Only her.Always her.
I scrubbed a hand across my jaw, the rasp of stubble grounding me for half a breath before the ache returned, worse than before. The clock ticked again, taunting, reminding me that it was late enough for decency, too late for this kind of obsession. I should’ve stopped. Should’ve let her fade.
Instead, I reached for my phone. My thumb hovered over her contact, the name glowing up at me like a fucking warning sign.
Professional, I told myself. Keep it clean. Keep it controlled.
But my hand didn’t move away. And the truth, dark and heavy, settled somewhere low in my gut. There wasn’t a goddamn thing professional left between us anymore.
Hayden:
I need you to review the keynote transitions and confirm citations for the theory section. Let’s meet at the library this weekend.
I hovered my thumb over the screen after hitting send. Watched the three dost appear. Then vanish. Then return. Her response came a moment later.
Edwina:
Who is this?
A small, crooked smile pulled at my mouth when her first message appeared. She hadn’t saved my number. Of course she hadn’t. That was so fucking her, careful to the point of denial, pretending distance could erase what was already written between us. I didn’t respond right away. I wanted her to sit in it for a while, to feel that small ache of uncertainty in her chest. Maybe she’d recognize the rhythm of my words when I finally replied, the edge of command that always slipped beneath the surface when I spoke to her. Maybe she’d know exactly who it was without asking.
But she didn’t. Another message followed, neatly typed, restrained to hell.
Edwina:
Is this Professor Stone?
I leaned back in my chair, the phone burning against my palm, the glow from the screen cutting through the dark. Her hesitation bled through every word, carefully chosen, restrained, painfully polite. Always so fucking proper. She crafted her messages the same way she built her defenses, tight, measured, pretending I couldn’t already see the fractures beneath the surface, the small tremors betraying the control she tried so hard to keep.
Hayden:
Yes.
One word. Nothing else. Just a clean, hard truth that left no room for escape.
I could picture her then, frowning at the screen, thumb hovering, debating whether to reply. Her pulse probably skipping, breath shallow as she realized she couldn’t quite decide what tone to take with me now. Too formal, and she’d sound defensive. Too casual, and she’d give herself away. Another message buzzed through.
Edwina:
I won’t be on campus this weekend.
My jaw tightened as I reread it, the words sinking into me in a way they shouldn’t have. Where the hell was she going? And who the fuck would be there to watch her when I wasn’t? Before I could even type the question, another message came through.
Edwina:
We’re going on a ski trip. I’ll have the material ready before I leave.
I stared at the text longer than necessary, the words burning behind my eyes. A ski trip. She hadn’t mentioned a goddamnthing in the meeting. Not one word. My grip on the phone turned iron, knuckles stiff. Why the fuck hadn’t she told me?
Not on campus. Not in my reach. Not under my watch.
A jagged pull tore through my chest, raw, possessive, and far too vicious to pass for reason. I shouldn’t have cared where she went. She was a student. An assistant. That was all. That’s what I kept telling myself. But it was bullshit. Every part of me knew it. The problem wasn’t that she was leaving. The problem was that someone else would see her, laugh with her, maybe fucking touch her while I sat here pretending I didn’t want to lose my mind over it.
My thumbs hovered above the screen for a long moment before moving.
Hayden:
That’s unexpected.
