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He takes a step toward me. “You’re crossing a line, Sadie. Watch yourself.”
My features go stone cold at the sound of him saying my name. “Why?” I continue. “Because I said something true?”
Another step closer. “Because you said something inappropriate.”
“So it is true?” I ask, a smirk returning to my face.
“Miss Green…” he says in a warning.
“What’s wrong, Dr. Goode? You don’t like me pointing out that you’re a?—”
Saliva floods my mouth as my abdomen clenches. It cuts the words straight from my mouth. I feel myself pale as Luke’s eyes widen.
“There’s another trash in the corner,” he says flatly.
I spin away from him and barely make it in time, heaving what’s left in my gut into the second innocent victim of a metal can today.
Just like last time, a soft tissue touches my face. But this time, instead of handing it to me, he wipes my lips and chin.
“Don’t call the janitor again,” I mutter with my eyes closed.
“Already did.”
“I hate you,” I reply.
“Come on. I’ll drive you home,” he replies.
“I brought my car. And I refuse to accept help from you.”
“Why?” he asks as he uncaps my bottle of water and lifts it to my lips. “Because you know I’ll get off on it?” he adds.
My eyes pop open to find him fighting a smile. The corner of his mouth lifts but only briefly. In the blink of an eye, he’s scowling again.
After the janitor returns for the second time and I die of embarrassment again, Dr. Goode slings his bag over his shoulder and guides me out the door.
“I must have eaten something bad,” I say as I reach my car. “You really don’t have to drive me home. I’ll be fine.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
With a sigh, I nod. “I’m sure. I don’t live far.”
“Okay,” he says, relenting. “I’ll see you Wednesday, then.”
He turns and walks away toward his own car. He’s in a blue plaid button-down shirt, rolled at the sleeves, and a pair of tight, black slacks. Suddenly, I can’t stop thinking about our conversation in the classroom. I doubt that even if Luke had some controlling Dom kink, he would ever express it. He’s too uptight and too much of a prude.
Although, if I’m honest, picturing him in that role is sort of hot.
“I’m sorry again,” I call across the parking lot.
Without turning toward me, he holds up a hand as if to say, “It’s okay.”
My stomach settles down enough for me to drive home. When I get there, I’m relieved to find the house is empty. My parents are at work, and my brother is at school. Which means I can fall right back into my own bed without having to answer to anyone.
The blankets on my bed are cool and inviting, and even after my now empty stomach starts to growl, I ignore it. I refuse to reward it after the way it’s behaved today.
It’s so weird that I would just throw up out of nowhere. It’s not like I’m sick. There are no other symptoms. And if it were food poisoning, I’m sure there would be other signs.
Maybe it’s just a fluke.
