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)
I don’t get the vibe that Professor DeMarco is a creep, so after much anxiety over the decision, I finally decide to go. I tell myself it’s okay because I’m probably overthinking it. It’s college, not high school. Maybe professors and students are allowed to be friends.
Nothing will happen that I don’t want to happen.
He’s not some creep like Dylan, he’s a respected professional.
And it’s not like he’s definitely going to come onto me just because I’m at his house.
And if he does…
I’ll just tell him he needs to pump the brakes a little. No big deal.
Yeah, because you’re always able to keep your head clear around him.
True, he does scare me a little…
But that bit of common sense isn’t helpful, so I toss it out and proceed to tell myself it’s perfectly natural to shower, shave, and pick out a cute outfit different from the one I wore to school today.
I’m so preoccupied with the craziness of this whole thing that it doesn’t occur to me to feel guilty or paranoid until I’m halfway to my car.
A creepy feeling passes over me like I’m being watched. I turn and survey my surroundings, but I don’t see anybody.
As soon as I get in my car, I press the lock button.
Paranoia still lingers and I find myself checking the rearview mirror and the traffic around me on the whole drive over to Professor DeMarco’s house.
When I get there, I park in his driveway and turn off the engine.
I take a breath and grab my purse, but I have to ignore the pang when I realize I’m still using the purse Silvan bought me on that shopping spree with my mom.
It feels somehow wrong to bring that purse here. I should have changed it before I left.
Stop it, Sophie. You don’t owe him a thing. What he got from you, he stole.
That perfectly rational thought does little to chase away the memory of how solid he felt in the limo when I leaned on him on the way home after he…
I squeeze my thighs together, forcing the thoughts from my head. Banishing them.
I didn’t want that.
I didn’t want him.
This is better simply because I’m choosing to be here. Even if it’s the biggest, dumbest mistake of my life, at least I get to choose it.
I push open the door and step out onto the gravel driveway.
I wore a cute pair of black ballet flats and a pair of fleece tights beneath a burgundy corduroy skirt. I'm also wearing a white button-down top and a pink infinity scarf to complete the look.
Under the coat Silvan bought me because he thought I seemed cold the night before.
He was always noticing things about me.
Because you were new and shiny and unattainable. You haven’t heard from him in days, so clearly you didn’t hold his interest, anyway. Now, stop it with the Silvan crap.
Tamping down my nerves and all my stray thoughts with them, I slide my purse strap over my shoulder and slowly make my way to the front door.
Ordinarily, I would ring the doorbell, but there’s a note stuck to the mahogany wood that halts me.
Sophie,
The door is unlocked.
Please let yourself inside.
I’m waiting for you in the bedroom.
-DeMarco
My eyes widen and my heart slides down into the pit of my stomach.
He’s waiting for me in his bedroom?
That puts big dents in all my reassurances to myself that this probably wasn’t even romantic in nature, and I shouldn’t be so freaked out about it.
It’s also quite presumptuous.
I frown, glancing back at my car and considering bailing on this whole night. In a way, this note feels like a warning. He’s letting me know what he expects if I step over that threshold, and this is more than I thought I was signing up for.
It’s one thing to be open to getting to know each other and seeing where it goes, but to think I would just… sleep with him?
Not cool.
Not in my plans, either.
I’m sorely tempted to flee the scene so I can skip the confrontation, but I still don’t think Professor DeMarco is a creep, and I don’t want to make things weird for the rest of the semester. Maybe there’s some other explanation. Even if there isn’t, I shouldn’t stand him up. I can go in and then if this bedroom thing is what it sounds like, I’ll simply explain that I’m not comfortable with it.
Not that doing that would make things immensely comfortable come Monday, but maybe less awkward than standing him up?
I can’t decide what to do but I’m tired of thinking about it, so I do the thing I can’t take back.
I open the door.
My heart thunders as I ease open the door and step over the threshold. The foyer is all dark wood and masculine energy, but not bachelor pad masculine energy. It’s like the home of a well-educated, cultured man. The kind of man I still think I’d like.