Page 34

No. No. No.

I kick him under the table.

His gaze lingers, unhelpfully amused.

Emily squares her shoulders the best she can in her current state of inebriation, clearly preparing to elaborate.

I am going to throw myself into the sea.

“Well, she’s always been a little into⁠—”

“Nope!” I slap a hand over her mouth.

“It’s fine to have kinks, dear,” Evelyn, of all people, says. “Nothing to be ashamed of. You know they say they’re hereditary.”

Baryn no longer looks like he’s having the time of his life.

In fact, he looks like he might throw up.

“I don’t!” I snap.

I totally do. And the thought of Theo Grayson ever finding out what they are makes me want to die on the spot. It doesn’t matter that I’ve shared more with him than either of us would ever admit out loud. I mean, technically, we once treaded dangerously close to something physical, but it’s not like you blurt out, “Hey, I’m into bondage, among other kinky things,” in the middle of a casual conversation. Especially when he has no idea that whatever we were—casual friends, or something I mistook for it—ever meant anything more to me.

After all is said and done, he’s still my colleague, and he’ll still be my colleague when all of this is over.

Emily pries my hand off and wipes at her mouth. “Let me speak my truth.”

“No.”

She ignores me.

“SHELIKESBEINGTIEDUP,” she rushes out before I can stop her again.

The look on Theo’s face is… something. I can tell he’s trying to not act too surprised, because that might raise suspicions.

Emily squints at him, then reaches across me to point a finger directly at his chest. “And I don’t mean tied up in some cute way. I mean wrists bruised from the rope kind of tied up. Knots you need a safety plan for. Maybe even a full suspension rig. Pulley system. The works.”

I slump in my seat and cover my face. “Please, please, please stop talking.”

Emily is, unfortunately, undeterred. “She once told me she’d marry a man on the spot if he could twist her into a pretzel properly.”

I am going to die right here.

“A… sexy fucking pretzel, to be exact.”

This is my death.

Theo looks like he’s processing.

Like he’s trying very hard not to picture it.

Like he definitely just pictured it.

I want to light myself on fire. Somebody hand me the gasoline.

He clears his throat and pours a glass of water, then pushes it toward Emily. “Drink. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

No one says anything for a beat too long, then Evelyn claps her hands together and says, “Tell me, Theo, was teaching something you’ve always been interested in or did you just wake up one day and decide arguing with twenty-year-olds about their midterm grades was less exhausting than arguing in a courtroom?”