My head’s full—Gideon’s steady warmth, Silas’s quiet concern, and Talon’s voice still echoing somewhere in the back of my skull. The way he said,use me. The way I almost did.
I close my eyes and tell myself I’m fine.
Tomorrow, I’ll believe it.
Chapter Ten
TALON
She’s magnetic.
I know that sounds dramatic, but it’s the only word that fits. The kind of person you can’t look away from even when you know you should.
All through class I watch her.
Not obviously—at least, I try not to be obvious, but every time she moves, every time her hand lifts to fix a strand of hair, I’m gone. The blue of her blouse hits the light and makes her skin glow like it remembers last night too. That kiss still burns in my memories. She bit me, shoved me away, and I still can’t think about anything else.
Maybe I should drop this class. Take one of her excuses off the table. She can’t keep sayingyou’re my studentif I’m not.
But then I wouldn’t get to see her every other day. Wouldn’t get to watch her chew the end of her pen when she’s grading or the way her brow furrows when someone gives a dumb answer.
Yeah. No. I’m staying.
Maybe I should tell Brose about her extracurriculars. Let him fire her. Then she wouldn’t be my TA anymore, and she wouldn’t have that excuse to hide behind.
The thought twists something in my chest, half excitement, half guilt. I don’t actually want to ruin her. I just want her to stop pretending she doesn’t want me too.
Brose hands out worksheets and drones on about group behavior and deviance, like he’s the authority on anything that doesn’t fit the mold. I fill mine in half-assed and hand it back at the end. The second he dismisses class, I’m on my feet.
I hang by the door, pretending to scroll on my phone while everyone else files out. She’s still at the front, talking to Brose. He says something. Then his tone shifts—sharp, clipped. My head lifts. His voice rises. I can’t make out the words, but I hear enough of the edge to know he’s chewing her out.
My hands ball into fists before I even think about it.
A minute later, she walks out fast, eyes shiny, lips pressed together like she’s holding everything inside.
“You okay?” I ask.
She stops, shoulders stiff. “Don’t pretend to care.”
“I’m not pretending.”
She looks up at me then, and the sight hits like a gut punch. Her eyes are glassy, one tear sliding free before she can stop it. I reach up and wipe it away with my thumb before I can talk myself out of it. Her skin’s warm, soft, the kind of touch that burns into memory.
“I’m fine,” she mutters.
“You’re not. Let me take you out. Cheer you up.”
She exhales hard. “Talon, no.”
“Come on. Tomorrow’s Friday. Let’s do something fun.”
“Friday’s club night,” she says, folding her arms. “Saturday too. Sunday I have plans. Sorry, no time for dating.”
“So Monday,” I say, grinning.
She gives me this look—half annoyed, half amused. “You’re persistent.”
“I know what I want.”
