He rolls his eyes and gets back to teaching, something about the principles of electricity or physics or maybe he’s makingup words.
I lean closer to River and whisper, “Hi.”
He lets out a quiet, frustrated sigh. “You have not changed a single bit, have you?” he mutters.
I set my tablet out in front of me, then place my hand on his thigh under the table.
“No,” he answers himself. “No, you have not. If you get me kicked out of class, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Mr. Rivera,” the professor barks. “Do you have something to say to the class?”
I bite my lip to stifle a laugh.
“I’m really enjoying your explanation of how robotics is critical in mechanical engineering,” River says promptly. “I was just telling my friend here that I’d get her the notes after class for what she missed.”
I nod along. “River is helpful like that,” I say, while I squeeze his upper thigh.
The professor gives us an unimpressed look, but he goes back to the lecture.
“What do you want?” he asks in a lower tone. “And why the fuck can it not wait thirty goddamn minutes?”
I raise my finger to my lips in a shushing motion. River rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the professor.
I let go of his thigh and move my hand to his lower back, getting it under his shirt so I can explore. He’s so warm, warmer than most people I know. I find a scar and trail my finger along the raised flesh.
His breath catches, but he goes back to his laptop. I can see what he’s typing.
Stop that.
I use my other hand to typeN Oon my tablet screen. Then I drag a single nail down his back.
A shudder runs through him, and I briefly wonder what the people directly behind and to the side of us must be thinking.
His cheeks are getting flushed, though I don’t think it’s from anger.
I will fucking strangle you.
He quickly erases the words, like he thinks someone will use them as evidence if he went through with it.
I grin and move my hand lower, this time slipping it past his pants and boxers. I press down on the flesh of his ass?—
River hisses sharply, jolting away from me.
My hand slips out, and I stare at him, concerned. That wasn’t a good reaction.
I type,
Are you hurt?
“No,” he snaps.
“Mr. Rivera!” the professor snaps. “If you insist on being disruptive, you can do so outside of the classroom.”
River flashes me a dark, angry look. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
“You and your girlfriend can handle yourselves elsewhere,” the professor replies. “Out.”
The rest of the class stares at us as River gets up, packing his laptop as his cheeks flush redder and redder. I grab my laptop and stand up too, stepping out into the aisle. I reach for River, but he storms out, not waiting for me.
