I frown.
Ethan: You did, Lila.
Seeing my name like that makes my pulse jump.
Ethan: You walked into my office every day pretending you didn’t know what you were doing.
My cheeks burn.
Me: What I was doing?
Ethan: You didn’t have to do anything. It’s who you are, and the energy you attract.
I swallow hard.
Ethan: You distract me.
The phone’s shaking in my hands as I think of some smart replies and come up with none. They’ll probably come to me in the shower tomorrow.
Me: I don’t distract you.
The response takes longer this time.
Ethan: You do.
I exhale shakily.
Me: That’s not fair.
Ethan: Fair has nothing to do with it.
I stare at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning.
He’s crossing a line, but I’m letting him.
Me: If someone saw these messages?—
Ethan: They won’t.
That certainty sends a shiver through me.
Me: You don’t know that.
Ethan: I know exactly who has access to my phone.
The possessive edge in that statement makes something dark and reckless unfurl in my chest.
Me: What if I told you to stop?
The dots appear.
Pause.
Ethan: I’d stop.
My heart thumps harder.
Ethan: But you won’t.
