on behalf of whoever you were considering." He actually laughed, the kind without mockery of rich person to poor person, and the awkwardness between us melted away faster than I expected.

"I’m Jeremy Abernathy," he said properly, extending his hand.

"Oliver Reyes."

"Nice to finally meet you."

"Even considering the circumstances."

"Especially given the circumstances. Gabriel’s had that coming for a while."

He then noticed the stack of books under my arm, and his expression changed to one of recognition. "You’re a psychology major?"

"Third year."

"You lucky bastard." He said it sincerely, like he was watching someone else eat a meal he was denied. "I’m in business, but I have to take a psych elective, and it’s totally wrecking my GPA."

"Which class?"

When he told me the course code, I made a sound that was half recognition, half sympathy. "Oh. That professor teaches it in a way designed to prevent understanding. I feel your pain, man."

Jeremy grabbed my arm. "THANK YOU—!"

He lowered his voice as heads turned our way. "Sorry. But I thought it was just me. I thought I wasn’t getting something obvious and everyone else figured it out."

"It’s not you."

The relief on his face was so immediate it was almost funny. "Okay, okay. That makes me feel way better about my life."

I pulled three books from different shelves and spent the next few minutes explaining which ones were worth reading, which made sense in plain language, and which researchers had the clearest frameworks for the things he was struggling with.

"This one breaks down the practical applications really well," I said, handing him a thick book. "And pair it with these articles, they’ve got good examples that might resonate better than the dry lectures."

Jeremy listened closely, disbelief and stars growing in his eyes.

"You just made more sense in ten minutes than my lecturer has in six weeks," he said when I finished. "How is that even possible?"

I shrugged. "I tutor."

His eyes widened. Then something clicked for him, and he pointed at me like he’d just arrived at a breakthrough. "Wait. You’re that Oliver?"

"That sounds ominous."

"The psychology tutor that everyone in my program keeps recommending?"

"...Possibly."

His hands went over his face, then lowered. "Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to track you down?"

And before I could respond, he took both my hands with the urgency of someone who knows they’re out of options. "Please, tutor me. I’m begging you."

I looked at my hands in his. "...We’ve known each other for about twelve minutes."

"I know. I have no dignity left. Please."

"What happens if you fail this course?"

"My dad makes me intern with his accountants all summer." He said it like he was talking about a genuine threat to his wellbeing. "All summer. In an office. With spreadsheets."

"...Is that really that bad?"

"Oliver." He looked at me seriously. "I can’t spend the summer with spreadsheets. I won’t survive it spiritually."

I laughed so hard I nearly dropped one of the textbooks.

I wanted to say no. I knew I should have said no. Damien had warned me to take it slow, Joey had said to slow down, my dad told me to take a break.

Maya had been telling me with her eyes for weeks when she wasn’t saying it out loud. The consensus among everyone who knew me was that I had a habit of piling so much on until something broke, and that something was usually me.

But Damien was helping with hospital bills now, which meant the money I earned could be used for something other than just survival. It could go toward something intentional. Build into something instead of just staying at a deficit.

Jeremy noticed my hesitation. "I’ll pay double your normal rate."

"That’s not—"

"Triple."

I stared at him. "You negotiate like someone who’s never heard the word no."

"I really haven’t. It’s been a sheltered existence." He looked at me hopefully. "So that’s a yes?"

"Alright, alright," I relented with an amused chuckle. "I’ll tutor you. But we’ll have to work around my schedule."

‎

The celebration that followed was immediate, contained by the library setting to a volume that was probably still too loud, and included Jeremy gripping my hand enthusiastically and apologizing to three different tables.

We exchanged numbers, and he promised to send me all his course materials that night, excitedly typing away. He nearly walked into a bookcase but corrected himself at the last second without breaking stride.

Damien, Maya, Joey and my dad would lose their shit if they found out that instead of relaxing like I said I would, I somehow went ahead and found another job.

I watched him leave with a small smile.

"Huh."

Maybe not everyone in Damien’s social circle or the Elites was cut from the same cloth after all.

They weren’t all douchebags.

My phone buzzed.

Damien😈: Have you eaten?

Then, right after:

Damien😈: And when are you coming home?

I stood in the psychology section of the library, staring at the messages and replying, feeling a warmth spread in my chest before I even realized it, the specific warmth of seeing his name pop up on my screen, which had become something my body recognized and responded to before my mind even caught up.

I gathered my books and headed for the exit.

Jeremy’s tutoring money would be helpful. Practical. It would go somewhere important, savings, emergencies, building a fund I’d been trying to grow for years but which had always drained before it could turn into something.

A smart choice.

Yet, there was something subtle running alongside the practicality of it. A small, unexamined feeling that tagged along with the handshake, the course materials, and the promise of steady tutoring sessions.

Jeremy Abernathy was, against all first impressions, genuinely nice. Funny, even. Not what I had expected from Damien’s friends.