Page 64 of The KING Review

Part of me wants to bite. I need to know that all this tension is making her feel just as insane as me. I want to make her feel just as out of control as she makes me feel.

Me:

Are you plotting, angel?

God, I can hardly believe that’s the response that I send, but there it is.

Don’t:

I’m always plotting, daddy

you’re looking especially hot today

I feel the tops of my ears go hot. I shouldn’t respond, and I definitely shouldn’t encourage her, but I can’t help myself. It feels reckless, but I’m powerless to resist it.

Me:

Is that right?

Her gaze flicks up from her phone, locking with mine. I maintain eye contact, face neutral. There are half a dozen private study pods in this block, and she’s one pod back from my desk at the front. Her eyes look predatory in the shitty library lights.

Don’t:

yeah

I keep thinking of what we did in the lab

I know you do too

I almost groan out loud, narrowly stifling the sound.

Me:

Of course, I do. I’m not made of stone.

“Doctor King?”

My head snaps up at the vaguely familiar voice, and I all but slam my phone face down on the desk. I paste on a professional smile, though I can see Neve smirking from behind her classmate. “Yes, Miss Davis. Can I help you with something?”

She smiles, blue eyes darkening slightly as her pupils dilate. I already don’t like where this is going. “Uh, yes, but it’s not… class related.”

I quirk a brow, forcing my face to remain neutral despite wanting to frown or let her know politely that this isn’t the place for that. I give a questioning hum, shuffling the papers on my desk just to give my hands something to do.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime?” She twists her hands in front of her, clearly nervous. “Outside of school time.”

I roll my lips in, arranging my features into something I hope comes across as conciliatory. “Miss Davis, you’re my student.” I clear my throat as I watch her face fall. I’m not trying to be an asshole—but I sure feel like it, especially when what I should be saying is that apparently that isn’t stopping me anymore, but she’s just not the student I’m willing to break the rules for. “Unless you need specific assistance with something that’s related to your classes, it would be a conflict of interest.”

I’m the biggest hypocrite in the world.

She forces a smile that’s more confident than her voice when she speaks. “Of course. I just, uh—” She cuts herself off with a nervous laugh. “—I guess I wanted to shoot my shot.”

I offer a smile in return, and she returns to her seat. I try not to laugh at myself, given the fact that Virginia Davis is probably closer to my age than Neve is. On a scale of appropriateness, it would arguably be more acceptable, but all I can think about is the twenty-six-year-old sister of my friend and colleague who is driving me insane.

As if on cue, my phone screen lights up—I can see it, even face down, where the very edge of it hangs slightly over the lip of the desk. I turn it over.

Don’t:

wow, that was bold af