Page 82 of Illicit Education
I nodded.
“I’d like you to begin giving me verbal confirmation.”
“Yes.” My throat was thick. Had he just asked me to be, like, in a relationship with him?
His eyes tightened. “You have something on your mind. Say it.”
“Did you just ask me to be your girlfriend?”
I didn’t miss the slight curl of his lip, but I’d address that later. “No, Rylan, I certainly did not.”
He turned his attention to the road again and resumed driving. Thank God the light was green again.
“I don’t do relationships. I don’t have girlfriends. You will never be seen with me outside of the club. Do you understand that?”
I swallowed hard. The way those words felt like a physical blow was hard to ignore. But I’d only known the man for five days; I couldn’t expect a wedding proposal.
“During the day, you are still the fall intern at Reed Publishing. We will work together, but nothing will change. If we spend our evenings together… this is something separate. Do you understand?”
“Yes?”
“What part is confusing?”
“The monogamy part.”
“Rylan.” He said my name with the first hint of impatience I’d heard in his voice all night. “When I fuck you, I will fuck only you.” He side-eyed me, one eyebrow raised. “Monogamy.”
I stared out the window as the streets began looking more familiar, chewing on my bottom lip. He didn’t want to date me, but hedidwant to sleep with me.
Was I okay with this?
Pshhh.
“Can I date other people?” I asked. Not that I wanted to, but–
“I really don’t care what you do in your free time, but I will expect you to give me the same respect as I give you.”
“Meaning…”
“Meaning, sexually speaking, you are mine. And only mine.”
“So you’ll break up with Stella.”
His nostrils flared, but he nodded. “If that is how you need to phrase it in order to understand, then yes.”
Hmm.
We remained quiet for some time, but as the houses we passed grew larger, I finally broke the silence again. “I’m up here on the right. Number four-oh-seven. There should be a space in front.”
Greer’s grandfather had a parking space even though he’d stopped driving years ago and neither Greer nor I had a car.
Reed pulled the Pumpkin King to the curb and leaned over the center console to look up at the home through the passenger side window. I froze, holding my breath. He was so close I could touch him. Lick his temple if I wanted to. If he turned his head, there’d be an inch, maybe two, separating our mouths.
Then he settled back into his seat and I pulled in an audible breath.
“You’re killing me,” I whispered.
“This is where you live?”