I decide to throw caution to the wind and have a little fun. If it gets me what I want, then even better. I type out anther message.
@daring_devil: Are you deliberately trying to get me worked up, sir?
I bite my lip to suppress my smile when he stumbles over his words, forcing his eyes to remain on his notes. Herubs the back of his neck as he reads aloud from a poem about the undoing of personal boundaries.
@daring_devil: I’m really interested in exploring some personal boundaries with you.
@daring_devil: Do you think you could give me some extra tutoring after this lecture?
Chapter 22
Ethan
My eyes snap up from my watch to bounce around the lecture theatre, trying to ascertain whether anyone knows what’s going on right under their noses. It was hard enough agreeing to help Andy out for another week—he called me from hospital over the weekend claiming glandular fever is no joke—but now…
When he sent me his lecture notes, I almost backed out, knowing there’d be no way in hell I could stand at the front of the lecture theatre talking about romance in literature while she was in the room. But in the end, that’s exactly why I ended up here. My masochistic craving to see her.
Leni.
My little devil.
@daring_devil: What if I told you I’m not wearing any underwear?
Fuck.
I rush through the rest of the lecture, my cock straininguncomfortably against the confines of my sweatpants. As the students trickle out of the theatre, I don’t miss that she remains in her seat, packing away her things.
Slipping my phone out of my pocket, I click on the app and type out a message of my own.
@watch_me_watch_you: My office. Five minutes.
I glance down at my rather alarming problem before sending another one.
@watch_me_watch_you: Make it ten.
When I risk a glance in her direction, hoping her friend hasn’t noticed anything, my heart skips a beat when I see her smile. She’s so goddamn beautiful.
After watching her leave the lecture theatre with her friend, I push aside all the reasons why this is a bad idea and try to focus on thinking unsexy thoughts as I pack my laptop into my bag. It proves extremely difficult when all I can think about is finding out if her last message is true or not.
My phone vibrates with a new message, and I groan, terrified of what she might have sent me now, when I’m seconds away from blowing in my pants like a pre-pubescent teenager, but when I finally check my screen, it’s not a DM from the Euphoria app, but a text message from my ex-wife. Automatic mood-killer.
Vanessa: Wanted to let you know before you heard it from anyone else. Henrique asked me to move to Brazil with him. We’re leaving after Dylan’s graduation.
I wait for something to hit. The twist in my gut. The old, familiar flood of anger or regret or whatever I used to carry around like a second skin. But it never comes.
There’s nothing.
No bitterness. No sadness. Nothing.
Instead, I slide my phone back into my pocket and exit the lecture theatre, heading towards my office.
I know what I’m about to do is risky.
No, not risky. It’s downright dangerous.
Inviting Leni into my office after everything that’s already happened between us is a lawsuit waiting to happen. But I can’t bring myself to care.
I know I’m leaving, and I shouldn’t lead her on when nothing can come of this, but she makes me feel alive in a way I thought I’d never feel before, and maybe it’s just that she’s feeding into that narcissistic side of me that needs to be needed, but damn, I can’t stay away when she’s sending me messages like that.
