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The room is humming with conversation, though quieter than just before I entered. People keep peeking over here, as if my sitting on Damian’s lap is the event of the evening.

When I shift on his hard thigh, an arm comes up and yanks me back to his chest. “You’ll stay just like this.”

The command sends a ripple down my spine. Not from fear, but from something else I don’t want to name.

“Talk to me,” he says.

“About what?”

“Anything. What’s your favorite class?” He leans in, his breath tickling my ear. “I know you have one, Ava St. Clair.”

He says my name like a caress, and my belly heats. “You mean because I’m a nerd?”

“Yes,” he says immediately, and my lips twitch.

His bluntness is, at times, strangely disarming.

“I actually like Social Psychology the best,” I say. “Ourclass.”

He scoffs. “You should be the one teaching it, then. You’d probably do a better job than Professor Moore. I can’t stand professors who just read off the slides. What’s the point in going to class?”

A flicker of surprise flashes through me. “Same! I know I’ll be reading the slides many times over and all the required reading at least once. When I’m in class, I want the professor to tell a story. I want to be riveted.”

He rubs a finger along my neck. “It’s because we think we’re smarter than everyone. How dare Professor Moore waste our time? He ought to be flattered we’re even there.”

I don’t like that assessment of me. Am I really that vain?

No, I don’t think I’m especially smart. Only more curious than most. I shift in his lap, and he lets out a groan, sending a ripple of shock through me.

What did that groan mean?

“You’re talking about yourself. I told you I like that class.” I swallow. “So that’s why you’re always forty-five minutes late, if you even show up at all.”

He slides his hand up my thigh, brushing his fingers lightly against my bare skin just under the hem of the dress. I inhale sharply.

“You noticed.” There’s a smile in his voice.

“Of course I noticed. The whole class stops when you walk in, like you’re more interesting than the lecture.”

“Because I am.” His thumb inches up my bare thigh, sending liquid heat into my belly. “Why is Social Psychology your favorite?”

Why does he sound like he’s genuinely interested? He can’t be. He either wants me for a cult ritual or he’s playing mind games with me.

“I like that it makes me think about the world differently. I always thought I was unique. Most people do, I guess. This class shows me that human behavior is shockingly predictable.”

“Yes.” There’s excitement in his voice. “Humans are just highly social animals. Everything comes down to our biological programming. Our belief in our uniqueness is just a story we tell ourselves.”

His piercing intensity… I kind of like it, don’t I? I don’t agree with what he’s saying though. Humans are far more complex than biology alone can explain.

But I like that he thinks this way. I like that it gives me something to push back against.

Weird. Maybe even the Devil can be likable at times.

“That’s why I study people,” he says. “If you understand someone’s programming, you can make them do anything.”

Ah, yes.

Of course, it all comes down to manipulation with Damian Cross.