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“Impossible. You’re still dripping water all over my car.”
Traffic slows ahead, and we’re back at a standstill.
She turns fully toward me, probably fed up with my antics.
“Then what should we do to pass the time? You won’t talk to me and you won’t just let me sit here in peace.”
Oh…the possibilities.
Instead of letting my depravity run wild, I ask her where she lives.
She rolls her eyes. “You’ll turn right in a few miles. I live pretty far. Like I said…you can let me out at any time.”
I frown. “Why do you live so far?”
She shrugs, unbothered. “Because I moved here last minute. Money is tight. There’s a housing shortage in the city. Is that enough reasons?”
“Why is money tight?”
“None of your damn business.”
“Should we be paying you more?”
“Sure. Go ahead. Give me a raise. I won’t stop you. But unless you can wipe out my student loans and credit card debt then I’ll be living paycheck to paycheck for the foreseeable future.”
“Why do you have credit card debt?”
She looks out the window, trying to shut me out. “Again…none of your business.”
“Do you spend carelessly?”
She throws up her hands in annoyance. “Yes.You caught me. I love buying expensive things I can’t afford. I’m capricious and silly and bad at managing money. My closet is filled to the brim with all sorts of fancy things.”
“Are you done?”
“Areyoudone?”
I cut the heat, knowing full well neither one of us needs it any longer.
“So you took out loans because you couldn’t afford college and you maxed out credit cards because you couldn’t work while you were in school, not if you wanted to maintain good grades and have time for internships…”
She doesn’t confirm or deny my suspicions, but I know I’m correct.
“Should we turn the tables, Professor Barclay?” Her gaze seems to see straight through me. “What doyouspendyourmoney on? Expensive alcohol? Designer suits?Women?”
I don’t even give her a reply, which I know irritates her.
She shifts in her seat, tugging her dress down so the hem is closer to her knees.
My thoughts turn nefarious.
Worked up from her petulance, I want to reach over and slide my hand up between her legs, force her thighs apart just enough for my hand to reach its end goal. I follow the imagined path my fingers would take, and when I realize she’s watching me, I shift my gaze back to the road.
“Turn right at the next street.”
Her phone rings. She checks it then silences it like she’s going to let it go to voicemail, likely as a courtesy to me.
“Take it,” I insist, flipping on my blinker.
