“Well, what is this?” I said, gesturing between us. “Am I just a minion to you? Or are you my friend?”
“I like to think so. But we’ve never spent time together outside of work. I’ve never set foot in your apartment.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I’m saying,” she said, finally looking up at me, “that your past has been dictating your present. Think carefully before you let it control your future.”
“Wow. That was deep.”
Sasha crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and threw it at me. I batted it away.
“Let’s be blunt,” she said. “You’re afraid of falling in love.”
I nodded.
“More than that you’re afraid that you’ll get your heart broken.”
“Duh. Isn’t everyone?”
“Yes. But they don’t let that stop them from living.”
“I don’t…” I began, but she raised a hand, stopping me mid-sentence.
“Yes, you do. You really do. You have engineered your life so that to the outside observer it looks both exciting and on track, but it’s a facade. You play at risk so that you don’t actually have to take any. You get on that stage and get naked for strangers so that you never have to with the people you’re closest to.”
Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.
“Jesus Christ, Sash,” I said, tears welling.
“I’m sorry,” she said, rising from her chair. She walked around the desk and stood in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “Listen, don’t feel bad. Takes one to know one, right?”
“Right,” I said, sniffing.
“The decision’s yours, darling, obviously. But if you take a risk and it doesn’t work out,” —she shrugged— “that’s life. And you’ve survived worse.”
“I have.” I nodded.
She snatched a tissue from the box on her desk and dabbed under my eyes for me.
“Now, shamelessly changing the subject, I’ll ask, how does this early graduation-thing work?”
“I just go down to the registrar’s office on Friday. They’ll give me a slip of paper saying I’m officially all done, and then I’m out of there.”
“No ceremony?”
“No, there are only five of us graduating,” I said, taking the tissue from her. “We all opted to come back in the spring for the official ceremony. So it’s just a piece of paper and I’m free.”
“Will you be celebrating?” she asked.
“I believe so,” I said, grinning. “I haven’t spoken to Thomas about it yet, but I hope that we’ll be spending the weekend together.”
“I’m sure you will be.” She smiled. “Well, I wish you multiple mind-blowing orgasms with your handsome Professor.”
“Thanks, Sash,” I said, popping up off the desk to retrieve my coat. “You’re a good friend.”
“I’m glad to help,” she said.
“Maybe one of these days I’ll even invite you over,” I called as I walked out the door.
“Get out of here before I dock your pay, minion!” she yelled back.
* * *
The rest of the week crawled by. I studied during every spare minute of the day. My brain felt like an overcrowded hard drive badly in need of defragging. But it was a welcome distraction. I needed some reprieve from obsessing about me and Thomas, and Thomas and me, and blah blah blah. Nothing like cramming for an economics exam to take your mind off of sex.
That is, until the evening, when he’d texted me. My cheeks hurt from grinning at the phone, and my thumbs felt strained from texting him back. The rest of me just ached. Ached for him, the feel of his lips on mine, his fingers caressing my skin, slipping inside me. I ached for his words too, his thoughts, his voice. I wanted to hear him speak to me again, that low seductive rasp tickling my ear as he told me I was beautiful, that he wanted me.
I took my last exam on Thursday, and that afternoon, I made a decision. I was going all in. Time to take that risk. Just weeks ago he’d sent me his medical records, his disease-free clean bill of health, along with a note that read:
"No barriers, no uncertainty. When next I touch you, I want nothing to come between us."
It was partly symbolic, I knew that. A gesture of trust on his part when we’d both needed that affirmation. But I hadn’t answered him yet, hadn’t confirmed or rejected his request. I hadn’t been sure what my answer was going to be, actually. Until now.