Page 47

Oliver glances over. “Sure. Give me a minute.”

Apparently he doesn’t think it’s too fresh.

The girl with the notebook thanks him and moves away. Oliver answers another question, then another. I stay where I am. There’s no reason to hurry. I know exactly what happens next.

Except tonight Oliver reaches behind him without looking and picks up his coffee.

I stare at his hand.

He keeps listening to the student in front of him while he brings the cup to his mouth.

No.

Oliver takes a drink.

For six months, I have watched this man carry cold coffee all the way home without touching it. Tonight, he takes another sip. Then he takes off his glasses and presses two fingers between his eyebrows.

This ungrateful little shit ignored his coffee for six months and chose tonight to drink it early.

He’s not getting behind the wheel, wrapping himself around a light pole, and damaging my intellectual stimulation before I even get him home.

Oliver puts his glasses back on and starts gathering his books.

I walk over before he can finish. “I think you were too hard on him.”

He looks up. “The boy who thought the speaker was an asshole.”

“You agreed with him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No.” His mouth pulls slightly at one corner. “You didn’t.”

Up close, his voice settles into the register I wanted. This is how he’ll sound in my bed. Low enough that every word belongs to me.

Oliver slides one book on top of another. “You’ve been here before. All six.”

He already knows my face. Tomorrow, when everything else is wrong, he’ll know who to look at.

Oliver picks up another book, then stops with it halfway to the stack. His eyes close for a moment before he puts it down.

“Sit down.”

He reaches for his coat instead. “Long day.”

Stubborn already.

I need him to sit down. Ten minutes would be enough. Fifteen would be better. I could ask another question. I could ask twelve. Oliver likes questions, and I’ve listened to him long enough to know which ones will keep him talking.

“What did you mean about regret and remorse?”

Oliver answers while putting his coat on. “Regret can be entirely selfish,” he says. “You can regret an action because you dislike what it cost you. Remorse requires recognizing what it cost someone else.” He picks up his bag.

No.

I smile anyway. “So you think the speaker is remorseful?”

“I think he wants to be.”