115. A Moron

Jacob strode confidently towards Tiffany’s desk, his trademark smirk growing wider with each step. He could feel the eyes of their classmates on him, but he only had eyes for her. As he approached, he noticed the slight tension in her shoulders, the way she pointedly avoided looking at him. “This seat taken?” he asked playfully, sliding into the desk directly behind her. Tiffany’s sigh was audible. “You always sit here,” she muttered. Jacob leaned forward, close enough to catch the faint scent of her strawberry shampoo. His fingers itched to reach out and touch her silky hair. Unable to resist, he gently tugged on a strand, watching it spring back into place. “You know,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “I think I might actually learn something in class today now that I’ve got such a great view.” He saw the tips of Tiffany’s ears turn pink, and he grinned, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Jacob twirled another lock of her hair around his finger, marveling at its softness. “Stop that