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I hit accept.
“Hello,” he says darkly.
Fuck. His voice sounds sexy over the phone.
“H-hi. Um, this is…”
“Melody,” he says.
He knows it’s me. Heycould have been sent by anyone. A random girl he slept with. He’s rich, gorgeous, and popular.
Get a fucking grip, Melody.
He didn’t give you his number to ask you out on a date.
“Yes,” I say breathlessly. “How did you know where I worked?” I rush out.
I squeeze my eyes shut. My heart is pounding. I’m hot. My hands are sweating. I can’t believe I said that.
“I took a wild guess,” he says, but we both know it’s a lie.
The more he talks, the richer his voice is. Deeper. Darker. It’s not playful. In the back of my mind, I don’t remember him being so serious. So brooding. I thought he was putting on a show in the quad and the classroom, but he isn’t.
“How?”
“It’s not important right now. It doesn’t change the fact that I know, does it?”
He’s right. So what if he knows?
“Why?”
“Why what, Melody?”
“Why did you volunteer? Why did you buy me food?”
“Because I want to, and I can.”
“What’s the assignment?”
The faster I end this call, the better.
Sweat drips down my neck. I need fresh air, but I don’t want to go outside in the dark or turn on the small air conditioner.
“How was the food?”
“It was good. Thank you,” I stammer.
“Hmm, it’s a shame. I would have loved to see you eat it.”
“A cheeseburger?” I ask, confused.
Who the hell wants to see someone eat a cheeseburger? They’re big. Greasy. Messy.
“I would have loved to see how wide your mouth can go when you take a bite.”
Oh fuck. I squeeze my thighs together. My inner thighs are wet, and I know it’s not sweat. I’m wet and aching.
“You like to watch people eat? Is that your thing?”
