Chapter 11 #2
“Hey,” I say, sliding my kind face on like a well-worn mask. My smile is easy and warm, the one I give reporters and donors. “Sorry to interrupt. Door was open.”
Brendon’s mouth opens and closes once before he manages, “Dominic. Hi. I wasn’t… expecting you.”
“Story of my life,” I say lightly, then give Hannah a polite nod. “Didn’t mean to barge in. I can come back.”
“No,” Brendon says quickly, eyes darting to her and back. “We were—we are done.”
She looks between us, confusion flickering over her face. “I should go,” she says. “I have… class.”
“Right,” he says, voice softening. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
She flinches like the words hurt more than a dismissal would have. “You too,” she says, then brushes past me, her perfume trailing in the air before the hallway swallows her up.
I close the door gently behind her, then turn back to him.
Up close, he looks tired. There are faint shadows under his eyes, and his shoulders are tight under his shirt.
I could ask, “What was that about?” “Who was she?” “Why do your parents still love her?” “What did she do that you’re drawing that line now?”
I could pry, since I gave a rule about not lying when I ask important questions, and I could cash that in.
Instead, I lean against the door, crossing my arms loosely.
“Everything okay?” I ask lightly.
He’s probably waiting for a comment about the girl who just left, and I give him nothing—simply the mildly curious expression of a guy who walked in on his TA chatting with someone and doesn’t really give a fuck.
“I… yeah,” he says finally. “It’s fine.”
“Good,” I say. “Coach Keller pulled me in after practice.”
He blinks. “Oh?”
“Yeah.” I let a little smirk slip through. “Your magic has apparently worked. Con Law and Ethics both bumped. He’s impressed.”
A reluctant smile tugs at his mouth. “Well,” he says, trying to sound offhand and failing, “that’s because you’ve actually been improving and engaging.”
“Look at you,” I say. “Making me sound like a real boy.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh despite himself. “I told you if you showed up, and did the work, your grades would reflect it. You’re not stupid, Dominic. You just need to give a shit for longer than five minutes at a time.”
A warm feeling spreads through my chest, and I immediately stifle it.
“Coach says to tell you thanks,” I say. “And that if you flunk me, you answer to him.”
His eyebrows go up. “He said that?”
“More or less,” I say. “I’m paraphrasing. He swore more.”
He snorts. “Sounds about right.”
We stare at each other for a moment, the air between us weirdly easy. He’s waiting. I can see it in the way his shoulders are angled; in the way his fingers tap once against the edge of the desk and then still.
He’s bracing for questions about Hannah. For me to comment, to dig, to do that possessive thing where I peel layers off him even when he hates it.
I think about it; I really do. Who has his parents’ blessing and his firm no? Who gets to walk into his office and use his first name like that, like she’s entitled to pieces of him I haven’t seen yet?
I file it all away. Hannah. Parents loved her. She hurt him enough that he cut her off. There’s a story there, and I’ll get it eventually. Just not today.
“Anyway,” I say, stepping away from the door. “Wanted to say thanks. Face to face.”
He looks thrown again, obviously not expecting that. “You don’t have to thank me. This is my job.”
“Yeah, but we both know I’m not easy,” I say.
A tiny huff of laughter escapes him before he can swallow it down. “Understatement.”
“Hey,” I say, hand over my chest. “My feelings.”
“You don’t have feelings,” he says, then flushes because that sounded more personal than he probably meant it to.
“Debatable,” I reply. “Anyway. Keller’s happy. Means I get to stay on the field, and you get to keep nagging me about explaining my arguments. Our sessions are officially worth my time.”
A flash of something that looks suspiciously like relief crosses his face when I don’t bring her up.
“Glad you approve,” he says dryly. “We’re still on for tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Same time. My place. Prepare to be impressed.”
“I’m never impressed,” he says, but his mouth curves.
“That’s a lie,” I say, turning toward the door. “You were impressed the other day when I remembered what a semicolon was.”
“That’s basic literacy,” he calls after me.
“Literacy’s hot,” I shoot back over my shoulder.
“Get out,” he mutters, but there’s no real heat in it.
“Yes, sir. I need to blow off some steam, anyway,” I open the door and pause with my hand on the frame. I keep my voice low enough that only he hears it. “See you tomorrow, Little Sin.”
He rolls his eyes, but I see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers curl for half a second like he wants to touch the leather cuff and stops himself. “Bye, Dominic.”
I give him a lazy two-finger salute and step out into the hallway, letting the door click shut behind me.
The itch under my skin hasn’t gone away. If anything, talking to him made it worse.
I head down the stairs, hands in my pockets, hoodie pulled up against the wind outside. People move around me, all these little lives bumping into each other, tangling and untangling.
Tonight, I’m not thinking about them. Tonight, I’m thinking about the fact that my muscles feel too tight, and there’s a hollow space in my chest where that particular rush lives.
Two weeks.
It’s starting to grate on me. I can feel the impatience sliding into my bones, the boredom curdling into agitation.
Tomorrow, I’ll sit across from Brendon again. I’ll let him scold my citations and listen to him breathe faster when I lean too close. I’ve been good about not pushing his body since I kissed him, because I wanted his head first.
But tonight, I’m going to remind myself what it feels like when someone’s eyes go flat and empty. I’m going to hear that last breath hitch and stutter, feel that familiar drop in weight when a body stops fighting.
I’m going to fuck someone who isn’t terrified of their own desire, someone I don’t have to calibrate for. Maybe I’ll call Seth; maybe I’ll go hunting on my own. There are always options. Either way, someone’s dying tonight.
And afterward, when my hands stop itching and my head feels clear again, I’ll be in a much better mood to see what else I can pull out of my Little Sin tomorrow.
I adjust the strap of my bag, roll my shoulders, and head for the parking lot—already thinking about where to hunt.