"No." I place my hands on his shoulders as I gaze at him, my fingertips trailing up his neck, twirling a curl near his ear. "I'm curious."

"Be careful what you ask," he says quietly, his hands drifting along my jeans to cup my ass. "The answers aren't always pretty."

Leaning down, I kiss him softly and whisper against his mouth, "I just want to know you."

He pulls away, leaning back in his chair to gaze at me. He's so quiet I start to get self-conscious, my face flushing at the intensity of his stare, when he lets out an exaggerated sigh. I watch as he unknots his tie, pulling it off and tossing it on the desk beside me.

His jacket was discarded the moment we stepped in his house an hour ago.

Slowly, he unbuttons his shirt, his eyes fixed on mine as he pulls it open. I try not to look, try to keep eye contact, but I can't help it. My eyes are drawn down to his chest as he tugs on the neck of his undershirt, pulling it down as far as it will go. I take in the sight of his tanned skin peppered with old scars, my right hand drifting from his hair down his neck.

I hesitate before running my fingertips along the marred skin, connecting the dots of his old wounds like maybe they can tell me the story. He remains quiet as I draw on his skin before he clutches my wrist, stilling my movements. I meet his eyes then, startled by his strong grasp, and see that look.

That look.

It sends a chill down my spine.

He says nothing as he stares at me. Nothing about what he just did really explains it, but somehow I understand. Whatever happened to him was bad... bad enough to stop life in its tracks and send him on a different path.

"What would you have majored in," I ask, "if that hadn't happened?"

"I don't know." He lets go of my wrist. I press my palm flat against his chest, faintly feeling his steady heartbeat as he speaks again. "That's not who I am now. I hardly remember that man anymore."

He pushes his chair back, my hand dropping from his chest. I take it as my cue to move away when he starts buttoning his shirt again. I stroll back over to the bookshelf, surveying his collection of textbooks. "Did you like philosophy in college or something? You have a lot of books about it."

He scoffs. "Hated it. Failed it."

"Funny, me, too. Probably wouldn't be if my professor wasn't such an asshole, though."

"Ah, Daniel Santino." Naz laughs to himself. "He's always been a bit of a dick."

I turn to Naz curiously, wondering how much I can question him before he shuts down again. "How do you know him?"

"He knew my—" He pauses for a beat. "My family."

I don't know what answer I expect, but that's not it. "So you're friends?"

That thought creeps me out.

"Hardly," he says. "I only see him in a professional capacity."

"Thank God," I mutter. "I don't know how I'd feel about you being friends with the devil."

"The devil?"

"Santino... I'm pretty sure he's Satan."

"Nonsense," he says. "The man is little more than a pesky cockroach."

"Yeah, well, in that case, I wish someone would squash him."

Naz laughs. "Be careful what you wish for, sweetheart."

He stands up and grabs his tie, laying it around his neck, not bothering to fix it. "You hungry?"

"Uh, yeah, but I really should get going," I say, pulling out my phone to glance at the time. "I can just grab something back at the dorms."

"I'll drive you."

"You don't have to."

"Nonsense."

Nonsense. I think that might be his favorite word. "But—"

"But what?" He cuts me off before I can answer. "You don't want to inconvenience me? Waste my time? Waste my gas? Don't want me to have to go out of my way? You don't want to be a bother?"

"Well... yes."

"What did I tell you that night in your room? I said there was no turning back. So don't start getting cold feet on me now. I'm yours, Karissa, anytime, day or night."

"I'm not getting cold feet."

"But you're thinking and not feeling. You're overthinking."

I can't really argue with that.

Guilty.

"Let me drive you to the dorm," he says. "It's the least I can do."

He drives me back to Manhattan.

Despite my earlier words, he buys me dinner on the way. Nothing fancy, nothing he would even eat, but it's definitely more my speed.

I'm still sipping on a chocolate milkshake when he pulls the car into the parking garage beside my dorm to drop me off. I thank him, leaning over and kissing his cheek. I'm about to get out when he says my name, drawing my attention to him.

"I have a party to go to this weekend," he says. "Come with me."

My eyes widen. "A party? Like, with people and dancing?"

"It's more of a dinner party, but yes, there may be some dancing."

"A dinner party," I echo. "Like with… dinner?"

I have no idea what a dinner party is really like, but I watch TV. I watch Real Housewives of wherever the fuck they are these days. I've seen what they call dinner parties.

"Yes, with dinner," he says with a laugh. "They're not usually my thing, but it's business, and I'd rather not go alone, if I have someone to go with me."