Respect.
Desire.
And most importantly—their trust.
We pull up in front of a modern duplex tucked neatly into the block, clean lines, soft lighting, the kind of place that feels intentional. It fits her. Thoughtful. Quietly confident.
She reaches for the door handle.
I clear my throat. “I dare you to touch that door handle when there’s a man sitting right here who can open it for you.”
Her hand freezes midair as she turns to look at me. Stunned into silence—lips parting slightly before she catches herself. Slowly, she brings her hands back to her lap. I chuckle under my breath and step out of the car, rounding it to open her door.
She climbs out while shaking her head. “Thank you. Really. But you don’t have to walk me to the door like it’s the end of a date.”
I shut the door and fall into step beside her anyway.
She stops, glancing over. “I said you don’t?—”
“What if I want it to be,” I ask calmly.
She frowns, face scrunching in confusion. “Want it to be what.”
“The end of a date.”
I don’t smile. I don’t soften it. I let the words sit exactly as they are.
She doesn’t respond. Just unlocks the door and looks back at me. “Do you want to come in.”
I study her for a moment. “Only if you’re sure. After tonight, the last thing I want is for you to feel uncomfortable.”
She nods once, decisive. “I’m sure.”
She pushes the door open and steps inside, leading the way.
The place smells like peaches and papaya, warm and inviting. The space is modern but unmistakably feminine, clean lines softened by texture and color. I take it in quietly, cataloging details the way I always do when I’m trying to understand someone.
She turns and catches me looking around. “You work tomorrow.”
“No,” I say. “I don’t teach on Fridays. I usually enter grades and lounge around pretending I’m productive.”
She smiles. “You want something to drink.”
“Water,” I reply. “I want to stay clearheaded.”
Something about that earns me a look.
“I’m going to change and get comfortable,” she says. “I’ll grab your water.”
She disappears down the hall. I stay exactly where I am, hands in my pockets, reminding myself to breathe.
When she comes back, my brain stalls.
She’s wearing a cut off tank that shows a toned stretch of her midsection and a pair of tiny gym shorts that look like they were designed to test a person’s discipline. My body reacts before my mind can catch up, heat pooling low, attention snapping sharp and undeniable.
I tell myself to look away.
I don’t.
