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What is temptation? Is it the lure of latest styles that stare back at me as I frequent expensive boutiques with Miley, fighting the desire to make a purchase of my own?
Is it wanting to sleep in and miss my first class of the day because I was up late the night before, studying?
Or is it the daily text messages I ignore from Professor Pugliesi, asking me how I’m feeling or if I’ve seen a certain movie?
If it isn’t, it certainly is the long stares in the middle of his lectures, where he pins me to my seat, and I wonder what it would be like to be touched by him while I worry that other students notice the momentary attention.
I used to think I knew what temptation was, but this is nothing like turning off my alarm and sleeping in. It’s nothing like making a purchase that doesn’t fit in my budget.
It’s exhilarating and intoxicating, and I relish the flush of desire it brings.
It’s the end of my day when my phone pings with a notification. That shot of adrenaline I get when I think of Abraham courses through me as I try to tell myself that it’s likely Denise.
But when I see his name on my screen, I glance around before opening it, pressing my lips together to hide my smile.
Abraham: What are you doing?
This isn’t supposed to be happening.I’m not supposed to be attracted to my professor. He isn’t supposed to be texting me.
It shouldn’t be this hard to ignore him.
Give in. Just this once.
I close my eyes, pressing my phone to my chest for a moment as I think it over. And it only takes that one moment to let myself give in.
I type out a response and send it before I can second-guess it.
Me: Trying my hardest to ignore you.
I press my tongue into my cheek to keep my grin from splitting my face wide open. My phone alerts me of another text and I open it immediately.
Abraham: I’m not sure why. I’m only attempting to further your education, Miss Milas.
It isn’t hard to read the innuendo in his words, even through text. It isn’t hard to understand how his type of flirting makes him a hit with my peers. He doesn’t even have to flex his connections and no-doubt billion-dollar bank account. Not when his charm works so fucking hard for him.
My response is immediate. I’m no one’s instant gratification.
Me: I’m not interested.
Again, he texts back swiftly, before I have the chance to tuck my phone away. And this time, his words make me pause.
Abraham: It’s okay to be curious. But it isn’t okay to be a liar.
Me: Is it okay to flirt with students?
Abraham: I find nothing about our interaction inappropriate.
Me: I’d hardly find you the authority on that.
Abraham: You wound me.
Me: You’ll live.
I try to imagine his voice, the curl of his accent, saying these words, just up against my ear. Who am I? Hardly the girl who graduated high school.
