Chapter 5 Compromised Record #3
I laugh nervously. “Never had time while we were in school, y’know?”
She leans in, propping her chin on her hand, looking at me like she’s suddenly figured out the meaning of life.
Or like she’s about to ruin mine.
She stretches her arm out across the table and lays her head down on it, and closes her eyes dramatically.
Then she opens them again, heavy-lidded, and lands them right on Theo.
Then back to me.
Then back to Theo.
A knowing, borderline evil grin splits her face.
I know that look.
I am in danger.
“I thought it was because you could never find anyone to boss you around in the bedroom the way you need,” she whispers. Far too fucking loudly.
Theo’s hand pauses where it had been lazily stroking my shoulder.
My face heats.
A fork clatters against a plate.
Baryn looks delighted.
Everyone is listening now, except for Gerry, who picks this exact moment to excuse himself to the restroom. Impeccable timing.
Theo clears his throat and reaches for his drink, downing it in one go.
I stare at my friend in sheer horror. “Emily.”
“What?” She asks, oblivious, swirling the last drops of wine in her glass. “I just think it’s nice that you finally found someone who can handle you.”
“Handle me?” I choke out.
Baryn leans forward, interest piqued. “This is so interesting, Em. Go on.”
Emily lifts a finger and waggles it in my direction. “She just has very… specific tastes, you know.”
Oh my god.
“Oh?” he says. “Do tell.”
No. No. No.
I kick him under the table.
His gaze lingers, unhelpfully amused.
Emily squares her shoulders the best she can in her current state of inebriation, clearly preparing to elaborate.
I am going to throw myself into the sea.
“Well, she’s always been a little into—”
“Nope!” I slap a hand over her mouth.
“It’s fine to have kinks, dear,” Evelyn, of all people, says. “Nothing to be ashamed of. You know they say they’re hereditary.”
Baryn no longer looks like he’s having the time of his life.
In fact, he looks like he might throw up.
“I don’t!” I snap.
I totally do. And the thought of Theo Grayson ever finding out what they are makes me want to die on the spot.
It doesn’t matter that I’ve shared more with him than either of us would ever admit out loud.
I mean, technically, we once treaded dangerously close to something physical, but it’s not like you blurt out, “Hey, I’m into bondage, among other kinky things,” in the middle of a casual conversation.
Especially when he has no idea that whatever we were—casual friends, or something I mistook for it—ever meant anything more to me.
After all is said and done, he’s still my colleague, and he’ll still be my colleague when all of this is over.
Emily pries my hand off and wipes at her mouth. “Let me speak my truth.”
“No.”
She ignores me.
“SHELIKESBEINGTIEDUP,” she rushes out before I can stop her again.
The look on Theo’s face is… something. I can tell he’s trying to not act too surprised, because that might raise suspicions.
Emily squints at him, then reaches across me to point a finger directly at his chest. “And I don’t mean tied up in some cute way. I mean wrists bruised from the rope kind of tied up. Knots you need a safety plan for. Maybe even a full suspension rig. Pulley system. The works.”
I slump in my seat and cover my face. “Please, please, please stop talking.”
Emily is, unfortunately, undeterred. “She once told me she’d marry a man on the spot if he could twist her into a pretzel properly.”
I am going to die right here.
“A… sexy fucking pretzel, to be exact.”
This is my death.
Theo looks like he’s processing.
Like he’s trying very hard not to picture it.
Like he definitely just pictured it.
I want to light myself on fire. Somebody hand me the gasoline.
He clears his throat and pours a glass of water, then pushes it toward Emily. “Drink. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
No one says anything for a beat too long, then Evelyn claps her hands together and says, “Tell me, Theo, was teaching something you’ve always been interested in or did you just wake up one day and decide arguing with twenty-year-olds about their midterm grades was less exhausting than arguing in a courtroom? ”
I am thankful for the abrupt change of subject, but not sure I will ever recover from that. I want to crawl under the table and melt into the floor.
Theo seems to be turning the question around in his mind, probably reluctant to give an honest answer, but ultimately unphased by Emily’s antics.
He didn’t have to switch careers. He chose to, though it was probably a smart choice. A loss that big so early on in your career? It changes things. But I’m sure the reason why is not something he likes to talk about over dinner, especially with Evelyn Mayfair.
Baryn doesn’t give him the chance. His eyes gleam with something almost predatory. “It must be humbling, being reduced to this. Teaching freshmen about legal ethics when you couldn’t even uphold your own law career.”
