“How much do you know about conjuration?” he asks.
My glare flattens and I move toward him. “Enough to understand what I’m sure is a concept you believe to be beyond my feeble human brain’s aptitude.”
He smirks. It blows into a wide grin.
“Even so. I—” His hands twitch where they’re resting on his lap. “Could you back up?”
I’m standing an inch away from him. Between his spread legs. But he’s rattled, so I don’t move.
My turn to smirk. “No. Even so, what?”
His face shutters, darkening as his hands fist. “Baby boy, you keep standing there, I’m going to pull you onto my lap.”
It was a huge mistake to hook up.
Just, like, an enormous mistake.
But we’re in it now. We’re barely treading water in the aftermath of our stupidity typhoon.
“I’ll move if you tell me about your project.”
He grimaces. “We should go over some basic conjuration ideas this week while we test your theory. Give you a foundation in—”
“I don’t need a basis in conjuration,” I cut him off. “Why won’t you tell me about your project?”
“It’s not that,” he counters. But it’sabsolutelythat by the way he adjusts on the chair.
My shoulders bunch. Gods, swinging from pissed at him to horny over and over in such a short timeframe can’t be healthy, can it?
“What, we’ll report on Friday that what progress we’ve made is me going over freshman conjuration bullshit?”
Thio points at the shelf over his desk where the kindergarten workbooks sit. He’s got them displayed like trophies.
I roll my eyes. “That was ajoke,asshole, and you know it.”
“We’re on to something with the measuring cup theory,” he tries. “The fact that you and I are working on your project with conjuration theories should be enough for our check-in meeting.”
My gut sinks. Plummets right through my toes, leaves a hole in the floor.
“When did you decide we needed to test my theory first? After you heard my dad last night?”
Thio’s eyes widen. It might be in revulsion, but my brain says Iwas right, I hit on why he’s going back on our agreement: he heard my dad tie this project into Camp Merethyl, he knows how fucked that place is, and hefeels sorry for me.
Rocks settle in my lungs, gravel and weight. “Fuck you for—”
Thio grabs my arm and yanks me forward.
I’m already off-balance, so I topple into him, and he deftly grips my thighs and tugs until I straddle him.
“I’m not doing this because of what I heard last night,” he tells me. “Believe it or not, despite your massive ego, not everything is about the almighty Sebastian Walsh.”
I try to shove away and he holds me tighter, fingertips bruising me again, and Ihate my body,the traitor; everything stings where it touches him, everythingbroilsin the best, most toxic consumption. But that fire is in my chest still, too, anger and shame warring for dominance, and I buck.
His chair skids but he holds on to me; I’ll definitely have bruises.
“Stop!” he shouts. “You’re not the only one whose projecthurts!”
I don’t exactly go limp, but I don’t keep trying to shove away. My body’s rigid and my thighs strain where I’m pushing myself up so I’m not fully seated on his lap. I don’t say anything, staring down at him, lips parted.
