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Her cute curiosity turns to trite anger. “Yeah, about that. I really don’t think that was a fair grade.”
She doesn’t know what to make of me yet. After Mikael went quiet, I kept going back to see her because she was my entire existence. I didn’t sneak in to fuck her like he did, only to watch over her. Stalking Summer was the only thing I was compelled to do because it was the only way I knew how to protect her.
A singular focus.
As the years went on, my mind transformed into something more complex and nuanced than a single thread of existence. Since the biggest threat to her was living inside my head, I decided the easiest way to keep her safe was to stay away from her.
I lick my bottom lip and my lips quirk into a smile. “How so? I’d like to think I grade quite fair.”
She pulls out her laptop and leans in, her typical sweater dress pulling her cleavage together even though she’s trying adorably hard to be professional right now.
“My sources were sufficient,” she says, matter-of-factly. As if her stating it makes it true. “I used three of them from the textbook.”
She leans forward and I get a whiff of her perfume, and my eyes linger on her pink full lips. She never wears makeup like this, so she must be trying to impress me.
In an instant, her sad eyes turn feral as her pupils darken.
She loves the way I just looked at her—the reason she keeps answering my calls and will continue answering my calls. Summer loves being looked at. All she knows in her short life is being watched.
I tilt my head at her. “That’s the thing, I read your paper carefully. You didn’t complete the requirements for a passing grade. We asked for three sources to back up your work—at least one external, besides the required readings. I can’t pass you when you neglected to complete the basic requirements for the assignment.”
She snaps her lips together and crosses her legs so I can no longer stare at them, but her sweater dress is so short, it rides up her thighs, and for a split second, I see the little wound he put near her cunt. My cock grows thick at the sight of it.
I’m amazed that’s all he did to her—it could have been a lot worse.
She catches me looking and her eyes narrow. She wants to say it; she knows in her heart who I am.
Do it, baby. Ask me if I’m the one that did that to you.
A flush of heat spreads across her cheeks as her mind races. If she says something and she’s wrong, that would be quite the embarrassment in front of her father’s protégé.
I’m not done playing with her yet, so I’ll have to spend the next ten minutes convincing her I’m not who she thinks I am.
She lets out a sigh in defeat. “I did the readings, and my thesis statement was solid. You can’t dispute that.”
I swivel my chair to face her, again mirroring the face she’s giving me. “I’m sorry, but my grade stands.” I keep my voice soft and her eyes skim over my body. “Your thesis was good, but it wasn’t enough. You have to seek out and find additional sources outside of the ones listed.” I turn to my computer. “Do you have access to the journal article database?”
She leans forward to look at my screen, her face visibly calming. “I think so, yeah. I just…don’t know how to use it.”
Liar. Not with her infamous father. She knows who I am on that basis alone, so it’s adorable she’s pretending not to understand this database.
“I can show you how to do a basic search if you’d like? Sourcing articles is hard and tedious for new students, but it’s a good skill to learn early in your academic career.”
Sadness clouds her eyes. “No, it’s fine. I’ll figure it out.” She looks at me carefully, picking her perfect words. She’s silent for a few seconds before saying, “You know who I am, don’t you, Lincoln?”
My insides light on fire and I dart my eyes to the computer screen, then back to her. “Yes, I know who you are, Summer.”
Her hand moves to the soft skin of her leg, her eyes drawing down to the mark just underneath the fabric. “What was he like?” she asks, keeping her eyes drawn down.
I let out a small laugh and lean back. “Who? Dr. Landry?”
Her eyes draw up to meet mine. “Yeah.”
“He was your father. Why are you asking me like you don’t know anything about him?”
The intensity of her stare is exactly what I was waiting for.
“Sometimes it’s like I didn’t know him at all,” she admits, and I truly wonder if she ever did. But I’m certain she was aware of what he was; what I want to uncover is why she suppressed her memories.
