Still, my mind flashes back, his text about “Devon,” my irritation at the thought of him running to someone else when he was too drunk to drive home.
I force myself to look away from that smile and back to Claire. “Yeah, that’s an important footnote.”
Claire chuckled, though her posture has shifted, more guarded now. “Oh, that’s admirable.”
Ryan gave a polite nod, then turned to me. “Professor, can I borrow you?”
I almost shook my head, narrowed my eyes in warning, until I noticed Claire watching us. I nodded instead.
He kept his expression professional as we walked, but I knew him well enough to feel the current beneath it.
We reached a quiet corner. He tsked. “Not here. Your office.”
I hesitated, but still followed. My legs moved before my brain caught up.
The elevator ride was a blur of greetings from other professors and students, none of them knowing the truth. To them, we’re just heading to office hours to discuss a grade.
When we reached my office, he shut and locked the door in one motion.
He went straight for my tie like it was his by right.
“Woah, what are you doing?”
He didn't stop, just fixed me with that too-bright gaze. “I’ve decided you don’t get an opinion anymore on what happens between us.”
Huh?
I scoffed, stepping back. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a coward. Getting drunk because you can’t face me sober. Cute at first, but I’m over it. You’re about to be divorced, don’t think, just let it happen.”
Did I mishear him?
“Ryan—”
“Shut up.” The word landed like a slap before his hand did, light but firm against my cheek. He caught my chin, angling my head where he wanted it. “I’ve had enough of your back and forth. You’re mine. I won you fair and square, and now I’m not holding back.”
The whiplash nearly staggered me. Friday night, he was drunk and pliant in my passenger seat. Now, he’s smug and sure, like he owned the ground we’re standing on.
“You’re mine,” he repeated. “Bet you haven’t had sex in a while. I could fix that.”
I scoff again, but his hands curl over my head, closing the space. “I can show you what you’re missing.”
“Ryan—”
“Baby to you.”
“Baby?”
“Yes?” he says, leaning closer. The doorknob rattles briefly, then silence.
“No, that’s not—why am I calling you baby?”
His grin widens. “Because I said so.”
He teases, “You made a big deal of telling me your wife is boring and I’m so much better, a perfect puzzle piece for your life.”
“I didn’t say that,” I deadpan.
