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This time when he says my name, it isn’t with the edge of annoyance that his voice held before. It’s with a flash of heat, like a lit match, so scorching, I can almost smell the singed sulfur.
“I think I need your class to graduate this summer. And if that means I need to ignore the fact that you like to play with your students, so be it. But you don’t have to play with my feelings to keep me quiet.” I snort, punctuating my declaration with a grin. “I’m not a ditzy schoolgirl with fantasies of being in one of your movies.”
I move to brush past him just as his hand reaches out to cuff around my arm. It halts me, stopping me so short, I’m surprised I don’t fall forward.
My gaze slowly crawls from his warm hand on my bare arm to the glimmer in his examining stare.
His eyes that watch me evenly only squint a fraction, as if he’s only just understood what I said. I’m so entranced by them that I nearly miss the slight upturn at the ends of his mouth.
That lick of amusement makes me itch to yank my arm away.
“You’re fascinating,” he says, and I roll my eyes, stepping out of his hold.
“I’m bored, professor. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
Better to put space between us, I try to tell myself as I walk off, determined to not look like I’m running. It’s safe to assume a man like that plays with young women regularly and I refuse to be a plaything of his.
No fucking thank you.
My sister always jokes about how cold I am. How I’d never fall in love because I’m too hard on men and how I expect too much from the dim-witted creatures.
But if she felt the way my heart hammered in my chest, she’d know I was just as susceptible to their flimsy charm as any other woman.
I rush the rest of the way out of the building, determined to find some equilibrium. As I step outside, I take a deep breath, loving the way the chaos inside of me is drowned out by the vastness of the skyscrapers and people who don’t bother to say “excuse me” when they bump into me.
I wish for nothing more than the space to forget him, like myyiayiasaid before. Maybe then I’d forget the way my breath hitched at his proximity. Or the way his stare made me feel like he’d somehow found a way to run his hands down my body, figuring out the dips and curves to fit into.
