5. Like a Superpower
Chapter Five
Like a Superpower
Neve
Ihaven’t messaged Grant in about a week. It’s not been a test or some shit, I’ve just been busy. I guess he has, too. It’s not personal or intentional, and honestly, from the point of view of knowing from the get-go that I want this to be a real relationship, I kind of like it.
I like him; I don’t just want to fuck him because I think he’s hot—though I do want that—I want a real thing. A real thing means that we’re individual people. He’s got his shit; I’ve got mine. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. If anything, I think it’s healthy.
But I’m starting to get… an itch.
I want to talk to him. Classic crush. He’s at the center of my thoughts when they wander. I’ve seen him around campus, but tonight, that’s suddenly no longer enough—so I fire off a message, leaning back in my corduroy sofa.
Me:
sooo… is it true that you can actually read body language through voice?
you told me that before
“voice is body” – which honestly, still haunts me
I force myself to stop. I’m a piecemeal message girlie; I send bits and pieces instead of sending a paragraph. I have friends and family who do the same (Vida, Cade), and those who find it absolutely maddening (Fia).
Professor Daddy:
Nice to hear from you again, Miss Hart.
My chest flares with heat. I lowkey gave him shit for calling me “Miss Hart,” but honestly, I kind of like it. The same way I’m almost one hundred percent positive he likes it when I call him “daddy.”
If I could call him that in another capacity… well.
Fingers crossed.
Me:
don’t be coy, I’m asking a genuine question
Professor Daddy:
Of course you are. No, I can’t tell how you’re sitting/standing/etc., exactly, based on your voice. Yes, I can make an educated guess about how you’re feeling based on voice cues as if it were body language.
Fuck, why is that so sexy?
I think I’m into nerds.
Me:
will you show me?
Professor Daddy:
What do you mean?
Me:
if I sent you a voice note right now, could you do that?
Professor Daddy:
You said we weren’t doing voice notes.
Me:
I know
but… yknow, for science?
I know I’m luring him in, and I kind of love it. Especially now we have the safe word in place. I know if I step over a line without realizing, he’ll tell me straight away. I trust him to do that.
When he doesn’t respond right away, I go out on a limb and set my message app recording.
I hesitate for a second, then let out a soft laugh. I didn’t think I’d feel nervous.
“Hey, uh… I just wanted you to hear my voice.” I hardly sound like myself, but I plow on anyway.
“Since you’re probably picturing me anyway.
” Mean, but not untrue. “I was just wondering what kind of things you can pick up on in a voice. Like… does your voice get rougher when you’re trying not to say something you know you shouldn’t? Anyway—”
I break off in a giggle. I can’t help it.
This whole thing is absurd, and I’m having the most fun I’ve had in as long as I can remember, flirting with a guy.
I hit send on the message, then add a follow-up.
Me:
your turn, doctor king. Teach me
He responds almost instantly.
Professor Daddy:
Your voice is dangerous.
I smirk.
Me:
so I’ve been told
The three dots pop up and disappear for the next few minutes, and I sink into the sofa as I wait for his response, periodically tapping my screen so it doesn’t time out.
Professor Daddy:
I can tell that you’re relaxed. I think you’re probably at home, or at least you’re somewhere that’s familiar, somewhere you know that you’re safe, because you’re speaking slowly.
You’re not rushed, and you speak freely, so I would hazard a guess that you’re on your own, too.
Not that I think you wouldn’t say any of the things you just said when there are people around.
But I don’t think there are people around.
A few beats pass as I read and reread his message.
Then another comes through.
Professor Daddy:
So, how did I do?
Me:
fuck, that’s so cool
it’s like a superpower
The three dots pop up. Disappear. Pop up again.
Professor Daddy:
I’ve never had it called that before.
Me:
what have you had it called?
Professor Daddy:
Manipulative. Untrustworthy. Deceptive.
The lump that forms in my throat is fast and painful. I swallow to try and quell it, but it won’t go away as I type my response. Even though I’m not sure I’m the person to tell him, I feel like I have to, because what I’m saying is true, even if he doesn’t believe it.
Me:
you know you’re none of those things, right?
Professor Daddy:
You don’t know me.
I don’t need to see his face or hear his voice to register the combativeness in his tone. He’s getting defensive. I suck in a deep breath, swallowing hard again.
Me:
I don’t need to know you that well to know that you’re none of those things, Grant
hear that, please
who told you those things?
was it your ex?
I already know I’m overstepping by mentioning her, but it seriously burns my waffles that she made him believe those things about himself.
Professor Daddy:
How do you know about my ex?
Me:
educated guess
I clear my throat, staring down at the phone screen. My mouth twists as I tap out another message, because I really need to know that he’s okay right now.
Me:
hey, uh… I forgot. What do you treat yourself to for a little victory?
I hold my breath as the three dots pop up, knowing I’ve just asked the question that could hand him the kill switch if he wants to take it, and that all he has to do is tell me he gets a big bag of lemon drops.
Professor Daddy:
I let myself message the woman I know I shouldn’t be messaging.
I exhale slowly, not realizing I’d been holding my breath. It’s not lost on me that he said “woman”—not “student”—this time.
Me:
okay, good
I just… wanted to make sure we weren’t getting into uncomfy territory for you
Professor Daddy:
I’m all right, Neve. If I needed to use the safe word, I would just use it. I’ll always be honest with you, you have my word on that.
The breath punches from my lungs. I’m not sure why this message feels so intimate. Maybe because he used my name. Maybe because he gave me his word. Maybe because I can feel the truth and sincerity in it even through my phone.
It feels like a heavy thing as I type my response, trying to imbue the words with as much meaning as possible.
Me:
I’ll always be honest with you too, always
you have my word