4. Hypothetically
Chapter Four
Hypothetically
Grant
There’s a slip of paper burning a damn hole in the pocket of my jeans.
I can’t message her. I can’t message her. I can’t message her.
It doesn’t seem to matter how many times I tell myself, the words don’t want to settle anywhere that matters.
I’ve made dinner—Thai yellow curry and black rice—eaten, washed all the dishes, and picked up around my apartment. Sera isn’t back for another five days, and truthfully—though I’d likely never admit it to anybody, even Cade—I hate being here alone.
I drop myself into the sunken corner of my couch, where the cushions have molded to the shape of me sitting and reading over the years.
I grab my book—the latest Maya Mercy release, because I’m a sucker for a good indie romance—but I can barely focus on the words, even though it’s my favorite trope…
which now seems ironic, given that it’s a “forbidden relationship.” I shake my head.
When I drop it to pick up a recently released literature review on sexual misconduct rates in kink-friendly spaces, my phone buzzes. I freeze. The slip of paper, still in the jeans I’m still wearing, feels as if it weighs a thousand pounds.
I grab my phone, flipping it over.
413-555-0196:
hypothetically, if a student texted her hot professor, would that be… a) wildly inappropriate, b) a violation of university policy, c) kinda worth it, d) all of the above?
My mouth parts as I stare down at the screen, fighting the smile that wants to tilt my lips. I shouldn’t be smiling at this. I especially shouldn’t be thinking that the answer is definitely d) all of the above.
I roll my lips in, trying to kill the smile with my teeth as I type back, hands shaking a little.
Me:
Hypothetically, if that professor were to ask the bold, off-limits student where she got his number, would the answer be: A) her overinvolved sister, B) her sister’s fiancé?
I pretend I’m not waiting for her response by putting my phone back on the coffee table and sitting back in the chair—but I know I’m not reading this literature review tonight.
I drum my fingers on my leg, then pick my phone up again.
Neve hasn’t responded yet, but I go into the text conversation again, renaming her contact to “Don’t” while I wait (and pretend not to wait).
The buzzing in my hand almost makes me launch my phone across the room in surprise. Then it buzzes again, and again, and then a final time.
Don’t:
c) both, actually
honestly, I just wanted to see if they’d both give in
Fia sees it as an experiment, tbh
and I think Cade just wants chaos
I smirk despite myself. I knew she’d be the type of person to send a bunch of fragments where a single message would do.
I don’t know what to do with the fact that I already deduced that about her—that I’d been considering details like that about her at all—but before I can think of a response, my phone thrums again, vibrations radiating through my palm.
Don’t:
I think the best way to work our little bet is to do text only to start with.
I can’t stifle the pulse of heat that zips down my spine at the phrase “to start with.”
Like there’s more to come. As if I hadn’t already realized that. As if a man like me isn’t powerless at the hands of a woman like Neve Hart. I attempt neutrality, but I know I’m about to fold like a lawn chair.
Me:
You’re serious? I haven’t agreed to anything yet.
Don’t:
I mean, you messaged me back
Me:
Implied consent is not consent.
Don’t:
you’re totally right
I’ve got all evening, just relaxing at home at the end of a loooong day
so… if you’ve got time too, then when better to hammer out some rules, right?
Me:
Rules?
Don’t:
do you have the time?
I consider for a moment before responding.
Me:
I’m at home, too.
I press a palm to my thigh, grappling with sending another text. I don’t usually send multiple messages, but frankly, I can’t stand the idea of her not sending another, so I give in.
Me:
What did you have in mind?
Don’t:
I think we should have a safe word
I bark a laugh to myself, even though I’m alone in my home and she obviously can’t hear me.
I can’t help the reaction, but deeper down, I’m beset upon by relief.
If she were crossing a line, I’d tell her, and I don’t doubt that she’s just as respectful as her sister when it comes to boundaries; she’d back off if I asked her—even before she told me she’d do that, I knew she would.
But it still makes me feel better about all this—because I know I’m already getting tangled up in something I shouldn’t be. Having a safety net does make me feel… well, safer.
My phone buzzes again.
Don’t:
we should have a way to check in with each other, yknow
Me:
Thank you for saying it first. I’d have brought it up if you didn’t.
Don’t:
haha, yeah, well, as the pushier person in this dynamic, I’d like to make sure I’m not crossing lines without realizing
I respect consent always
Me:
I know that. I’d tell you if you crossed a line.
Don’t:
ha, yeah, I know that too
Me:
We should have a way for both of us to check in, though. Not just me.
Don’t:
you mean like a color check system? Green for good, that kind of thing?
Me:
Yes. But I prefer something more personalized.
Don’t:
personalized how?
I smirk as I type my next message, knowing she’s going to latch onto what I say.
Me:
You seem like a ritualistic person.
Don’t:
I don’t know what to say to that
Me:
That must be a first.
Don’t:
make your point, doctor king
Christ. I’m smiling like a damn teenager with a crush. I feel like I teenager with a crush. Teenager, I am not, but crush… fuck, I have a crush on my colleague’s little sister. One of my students. I’m so screwed, and yet I still start typing my response.
Me:
You seem like the kind of woman who likes to celebrate little wins. So, what do you treat yourself to for a small victory? You know… You pass a test, you achieve a goal, or something goes right, just the way you want it.
She doesn’t respond for a few moments.
I’m not worried I got it wrong—I know I didn’t—but for a second, I think maybe I overstepped. Apprehension sinks in my gut.
Did I read her too well? Does she not want me to be able to discern these things about her so easily? Should I pretend to have a harder time working her out?
