I hear myself say, “Sometimes the most deviant behavior happens inside the most acceptable units,” and have to swallow hard before the word deviant comes out sounding like a confession.
I shouldn’t have done it.
Every part of me that knows about power dynamics and institutional ethics is screaming. I know the rules. I assist in teaching concepts that live on the same block as those rules. I understand the imbalance built into this situation. I know exactly how bad it would look if someone walked past that closet at the wrong time or if he decided to talk.
At the same time, there is this selfish, stubborn piece of me that keeps replaying his eyes when he realized I wasn’t pushing him away.
He’s been chasing me since Velvet. From the moment I spread my legs for him and let him watch me fall apart. And figured out I wasn’t the version of myself I hand to my family in pressed blouses and polite laughter. He’s been pushing, testing, poking, seeing where the cracks are.
I have been telling him no.
No in the classroom. No in the hallway. No at brunch.
Then I let him corner me, and I made it a yes.
I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
Brose gives the class an activity so I can sit for a minute. I lower myself into the chair behind my desk and take a long sip of lukewarm coffee. My hands are steadier now, but my chest feels tight.
On one side, I have Gideon and Silas. Two men who know exactly what they’re doing with me. Two men who respect boundaries and take consent seriously and ask before they push. We negotiate. We plan. We fix things when they go sideways.
On the other side, I have Talon. Young and reckless and too fucking observant for his own good. He doesn’t have the samevocabulary for what is happening between us. He’s operating on instinct and attraction. I’m supposed to be the adult in that equation.
I glance up.
He’s looking at me, jaw clenched, a shadow of something dark in his eyes.
I look away first.
My fingers tighten around the marker until the plastic creaks.
I tell myself this ends here. No more closets. No more slipping. No more feeding something that cannot exist out in the open without burning us both.
I also know I’m a liar, because when class ends, and he saunters past the desk, close enough that his arm almost brushes mine, my pulse jumps.
“Good lecture,” he says, voice low.
“Thank you,” I answer, keeping my eyes on the papers in front of me.
He lets the silence stretch just long enough to make me feel it, then walks out of the room, leaving the faint smell of cologne and engine grease behind.
I sit there for a long minute after everyone is gone, the marker still in my hand, the board full of tidy notes that don’t match the chaos in my head.
I have two men to introduce this weekend. Two threads to braid together without tangling them. Two lives to manage.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I managed to hand a third man a piece of power over me he should’ve never been given.
I slide my notes into my bag and tell myself I can handle it.
I’m starting to suspect I might be very wrong.
Chapter Nineteen
PENELOPE
My dad’shouse looks like it got swallowed by a wedding Pinterest board and spat back out on steroids.
I pull into the drive and just… blink. There are white lanterns on hooks, floral arches draped over the entryway, and the outside looks like this is a royal coronation instead of a last-minute engagement party. Whoever Abi hired had no time to plan and still managed to conjure Martha Stewart’s fever dream.
