Page 57 of The Love Interest

“I’m going to pick up Goliath and take him there.”

“Now?”

“To see the Christmas tree.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Absolutely not!” she mimics me.

“It’s not even lit up at this hour. They only light the tree until ten, unless it’s Christmas Day.”

“Oh. Well, that is very inconvenient. We can go to Times Square, then.”

“No, we can’t.”

“I meant me and the cock, not you. You don’t have to come with me. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myselfa lot. Ever since I met you.”

“Same here. A lot.”

“It’s very frustrating.”

“I agree.”

“You aren’t taking care of things with anyone else?”

“No. Are you?”

“No. I told you in the letter.”

“Good.”

“Hah! Who is it good for?! Not me! Not the many, many guys who would be happy totake care ofme if I’d only let them!”

I don’t respond to that. What else can I say? She huffs. The heels of her boots are loud on the sidewalk, and I want them digging into the backs of my thighs while I fuck her, but that’s not going to happen. It’s not.

I can’t do it. I’m already the least distinguished visiting professor on the faculty. All the others have won awards and grants. I could pay the rent for every single one of them, but nobody cares about that in the Creative Writing Department. Everyone already sees me as the guy who got the job because of his dad—I can’t be the guy who fucked a student too.

I can’t.

I realize Fiona is laughing at me. Her laugh is girlish and musical, but nothing is funny about anything right now. “You should see yourself! You look so mad!”

“I don’t need to see myself. I know how I feel.”

“If you don’t want to feel that way anymore, I could help you with that, Professor…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I can help you feel good, Emmett.”

Jesus.

“Tonight.”

“Fiona.”

“I love hearing you say my name. Say it again. Just like that.”

I don’t. I can’t. Not tonight.