It was obvious this wasn’t about my work—this was about Donovan. Why was he doing this to me? Part of me wondered if I should be going to The Keep instead, if it should be his door I should be banging on.
No. I wasn’t playing games. Velasquez would fix my grade and if Donovan got in trouble for giving me a bad score then he deserved it.
The door was closed, but I could see the light on through the frosted glass. I knocked and bounced my hip impatiently while I waited for my professor to respond.
“It’s open.”
I turned the knob and stepped into the office. It was the size of a shoebox, lined with mismatched library-style bookcases, so cramped that the door wouldn’t open all the way, and I had to shut it behind me to see Velasquez’s desk.
Then, fuck, it was Donovan sitting behind it in his place.
Goddammit all to hell.
The son of a bitch didn’t even look up from his laptop. “How can I help you, Sabrina?”
My hands were shaking. I stuffed them into my coat pockets. I couldn’t talk to Donovan. Not like this. Not when he’d already written me off. “Where’s Velasquez?”
“You have to schedule an appointment to see him.” His dress shirt was crisp white and his muscles bulged tightly against the fabric.
I’m not looking at him. “I’d like to do that then.”
“You can schedule online through the portal.”
Jesus. Of course.
I put my hand on the doorknob, ready to leave.
“He’s here on Fridays at three,” Donovan said to my back.
I did a mental scan of my schedule. “I have class then.”
“Then you’ll have to skip class. Or you’ll have to talk to me.” Finally, he looked up at me—caught me, caged me with those sharp, piercing eyes. “What can I help you with, Sabrina?”
I didn’t want to talk to him. And I didn’t want to leave.
“My grade,” I said.
He cocked his head, as if he had no idea what I meant, that asshole motherfucker. “What about it?”
Anger gave me courage. I pulled my hands out of my pockets and stepped toward him. “It’s not fair, and you know it. I understand that you don’t agree with my conclusions, but my reasoning was fair and sound, and I referenced many credible and reliable sources—”
He nodded to the chair facing the desk. “Sit down, Sabrina. You’re awfully worked up.”
He didn’t even ask me to sit. He told me. It was patronizing and infuriating. “I’d like to stand.” I was getting hot, though. I unbuckled my pea coat and threw it on the chair instead. “My paper was not ‘F’ work.”
He nodded and ticked his jaw a couple times as though considering. After a beat, he said, “I care to differ.”
“This is not subjective!” I yelled.
“It is, actually.” His tone remained composed, in perfect contrast to mine. “Unfortunately, for you, it’s my opinion that matters.”
God, the calmer he was the more worked up I got. He was goading me on purpose. I should leave. I knew I should leave.
I started for my coat then stopped. “Why are you doing this?”
“It’s sad, really.” Donovan shut his laptop and pushed it aside. Then he clapped his hands together silently as if praying and pointed them at me. “You showed such promise at the beginning of the term, Sabrina. But this last month you’ve become a different person. You’ve arrived late to class. You’re disengaged. You’re disruptive. The work you’re turning in—this paper—is less than acceptable. It’s a shame you’re letting the events of one night stain the rest of your life.”
His last sentence was heavy and weighted with subtext.
“Are you—?” I was incredulous. Was he really blaming this on what happened with Theo? “Oh, and you’re a perfect example of how not to let a tragedy stain the rest of your life.”
His brows furrowed. “What did you say?”
Besides, I hadn’t changed because of Theo. I’d changed because of him. Not that I was telling him that. “My changes in behavior have not translated into a change in the standard of my work.”
“As your teacher, that’s for me to decide, and I’ve decided that it has.” His subtext said case closed. Especially when he leaned back in his chair and rested his feet on the desk, crossed at the ankles.
Weeks of bottled up emotion rattled through me. Every cell in my body vibrated with rage and want and horror and shame.
“Fuck you,” I said in as clear and as controlled a tone as I could manage. I’d leave. I’d talk to Velasquez. I’d report the fuck out of Donovan. I had a solid case. This wasn’t even anything to worry about. I’d get it worked out.
I grabbed my coat off the chair and spun once again to leave.
“Don’t you mean fuckwaffle?”
I’d had the door open, was this close to walking out, but I shut it again because I had to know. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because of Weston?” Was he jealous?
For half a second, I thought I’d hit onto something. His expression tightened and a strange prick of heat blossomed in my belly at the idea of Donovan jealous. Because of me.
But then he laughed, coldly. “No. I was just teasing you. Can’t take being on the other side of the joke?”
Is that what this was to him? A joke?
“This is serious!” I was so mad I dropped my coat and pushed his fucking feet off the desk. “This is my scholarship!”
In an instant he was up and around the desk in front of me. “I told you before how you could fix your grades if you’re that concerned about it.”
He was referring to his come-on in his room. When he’d suggested he could help me with my virginity. It was another way he could trivialize my situation, but it was also a chance to play with my emotions. I hated how it felt like a carrot dangling. How he played that card as if he knew that somewhere deep down I wanted him.
It pissed me off to a new level. I slapped him so hard my palm burned.
Donovan rubbed his cheek, and his eyes sparked. “Is this how you fought off Theo?” he asked, evenly.
“No,” I said tentatively.
Something shifted between us.
“Fight me like you fought him.”
I could have said no. It was such a strange, twisted request, but I was mad and ready to fight. And after weeks of the thoughts I’d had, weeks of pent-up desire and need, I didn’t want to say no.
And was it really a strange, twisted request if somewhere on a gut level I understood the impetus behind it?
Without further urging, I shoved both arms against Donovan’s chest as forcefully as I could. He pushed my hands away, but it felt good. Both to shove and be shoved. Like being able to pick up a heavy weight and the relief after you put it down.
Donovan nodded, encouraging me to come at him again.
I shoved him once more, but he grabbed my arm and wrapped it around my back. He tried for my other arm. I kneed him in his side then pushed against his face while he was bent over. He was too strong for me, and he captured my wrist easily.
He held me like this for a second as we caught our breath, all the while his eyes glued to mine. “Do you want me to stop?” he asked carefully.