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I stare at his open hand before me for a beat before I set my free hand in it, marveling at its warmth. And then I remember I was crawling on the floor and my hands are probably gross. With a grimace, I pull my hand out of his and wipe it on my pants. Staring down at them, I notice the dirt marks on my knees.
Well, shit.
“My hands are dirty,” is all I manage to offer him as I skirt around him to grab my bag. But once I’m pressed against him, he places his hand on my wrist.
We’re both silent as I stare at the physical contact, afraid to look up into his eyes. Afraid of what the deep brown would reflect back to me.
Afraid that I’d be more than willing to throw caution to the wind and become another student caught up in his charismatic charm.
“Why don’t you look at me,Stellina?”
It sounds so close to my first name that I almost don’t notice that he’s called me something else entirely.
“Why do you continue to put me in these compromising positions?” I ask his chest.
“I could make a very inappropriate joke, but I think you will take me as a pervert, no?”
My brain flits through potential responses, about positions and what it would be like to be touched by him and the edge of my lips quirk in response.
I know how to flirt and I’m good at it. But I don’t know how tonotflirt with Professor Pugliesi. I don’t know how to walk away from this game he’s forcing me to participate in.
“I’m flattered that you value my opinion of you,” I challenge, finally meeting his eyes. “’My good opinion once lost, is lost forever.’”
“Ah,” he starts, a smile spreading over his dark features, painting him beautiful. “There’s the romantic I know.”
“Why do you insist on flirting with me?” I lean back, awkwardly perched on the seat behind me, eyeing him as he processes my question, still wearing the remnants of his grin.
“You fight it. It makes me want to see how beautifully you’ll crack.”
“You’re so sure.”
“It’s my nature when I want something badly enough. I can never seem to let go.”
I don’t say anything now, watching his expressions morph; gone are the lines around his eyes when he smiles and the tilt of amusement kissing his lips. His lips are parted, his eyes unblinking.
“Tell me, what has dating been like here for you, hm?” He lowers his chin, keeping his eyes directly on mine. “Full of disappointment, if the night we met is any indication.”
“And you think you’re different?”
His smirk is back, this time backed with a chuckle.
“Time will tell, I suppose.”
He steps away, lifting my bag and holding it out toward me. I watch as he walks away once it’s in my hold, the sound of the door closing behind him making me jump into action.
I place the strap of my bag onto my shoulder and glance down at my phone just as it pings with a message.
Unknown: Save my number.
Despite the worry pitting in my stomach, mixed with the high of the potency of his energy, I do just as he says.
I save his number under the name Abraham and tuck my phone back in my purse, leaving the auditorium with my head held high.
If I’m going to crack for him, I’m going to do it beautifully.