Marie’s voice creeps up over my shoulder. The words sneak in and stab me.
Manipulative. Untrustworthy. Deceptive.
I jolt when my phone buzzes in my hand, snapping me out of the spiral.
Don’t:
okay, look, you’re not allowed to laugh at me for this
I get a big bag of lemon drops because they’re my favorite candy, and I really like them
but I deliberately don’t keep them in my place because then I’ll eat them outside of a reward
and then they’re like… not a special treat anymore, yknow?
so I literally go out and buy them
I blink down at my phone. Five messages in the space of about a minute. I can hear my heart in my ears.
Me:
You don’t even grab them on the way home if, for example, you’ve got a hunch?
Don’t:
nope. I don’t want to be disappointed and turn them into a consolation prize
funny you’re bringing this up
I’m eating them right now, actually
My brow quirks. She’s baiting me, I know it, but I still can’t help asking.
Me:
What little victory are you celebrating?
I wipe my hands on my thighs, placing my phone on the coffee table for a moment as I tell myself it’s because it’s her first day at Talan, because of her orientation, or literally anything other than what I think it is.
What I hope it is.
My phone buzzes loudly on the coffee table, the vibrations reverberating through the dark, oiled walnut surface. I pick it up with trepidation.
Don’t:
you messaged me back
My chest constricts almost painfully. I swallow hard to quell the ache, but my hands shake as I type my response.
Me:
You said you don’t keep them stocked.
And you’re already home, right?
Another double message. This impossible woman is making me stupid.
Don’t:
I am
Me:
You said you don’t get them unless you’ve already had the small victory, because you want to make sure. No consolation prizes, right?
Don’t:
right
Me:
So, why did you have them? If you messaged me when you were already home?
It’s a stupid thing to ask. I know, at this point, that she’s fucking with me, and I’m letting her. I’m playing right into her hands, but I can’t help it. She’s got me exactly where she wants me.
Don’t:
guess you could say I had a hunch
Even after she says it, I still can’t help playing along.
Me:
You said you don’t get them even if you have a hunch.
Don’t:
okay so maybe it was more than a hunch
I had a really good feeling about this hot professor messaging me back
I roll my eyes, but heat sparks low and mean in my gut.
Fuck, it feels good to be desired. It’s been a long time, and my instinct is to lean in, even though I know it’s indulgent. Even though I know how many rules I’m breaking, and how dangerous it is to break them.
Something about Neve Hart makes me want to be reckless.
When my phone buzzes again, I realize I haven’t messaged her back.
Don’t:
so… this is okay?
Me:
Yes. It’s okay.
Don’t:
good, so other than calling me out, what’s the deal with the little victory?
I consider how to respond, but only for a second. If I’m doing this, I’m not doing it halfway.
If I’m in, I’m in.
Me:
Your safe word is ‘lemon drop.’
Don’t:
sexy
I snort. I can almost hear her deadpan delivery.
Don’t:
so how does that make it so we can both check in, other than the fact that either of us can use the safe word if we need to
because I hope you know that either of us can use it, obviously
Me:
I know. I wouldn’t enter into something like this with anybody who thought otherwise.
Don’t:
and what, pray tell, is ‘something like this’ to you, doctor king?
I contemplate my response, resting my socked feet on the corner of the coffee table.
Me:
Something dangerous, for both of us. I want us both to be safe.
Don’t:
you’re very practiced with the avoidant answers, aren’t you?
I don’t dignify that with a response.
Me:
It’s for both of us because it comes with a check in question. A proactive way for one party to be certain the other is okay, if there’s any doubt. Especially if it’s prior to something that could be… intense.
Don’t:
you’re threatening me with a good time again, professor daddy
Me:
Don’t call me that.
Don’t:
you have a safe word
use it
I dare you
I blow out a slow breath, contemplating my next move. God, I am so damn screwed. I like her calling me that; I’m comfortable enough with myself and my kinks to know and accept that, but I’m not sure if she’s just doing it as a joke, so I want to tread carefully.
Me:
I’m not using it.
We should have a check in question. Ideally, the answer should be the safe word. So, if I ask you, for example, something like ‘what’s your favorite treat for a goal achieved?’ – you’d have the option to answer with the safe word if you want to stop.
Don’t:
or something else if I don’t
I try not to let my dick take it personally that she’s so on the same page as me. I haven’t had many other lovers besides Marie, and all have been casual, so we’ve not really discussed safe words, so—
I cauterize the thought.
Neve and I are not lovers.
Me:
Exactly.
I don’t say anything else, and a few moments pass in silence. I stare at the crenelated molding of my living room ceiling until my phone buzzes, still in my hand.
Don’t:
it’s for you too
I know I said that already, but obviously the safe word is for you, since like I said, I’m the pushy one here
but if I think I need to check you’re okay, I will
Something behind my sternum aches. It feels split open, the sensation spreading under my ribs, warm and sticky. What is this woman doing to me?
Me:
I know. Thank you. I appreciate you being conscientious.
Don’t:
so… now we’ve got that out of the way, if I may turn the safe word system on its head for a moment. How do you celebrate a small victory?
I huff a soft laugh, unsure of how to respond, until my thumb and forefinger start moving almost of their own accord.
Me:
I let myself message the off-limits student I shouldn’t be messaging.
Don’t:
well
now I’m a little insulted you only consider that a SMALL victory
but, I guess, baby steps, yknow
I’m sure I’ll win you over
I blow out a breath, trying to steel myself before I respond, unsure if I even will—because honestly… yeah, she’s right. That’s what I’m afraid of.