Page 253

The next morning, I went back.

That is what I’m learning. Going home does not mean failing. Needing Daddy does not mean I can’t do anything myself. And leaving him for a few hours doesn’t mean either of us is disappearing.

“I know,” I say again, softer this time.

Adrien studies me—the set of my shoulders, the way I’m holding my mouth. Then he nods once, a short, sharp movement. “Okay.”

Neither of us moves. Outside, students keep passing—backpacks slung over one shoulder, laughing into phones, footsteps scuffing asphalt.

I check the time on the dashboard clock. “You know I have to go eventually.”

“I’m aware.” His thumb starts moving again.

“My class starts in twelve minutes.”

“Plenty of time.”

“To do what?”

He leans across the console. “Kiss me goodbye.”

Oh.

Well.

That seems reasonable.

Necessary, really.

I meet him halfway. The kiss is nothing dramatic, just warm, slow, and familiar. His hand slides around the back of my neck, thumb resting beneath my ear, and for a few seconds the entire campus vanishes.

There is only him.

Only the gentle scratch of his beard against my skin, the faint smell of coffee and smoke lingering on his breath, and the solid warmth of his hand holding me steady.

It feels like coming home.

When he pulls back, I chase his mouth without thinking, earning a soft smile pressed against my lips.

“Thought you had class.”

“Shut up.”

He kisses me again anyway, deeper this time, until my face is flushed, and my fingers are curled tight in the fabric of his shirt. When we finally separate, I’m breathing a little unevenly. I reach for my backpack, but Adrien takes it first.

“Daddy.”

“What?”

“Give it.”

He holds it out just beyond my reach, then relents with a quiet chuckle. I take it, slinging one strap over my shoulder, but then he leans into the back seat.

“Almost forgot,” he says.

“What?”

He produces Rabbit.