“What about you?” He points a pencil at me. “Are you dating a swimmer?” “Me? I—” Suddenly, Lukas’s hand is a manacle around my ankle, like I’m something for him to hold and control and restrain. My brain trips. I’m sure everyone—Lukas, Zach, the front desk librarian downstairs—can hear the erratic pound of my heart. “She’s not,” Lukas replies, eyes steady, fixing mine. Voice rumbly and calm. His hand is a vise, and— It’s just the way I’m wired. It’s written in my neurons, how much I enjoy the strength behind his grip. His size. The ease with which he could overpower me. He could make me do
...more
