Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 671(@200wpm)___ 537(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
He smirks. “Why’s that?”
“I don’t know, maybe you’d be less hot,” I suggest.
He nods as if considering, then pulls out his phone. I figure he’s just checking it, so I search the dining area for a table off in a corner with no one around. Once I’ve found the perfect spot, I grab his free hand and haul him over to it.
I don’t even think he’s paying attention, but he stops to pull out my chair, his gaze still on his phone.
“Thank you,” I murmur.
It’s probably odd to feel a bit jealous of a phone, but usually when we’re together, I have all of Silvan’s attention.
He nods, then once I’m sitting, he holds the phone in front of me and I see what he was doing. I’m somewhat relieved to realize he wasn’t distracted texting or anything like that; he was looking for a picture of himself before he grew his hair out to show me.
My gaze settles on a shot of him at the beach, shirtless and clean-shaven with short hair, laughing at something his friend is saying.
Oh, damn. He’s gorgeous. He looks like he’s modeling something I’d never purchase because I’d be too busy gazing at the ad to get that far.
“Not less hot. Got it.”
He smirks and walks over to take the seat across from me. Now that he’s shown me he’s hot no matter how he styles himself, apparently, he puts his phone away and returns his full attention to me.
I try to ignore the faint burst of pleasure, but that’s one of the things I really like about Silvan. He doesn’t seem to have this constant need to be connected to everything but me when we’re together. He’s always focused on me when he’s spending time with me. Most guys can’t even stay off their phone on a date. It’s like they’re too worried about keeping up with everything else that is far more interesting to them than me.
“Can I ask you a question?”
He nods. “Of course.”
“Fair warning, it’s a question I hate, and I hate that I’m asking it, but… why are you single?”
He shrugs. “That’s how I liked it until I met you.”
“You haven’t proposed marriage and babies to all the other girls you’ve liked?”
He laughs like the mere notion is ridiculous. “No. Actually, I think if you asked most of the girls I’ve gone out with, they’d be more inclined to tell you I’m a noncommittal asshole than to give a glowing review of my devotion."
That’s so far from the Silvan I know, I can’t entirely fathom it. “What’s so different with me?” I ask earnestly.
He meets my gaze across the table. His green eyes are serious when he leans in, rests his arms on the table, and says, “Everything.”
My heart skips a beat, but as lovely a sentiment as it is, it’s still hard to entirely believe it.
What if he’s only so attentive and determined to have me because I’m new and shiny and maybe because I’ve put up resistance? Seeing the responses he usually gets from other girls, I’m willing to bet he’s never had to work so hard before.
If it’s only the novelty of my disinterest that makes me interesting to him, what happens if I give in? Does he lose interest?
That’s what I want, right?
Maybe I should play along.
I don’t want to mess with his heart, though.
I don’t want to mess with mine, either.
At this point, I’m not even sure what I want. For him to go away, or…?
The alternative is too crazy to even consider. Right?
Sure, he’s gorgeous and interesting and funny and he actually seems devoted, which is a rare trait in anyone, let alone someone as overall appealing as he is. But he’s also pushy and rapey and kind of stalkerish. I mean, he entrapped me at my professor’s house and fucked me in his bed because…
Wait, how did he even come upon the notion that he needed to do that? I never got a clear answer.
“Can I ask you something else?”
He nods.
How do I even word this? “Why did you… do what you did yesterday?”
I wait for him to get defensive, but he doesn’t. Calmly, he asks, “Which part?”
“Um, all of it? I mean, what made you think I’d even come?”
A glint of something hard passes through his gaze and he sits back, but he’s still cool and in control. “I hoped you wouldn’t come, but I knew you would. Your professor has been manipulating you. You’re very easy to manipulate in certain ways.”
My spine stiffens. “Oh, really?”
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he assures me. “You just have some damage in certain areas that makes it easy for a man to prey on you. He’s an accomplished psychologist. Of course he fucking knows how to manipulate you, it’s just pretty fucking sick that he does since he’s supposed to be your teacher, someone you should be able to trust.”