“Thanks.” My cheeks heat at her praise.
“See you next week.”
“Yep, see you.”
I take my time packing up, waiting for the room to empty before approaching Ethan. His eyes glance from me to the open door.
“That was intense,” I admit, biting my bottom lip.
“You seemed enraptured with your work,” he says.
“I guess I had some life experience to base my writing on.”
“Do I get to read it?”
I shake my head. “No chance.”
He hums, the sound sending a shiver of pleasure through me.
I cast a glance over my shoulder, checking we’re alone before lowering my voice.
“When can I see you again?”
“We shouldn’t talk about this here, and I’m going to deactivate my Euphoria account. I’m grateful to have met you there, but it’s not my scene.” He tears a scrap of paperfrom my notebook and scribbles his number on it before handing it to me. “Be good, little devil.”
My stomach swoops at his nickname, and I slide the piece of paper into my pocket. He smiles as he watches me leave the room, and I feel like I’m floating on air.
Chapter 24
Ethan
The next month flies by in a whirlwind of secret rendezvous at my place three to four nights a week—strictly no sleepovers—and some serious make-out sessions in my office, though we don’t take things any further on campus. We both know we’re flirting with danger, especially with Andy back at work and sniffing around.
We’re keeping things fun and casual, but the more time I spend with her, the harder it is to remember it can’t last. Leni’s so multi-faceted, and she sees the world with a clarity I didn’t expect from someone her age.
Her age.
I have to keep reminding myself she’s only twenty-two.
There have been so many nights we’ve laid in my bed wrapped around each other, discussing classic literature or poetry, or she’ll challenge a historical interpretation I’ve taught for years, offering me a different insight into topics I never would have considered. She’s a deep thinker, and absorbs everything, processing it with quiet intelligence and critical thinking.
The best part about her? She listens. Not in the polite nod and smile way people do when they’re waiting for their turn to speak. She really listens, and once she’s taken it all in and processed it, she’ll ask the thought-provoking questions.
She’s read everything, and not just read, but internalised, and she’ll talk about love or loneliness or art with an aching depth, like she’s lived ten lives already and she’s just humouring the rest of us while we catch up.
I love listening to her talk. She keeps me on my toes, and I never know what she’ll say next. She challenges me, making me want to think deeper and understand more.
The Leni who casually quotes Rilke or Virginia Woolf, or some 19th-century poet I’ve never even heard of, is in complete contrast to the effervescent Leni who’s loud in a way that’s charming and full of big laughs and drama—the Leni who will draw everyone in when she’s up on that stage delivering captivating monologues and shining like the star she deserves to be.
“I was thinking about us today,” she says, popping a strawberry into her mouth. Her head rests in my lap as we lounge on the couch. She’s reading a book of poetry, while I mark some assignments.
I hum in response; my thoughts consumed with leaning in and tasting the sweetness from her lips.
She smiles like she knows what I’m thinking but continues talking. “I was reading Woolf’s collected essays, and there was this line…Arrange whatever pieces come your way.It made me think we don’t wait for our lives to be perfect, we shape it ourselves with whatever opportunities come our way.”
“That reminds you of us?”
She nods, the movement brushing against my cock as he stirs to life. “It made me think about how none of this was planned, but we’re making the most of the time we have.”
