“Your professor?”
“My professor.” I collapse onto a stool, which rolls, and I have to catch my balance, making her chuckle. “I like him, Han, and I really fucking shouldn’t. A relationship is the last thing he should be thinking about right now, and hell, I don’t even know if that’s what I want.”
“You do.”
“How do you know?” I cock a brow at her.
“Because I know you.”
She does, but that doesn’t mean I’m interested in a relationship with him. “Spending more time with someone and having more consistent sex with them doesn’t automatically mean a relationship.”
“What the fuck do you think a relationship is, C?”
I laugh and rub a hand over my face. “I don’t even know this guy. Not really. What the fuck is it about him?” But really, I do. I know how he looks when he comes. I know he likes me to spit in his mouth and run my fingers through his hair. He trembles when I brush my thumb against his cheek, and he really likes apples. They’re his favorite fruit. He used school as a way out of a bad situation, and I think he feels like his worth lies in his career. I know he doesn’t have friends, not really, and not because people wouldn’t be his friend, but because he doesn’t know how to accept that. I’ve seen other professors trying to speak with him, especially Henry Wilkins. I know James would do anything for Sadie and Nash. That he’s not keen on sports—at least those with a ball—and writes stories in his head and swims to clear his mind.
I know he craves praise, likes to be slutty, but also likes things orderly and thrives on schedules.
I know him.
“I have to drop his class.”
Hannah sighs, pulls up another stool, and sits beside me. “I can’t pretend to understand the situation you’re in, but I think you need to talk to him. Isn’t communication big in BDSM?”
“It is.” And I shouldn’t need her to remind me.
“I’ve never seen you like this. Talk to him. Figure out the school part. You’re a fixer, babe, not a quitter. So fix it.”
She’s right, but what if fixing it means quitting? Either him or his class, but I don’t know if I have it in me to continue this if I’m going to be risking his career every time I see him…and I want to see a lot more of him than I do.
“I will. Now let’s get to work. I don’t have all day.” I wink, and she leans in, kissing my temple, before we’re buried inside a Mustang together, losing ourselves in the work.
I stay for about four hours. Back at home, I cook dinner,making sure I have enough leftovers for James’s lunch tomorrow, then do some homework before showering and getting into bed with my laptop. I do some more research on what exactly might happen if I drop his class. I have options, but it won’t be until next year. That doesn’t mean it won’t affect my financial aid.
I’m eager to talk to him, so the second nine rolls around, I’m video calling him. James is in bed, wearing a white T-shirt that has water droplets on it from his wet hair.
“Hey. How was your day?” I ask.
“Good. I ate my lunch. It was delicious. Henry caught me after class and asked if I wanted to have dinner with him tonight. He’s often trying to get me to do things with him.”
“Why didn’t you say yes?”
“The kids.”
“Try again.”
“They’re part of the reason.”
“But not the whole reason. You’re allowed to have friends, James. You should have friends. I get it. You try to protect yourself, but you’re denying yourself a real life at the same time.”
“I don’t need you to psychoanalyze me. That’s not what this is,” he snaps.
“I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing. I thought I was being a friend.”
He closes his eyes, and not for the first time, I don’t know what he’s thinking. I wish I could dig around in that brain of his, learn everything I can about him, all the things I’m not sure if he’ll ever tell me, but then, I also don’t want to know them if that’s not what he wants. It should be something we share willingly.
“I’m sorry. I’m just on edge. I’ve been thinking about this morning all day.”
“Me too,” I admit, and then, “It won’t happen again,” in unison with his, “I want more.”
