Page 12 of Lessons in Chemistry

“Relax, I’m kidding. Two hundred pounds to tutor me until I have an essay that might pass?”

“Are you serious this time?”

“Yes. I’m rubbish at this stuff, and frankly, I don’t care about it either.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Ask away.”

“If you’re not good at science and don’t care about it, why are you doing a pharmacology degree?”

I look away from him and sigh. “Family politics.”

“I don’t understand.”

I force a smile, but I’m sure it comes across as more of a grimace. “My grandad founded a pharmaceutical company. My dad inherited it from him. As I’m an only child, it’s expected that I’ll take over one day. Hence this degree.” I rub the heel of my hand over my knee.

“What do you want?” Emory asks in a soft voice.

“Not this. But if I don’t graduate, I’ll get cut off. My parents have already taken my car away and halved my allowance.” I suck in a breath. “That makes me sound privileged as fuck. I am privileged as fuck. Look, if I fail this degree, my parents will cut ties with me. No allowance. No inheritance. No nothing.” Knowing Dad, he’ll probably kick me out of the house he bought for me and bill me for every penny he’s spent since I came to university, and Mum will stand by and let him.

“That’s—” Emory shakes his head.

“I passed last year by the skin of my teeth, but only because I took a discovery module and did well.”

“What was your discovery module?”

I scratch my chin. “Food: Origins and Form. It was on the mind and body pathway and was the closest I could get to studying cooking. It would be great if we got to do a discovery module every year.”

“I took another science course.”

I’m not surprised. I lean onto my knees. “I’ll pay you to tutor me through this essay. If I get a half-decent score, I’ll cook for you.”

Emory’s cheeks, which had almost returned to their normal colour, pink up again. He’s adorable when he’s blushing and flustered. “Are you a good cook?”

“An excellent one. You can invite your boyfriend along for dinner too.”

“I told you he’s not—”

“Your boyfriend and that he’s straight. I know. Question. Has he told you he’s straight?”

Emory tilts his head. “Well, no, but he’s never shown any interest in guys.”

“You’ve known each other for a while?”

“Since primary school.”

I can’t help but grin.

“What?”

“Come on, you have to think that’s cute.”

“What?”

“You’ve been best friends since primary school, and you’ve come to university together. I bet you live together too.”

Emory narrows his eyes into a glare.