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They’re not real.
Was Sam an ink-person? I’d suspected it; that was one of the reasons I ghosted him after Sunday. But this, here, in my classroom with him coming to my rescue…
It felt real.
His hand was in mine; he was a solid man, saving me from my demons.
And wasn’t that enough? Wasn’t that all I really wanted?
His fingers tickled my ear as he tucked a lock of hair behind it. “I hate to burst your bubble, but we’ve gotta stay on the ball here. Let’s bounce.”
Dick.I frowned as he tugged my hand.
Sam looked left, then right down the hallway confidently; like he’d have no problem beating the shit out of Grayson if he dared wander into his sights.
“Empty.”
“What?” I’d been preoccupied with tracing the veins on his thick arms.
“Coast is clear.”
We set off down the narrow hallway lined with lockers. Our footsteps echoed on the tile, chopping through the suffocating anticipation. The door was only a few feet away, shimmering with the brightness of late-afternoon freedom…
“Grace?”
I whipped around and my boss was standing there, looking very formidable and official and boss-like in his charcoal-gray suit.
He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which landed on my hand in Sam’s.
“Dr. Farris—! I was just heading out for the day—”
“We’re on a first-name basis now, wouldn’t you agree?” he said with a tight professional smile.
But the reminder was there in spaces between his words, in everything he didn’t say:
You kissed me.
I didn’t report it.
I could fire you if I felt like it.
I needed to play along.
Holding Sam’s hand made it easier.
“Right. Sawyer,” I corrected myself.
Was it my imagination, or did his eyes light up when he heard me say his name?
Sam must have seen, because he gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.
He’d made the connection. He knew this was my boss—the one I’d kissed.
Sawyer began to prattle on about administrative logistics, asking me questions he already knew the answers to.
I played along like a good little subordinate.
The whole time, my voice came out tight. But Sam’s hand was in mine. It was an anchor, keeping me in place while I rode the waves of the shifting surface of this conversation, unable to keep up with the movements of the aquatic monster in the undercurrent.