Theo exhales sharply through his nose, but the curve of his lips is cold, calculated. “You’re confusing ‘humbled’ with ‘human,’ Baryn. It’s an easy mistake for someone who’s never been either.”
Emily chokes on her water.
Evelyn’s expression flickers with open amusement. I think she’s just found her new favorite spectator sport.
From the other end of the table, Baryn’s own mother barks a laugh, shaking her head like she’s been waiting for someone to put her son in his place.
Baryn, however, barely reacts. His smirk doesn’t falter, if anything, it deepens, like he’s been waiting for Theo to take the bait. He tips his wine glass to his lips, taking a long sip, eyes never leaving Theo’s face. Then he turns.
To me.
“You know,” he rasps, “if you ever need a break from your research, sweetheart, I could find other uses for those clever little hands of yours. I’m sure you could teach me how to tie a knot or two.”
The table goes dead silent.
It’s like all the air is sucked from the room in an instant. I feel pure rage at his words, but before I can even open my mouth, Theo moves.
He shoves back from the table, the legs of his chair scraping loudly against the floor as he sits up straighter. Gone is the composed, indifferent act. His expression darkens, something lethal tightening in his posture, sharp edges where there were once smooth lines.
“Baryn.” His voice is too calm. “If you speak to her like that again, I will personally make sure it’s the last thing you ever say.”
The air crackles, thick with something on the verge of snapping.
Baryn’s lips part, like he’s considering pressing further, but something makes him hesitate.
My stomach dips.
Somersaults.
Twists into something unrecognizable.
Theo’s hand is back on my knee, but this time, there’s no gentle squeeze—just firm, unwavering pressure, like he’s physically restraining himself from climbing across the table.
Baryn chuckles, low and lazy. “Relax, Professor. It was only a joke.”
Theo doesn’t budge. “Try it again.” His delivery is composed, but there’s an edge to it, a warning. “See what happens.”
Baryn lifts his hands in mock surrender. “Noted.”
Theo finally relaxes his grip on my knee, but he doesn’t pull away completely. Instead, his fingers trace the fabric of my dress lightly, like he’s reminding himself that I’m still here. Maybe reminding himself why we’re here.
I swallow hard.
So much for a hesitant fake boyfriend.
Evelyn hides her reaction behind her napkin, then gathers herself. “Theo, don’t make threats at the dinner table, dear. It’s bad manners.”
I give her a look that says, so glad you are entertained by this, but she just shrugs like she’s not ashamed about it. I guess when you’re her age, you take your pleasure where you can get it.
Theo doesn’t take his eyes off Baryn when he responds. “It wasn’t a threat.”
Before I can have my turn at verbal evisceration, Baryn takes the fork he’s been twisting between his fingers and tosses it across the table into Emily’s empty wine glass like he’s playing a carnival game.
Talk about whiplash.
Unfortunately for Emily, the force tips her wine glass over.
She makes a desperate grab for it—why, I have no idea, since it’s completely empty—but her elbow catches the water instead.
The glass topples, splashing across the table before cascading down her front.
It bounces once, then shatters against the tabletop, sending shards skittering through the puddle.
Emily gasps as the water soaks through, turning the white silk of her dress translucent.
It splatters up her neck, into her hair, dripping down her face in uneven streaks.
She’s drenched—clinging fabric, strands of wet brown hair plastered to her cheeks.
The only sound in the room is the drip of water hitting the floor.
Theo glances up, just like everyone else, but something about the way he’s looking bothers me. It’s not ogling. Not exactly.
I nudge his leg under the table. “Dial it down, Professor. It’s a neckline, not a crime scene.”
He doesn’t answer. Doesn’t even look at me. Just watches as Emily dabs at her cheek and neck with her napkin.
I shake my head, dismissing it. People do awkward things when they’re embarrassed. It doesn’t mean anything. Still, when Theo finally does glance away, I almost sigh with relief.
Emily closes her eyes like she’s lost the will to live, then opens them again to stare down at herself. “That’s unfortunate.”
He shakes his head to snap himself out of it, and even though it was barely a lingering glance, and even though I have no right to it, I feel a pang of jealousy that he’d look at another woman while he’s supposed to be with me.
Or pretending to be with me.
Whatever.
I cover Emily's nearly-bare tits with my cloth napkin and intend on ushering her out the door toward her bedroom, but she is unsteady on her feet, tipping to the side.
She catches herself, her hand coming down hard on the table—directly onto a pile of shattered glass.