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He nods. “Of course.”
“Fair warning, it’s a question I hate, and I hate that I’m asking it, but… why are you single?”
He shrugs. “That’s how I liked it until I met you.”
“You haven’t proposed marriage and babies to all the other girls you’ve liked?”
He laughs like the mere notion is ridiculous. “No. Actually, I think if you asked most of the girls I’ve gone out with, they’d be more inclined to tell you I’m a noncommittal asshole than to give a glowing review of my devotion.”
That’s so far from the Silvan I know, I can’t entirely fathom it. “What’s so different with me?” I ask earnestly.
He meets my gaze across the table. His green eyes are serious when he leans in, rests his arms on the table, and says, “Everything.”
My heart skips a beat, but as lovely a sentiment as it is, it’s still hard to believe it.
What if he’s only so attentive and determined to have me because I’m new and shiny and maybe because I’ve put up resistance? Seeing the responses he usually gets from other girls, I’m willing to bet he’s never had to work so hard before.
If it’s only the novelty of my disinterest that makes me interesting to him, what happens if I give in? Does he lose interest?
That’s what I want, right?
Maybe I should play along.
I don’t want to mess with his heart, though.
I don’t want to mess with mine, either.
At this point, I’m not even sure what I want. For him to go away, or…?
The alternative is too crazy even to consider. Right?
Sure, he’s gorgeous and interesting and funny and he actually seems devoted, which is a rare trait in anyone, let alone someone as overall appealing as he is. But he’s also pushy and rapey and kind of stalkerish. I mean, he entrapped me at my professor’s house and fucked me in his bed because…
Wait, how did he even come upon the notion that he needed to do that? I never got a clear answer.
“Can I ask you something else?”
He nods.
How do I even word this? “Why did you… do what you did yesterday?”
I wait for him to get defensive, but he doesn’t. Instead, he calmly asks, “Which part?”
“Um, all of it? I mean, what made you think I’d even come?”
A glint of something hard passes through his gaze. He sits back, but he’s still cool and in control. “I hoped you wouldn’t come, but I knew you would. Your professor has been manipulating you. You’re very easy to manipulate in certain ways.”
My spine stiffens. “Oh really?”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he assures me. “You just have some damage in certain areas that makes it easy for a man to prey on you. He’s an accomplished psychologist; of course he fucking knows how to manipulate you, it’s just pretty fucking sick that he does since he’s supposed to be your teacher, someone you should be able to trust.”
I can feel the anger beneath his calm as he talks about this, but it’s not directed at me. My defenses lower when I realize he’s not attackingme—I’m not sure he would ever attack me, really—but Professor DeMarco.
“I know you don’t like him, and I get it. If I saw him the way you do, I wouldn’t either. But I truly don’t think he was trying to sleep with me. I was very confused when I got that note that I thought was from him but was obviously from you. He told me I could come to office hours on campus if I ever needed to talk, but that’s quite a stretch from inviting me to his house, to his bedroom.”
“He hadn’t gotten there yet,” he says tightly. “He doesn’t know you the way I do, and he doesn’t want to get caught doing the slimy shit he does. He would have moved carefully to feel you out before he escalated things.”
“I really don’t think—”
