Page 29 of Red Velvet

I look at her, trying to quiet the alarm that’s going off inside my head. It happens every time. Every single time a girl agrees to follow me into the darkness, she finds herself faced with nagging questions afterward. Questions I don’t want to answer, questions that should not be answered.

Questions that could destroy everything.

"Lila, listen."

She jerks up as if I'd just yelled at her, fear evident on her face. She doesn't know what I'm about to tell her, has no way of knowing, but her expression makes it look like she’s preparing for the worst.

That's probably for the best.

"There's nothing to understand here," I tell her. "All you have to know is whether or not you liked what just happened, and whether you want to do it again."

Her eyes widen as her expressions lightens, but only cautiously so.

"Again?" There's disbelief in her question, and on her face. "You'd want to see me again?"

I frown at her. "I'm not into one-night-stands. If you ask me, we're just getting started."

"Oh. I thought—"

"That this was just a quick and easy one-night fuck? Is that what it felt like to you?"

The violence with which she shakes her head surprises me.

"No, not at all! It's just that… I mean, I'm not looking for a boyfriend and…."

She pauses, biting her lower lip.

Is she serious right now?

She'sthe one rebuffingme?

"Who says I want to be your fucking boyfriend?" I snap. "That's not what this is either. I don't do girlfriends."

She swallows, cowering as if my words physically hurt her. "What do you do, then?"

There's bitterness in her question, a sharp edge that reveals her aversion to this conversation.

Good. I prefer this insecure distaste to her chasing me away like an unwanted insect because she thinks I could want more from this than she does. Maybe I do, but not in the way she may suspect.

"This," I respond, gesturing to the room. "I do this."

"So, you always have sex here?"

I shake my head. "That's not what I meant. And I don't just have sex. We didn'tjusthave sex. It's more than that."

"But it's not a relationship."

"You could still call it that. Every ongoing interaction between two people is a relationship in some sense."

A crease appears between her eyebrows when she looks at me. "That's a very scholarly definition."

"Fine with me," I say, shrugging. "It's still true."

She presses her lips together, and I love the tense expression on her face, the kiss of ruined makeup that circles her bright eyes. A collar would look good on her, but that's a consideration for another time. Not tonight.

She's used to certainty, to real boyfriends—real relationships, as she defines it. It's no surprise to me that this is new to her, and neither is her next question.

"What is this, then? You're not my boyfriend, but you also don't want to leave this as a one-night stand?"

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