Page 146 of Tempting Little Thief

It doesn’t work and I pull up the message threads again, rereading our last meaningless conversation that now means more than it should. I had told him I tried some sort of chili chocolate our dessert chef prepared, and it tasted like shit. He said he’d bring me one from a local market in his neighborhood because he was sure the two-dollar bar would change my mind. I didn’t tell him the chocolate the chef used was imported and cost a hundred times that, but I’m pretty sure he gathered as much. The cost part of it anyway.

And then I do what I told myself I wouldn’t, what Delta’s little ten-second exercise was supposed to keep me from doing.

I reread all twelve texts I’ve sent him since he disappeared that night, all left unanswered, wincing as I get to the last one …

Me: if you don’t respond, I’m going to assume this is done and the ban on keeping Dom out of my bed is void.

Yeah, not my proudest of moments, but the thought of Chloe consoling him brought literal vomit up my throat and the message was the result.

I fully realize there’s no way in hell that happened. He used her and she let him, which means he pulled something dirtyto get his way. Blackmail, if I had my guess, but something sly nonetheless. She’s not his type. She’s weak and childish and brunette—

I cut off my own thoughts, closing my eyes and dropping my head against the wall. God, I’m so pathetic.

I send another message.

Me: I have to tell you something.

It’s a lie, sort of. I have lots of things I could tell him if he were to call, but nothing pressing … if you discount the pressurepressingin my fucking chest.

I wait. One minute, then two, and then ten.

Shoving my phone in my uniform jacket pocket, I slap the wall, gripping the edge of the sink, and squeeze my eyes shut. The cluster of emotions I don’t want to sort through swirling and merging, settling into the one I can live with, anger, because fuck him, right?!

I didn’t ask him to come back that first night, nor the second, nor the third, but he did! Despite my false act of indifference toward him, he kept pushing, kept coming, and now he thinks he can just disappear?! Just leave me on read, if he’s even fucking reading the messages at all!

After he made me crave him?

Made me trust him?

Made me fucking need him?

Huffing, I push to stand, glaring at my reflection.

Stupid, perfect hair and makeup and uniform.

Pathetic little “rich girl,” feeling bad for herself.

“Fuck you, Bastian.”

“Bastian …”

I whip around, glaring at the empty-eyed janitor I didn’t even hear come in.

“I’ve always liked that name,” she mumbles to herself as she moves toward the mirror beside me.

She’s not supposed to speak to us, it’s all a part of the punishment of working here, yet she doesn’t seem to care.

Is everyone just losing their damn minds?

“Bastian,” she repeats it, and I want to lash at her for daring to speak what only I’m allowed—wasallowed—to call him. Pulling the rag from her pocket, she rubs circles into the glass in the same spot, over and over again, staring at herself in the mirror. “It’s nice, don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t. I hate it,” I lie, turning for the door. “It’s a horrible fucking name.”

I walk the hell out.

Professor Johnson looks up as I turn my test in, a slight frown building along his forehead. “Done already, Miss Revenaw?” he whispers so as not to interrupt the class.

Pressing my lips together, I offer a tight smile as I nod and the suspicion on his face only grows.

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