Chapter 23 Leni
Leni
It’s hard to sit through my creative writing tutorial with Amy whispering in my ear all the things she’d like to do to Coach Rourke, while my pussy still throbs with the memory of what we did in his office only hours earlier.
“How is it fair for him to be this insanely good looking and smart to boot,” she complains as he brings up the slides for this session. “He’s ruining me for any idiots our age.”
I choke on a laugh, burying my head in my notebook. If only she knew how true her words are for me.
“Tension,” Ethan says, leaning against the desk like he has no idea the effect he has on the females in this room.
Or the effect he has on me as I recall the feel of the woodgrain of his desk under my arse as he ate me out like I was his final meal.
I squirm in my seat as I try to focus on what he’s saying.
“Today’s writing task is specifically about the tension between love, power, and longing in contemporary storytelling. ”
Amy exhales. “Ugh, more yearning.”
A few people chuckle, but I don’t. I’m too busy trying to stay composed while the man I’m secretly sleeping with stands across the room, casually handing out an assignment about us.
Ethan gives a wry grin and motions for the class to settle down before clicking to the next slide.
The Space Between Us, I read. Write a scene or a prose poem exploring romantic tension without direct confession. Use subtext, silence, or physical cues.
“Start with a single image,” he says. “A moment when two people almost reach for each other, but don’t.”
I glance up at him, but he’s deliberately looking away from me.
Smart.
Amy nudges me. “Do you think he’s speaking from experience? I wonder if he’s ever had a moment with someone he wasn’t supposed to want.”
My throat tightens and I shrug.
“Ladies,” Ethan says from in front of our desk, causing us both to look up at him. He arches a brow, trying to look stern, but I catch the subtle hint of a smirk playing on his lips. “A little less chatter, a little more writing.”
“Sure thing, sir,” Amy practically purrs as my cheeks heat.
Ethan clears his throat. “Coach Rourke is fine.”
“Mmhmm,” she says, already having returned her attention to her notebook.
He holds my gaze for a split second longer, before moving to the other side of the room to check in with another student.
I exhale a shaky breath and start writing.
She feels him before their eyes meet—
His presence carving its own gravity
across the crowded room.
Identities hidden behind masks,
she’d still know him anywhere.
His existence is her truth.
Two souls, orbiting,
drawn to this fragile, reckless point in time.
One step.
Then two.
The space between them shrinks,
despite the danger.
Their bodies move like they’re not in control,
mere puppets being moved on strings.
Three steps.
Then four.
Their paths cross,
nothing exchanged but
the whisper of a knuckle brushing thigh.
It’s nothing.
It’s everything.
Giving her life,
a reason for existing.
For if it wasn’t for him,
she would cease to exist.
A ghost of her own making.
I’m so caught up in my writing, I flinch when Ethan’s voice cuts through the silence.
“Alright, that’s time.”
When I lift my gaze to where he’s standing at the front of the room, his arms folded across his chest in a way that causes his biceps to bulge, he’s staring back at me, an amused smile playing on his lips. I quickly look away, my heart racing and my cheeks flushed.
How can he appear so unaffected when all I can think about is him kissing me senseless as he buries his cock deep in my—
“I want you to pair up and discuss what you’ve written,” he says, interrupting my thoughts. “Focus on the emotional tension and how you’ve conveyed it without saying anything direct.”
Amy bumps my shoulder with her own. “We’re pairing, obviously.”
“Obviously,” I reply, even though my brain is still half on the poem and half on Ethan.
I hesitate before passing her my notebook, feeling like I’m exposing myself. I’ve never written anything so raw and unfiltered in my life. If only Professor Johnson were here to read this piece.
Taking a deep breath, I focus on Amy’s writing piece. It’s a short scene between two best friends from the point of view of the female character. The tension is there, but it simmers in a gentler way. A kind of ache that doesn’t know what it wants yet, only that it’s missing something.
It lingers quietly, like an unanswered question between them, in the furtive glances, the subtle context of words left unsaid. The uncertainty of safety versus the possibility of ruining the friendship.
I cast a glance at her and wonder who the guy is, whether he’s still in her life or if this is someone from her past, because there’s too much soul in this piece for it to not be rooted in some real-life experience.
“Holy shit, Leni,” she says, lifting her wide-eyed gaze to mine. “This is powerful. It’s like the tension is choking me from the page.”
An embarrassed laugh slips from my lips. “Thanks, I think.”
“No, for real. The way you’ve conveyed this star-crossed lovers theme with the mystery of their identities and the danger lurking behind just a single touch…
it’s raw and powerful. That last line, ‘a ghost of her own making’, implying she would rather die than be without him, it’s just…
Wow. I have no words.” She glances at her notebook in my hand.
“Mine seems so contrived compared to this.”
I shake my head. “They’re two completely different pieces.
What I love about yours is how quiet it is.
The longing is there in every look and pause.
It’s that ‘almost, but not quite’ energy that pulls the reader in.
” I tap her page. “The way you wrote about safety versus risk? You nailed every girl’s vulnerability right there. ”
Amy bites down on her lip. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” I smile. “So, who’s the guy?”
She blushes, ducking her head. “No one.”
“Mmhmm,” I say knowingly. “Well, no one is stupid if he can’t see how amazing you are.”
Ethan interrupts to let us know class is done, and everyone around us packs their things.
“I know you’re studying theatre,” Amy says, hiking her bag over her shoulder, “but your writing is really powerful. I hope you continue with it after you graduate, even if it’s just for yourself.”
“Thanks.” My cheeks heat at her praise.
“See you next week.”
“Yep, see you.”
I take my time packing up, waiting for the room to empty before approaching Ethan. His eyes glance from me to the open door.
“That was intense,” I admit, biting my bottom lip.
“You seemed enraptured with your work,” he says.
“I guess I had some life experience to base my writing on.”
“Do I get to read it?”
I shake my head. “No chance.”
He hums, the sound sending a shiver of pleasure through me.
I cast a glance over my shoulder, checking we’re alone before lowering my voice.
“When can I see you again?”
“We shouldn’t talk about this here, and I’m going to deactivate my Euphoria account. I’m grateful to have met you there, but it’s not my scene.” He tears a scrap of paper from my notebook and scribbles his number on it before handing it to me. “Be good, little devil.”
My stomach swoops at his nickname, and I slide the piece of paper into my pocket. He smiles as he watches me leave the room, and I feel like I’m floating on air.