She swallows hard. “You don’t know what you’re playing with, Talon.”
“Sure I do,” I say. “I’m playing with fire. And you like fire, don’t you?”
Her jaw clenches, but she doesn’t answer. She just steps back like she’s trying to put distance between herself and the mess she’s suddenly realized we are.
“Go home,” she says, voice trembling just enough to make me grin wider. “And don’t follow me.”
“Didn’t plan to,” I lie, standing upright. “But you’ll think about me, anyway.”
She huffs, shaking her head, then turns and leaves, heels sharp against the tile. She makes it to the door before she turns around, and I half think she’s gonna change her mind.
“You want to be treated like a man?” she says. “Act like one. Start by respecting my no.”
It hits like a punch, but I don’t flinch. If anything, I enjoy it—the way her hands tremble just slightly, the way she wants to sound in control.
“Yes, ma’am,” I say, and the corner of my mouth tilts up. No mockery, just heat.
Her lips twitch like she’s not sure whether to be angry or relieved. Then she storms out the door, spine stiff but steps too quick to hide the shake in them.
I stand there in the empty classroom, blood pumping, chest tight.
I could write her off. Pretend she’s just another TA who thinks she can out-lecture her own secrets.
But that’s the thing—she isn’t.
And that’s the problem.
She’s the one with a life built on contradictions, and I’m the one who’s seen through them. I know what hides under that perfect skin and those polished words, and she knows I know.
The thought doesn’t cool me off; it sharpens me.
I grab my bag, run a hand through my hair, and catch my reflection in the dark window.
“Respect her no,” I mutter, mostly to keep myself from smiling too wide.
I mean it, technically. But respecting her no doesn’t mean forgetting what I’ve seen. It doesn’t mean I stop reminding her that I exist in the same shadow she’s trying to hide.
She can pretend this is over. I won’t.
Let her walk the halls with that mask, heart racing every time she catches me watching.
She’ll know I’m still there—close enough to ruin her calm, close enough to make her remember every word she wished she’d never said.
I flick off the lights and step into the hall, my pulse finally steady, my grin returning.
I’m not done with Penelope.
Not even close.
Chapter Fifteen
PENELOPE
Redand blue light flickers over the walls, sirens whining from the TV while Buckley and Díaz sprint across another disaster. The couch’s got my shape carved into it after a day of grading and pretending I’m a functioning adult. I’m half-watching, half-melting.
I watch them trade lines and sideways glances. Too handsome. Too easy. The kind of men who ruin you by accident. I slide lower into the couch, eyes half closed, and let the picture shift—Buckley’s hands steady at my waist, Díaz’s breath hot against my neck, the world blurring at the edges.
The buzz on the coffee table snaps me out of my daydream. Gideon’s name glows on the screen, and I’m already smiling when I pick up.
