Chapter 20: Hands Where I Put Them

Miranda's POV

He knocked at eight exactly, and he had brought nothing.

No flowers, no book, no wine.

He stood in my doorway in a dark coat with his hands out of his pockets, so I could see them.

"You read my text," he said.

"I read it four times."

"And?"

"Come in, Professor."

I had not said his name in eleven days.

Maddie had left a note on the fridge that said GONE TO MY SISTER'S. DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. I MEAN IT. TELL ME EVERYTHING.

Geoffrey looked at my living room, with the secondhand couch and the borrowed lamp and the poster of a sad llama.

"It's a good room," he said.

"It's a terrible room."

"It has someone in it," he said. "That makes it better than mine."

I shut the door behind him and turned the lock.

"I'm still angry," I said.

"I know."

"I'm going to be angry for a long time. This isn't forgiveness."

"I know that too."

"I just don't want to wait for the day I'm finished being angry."

He didn't move.

"Tell me what you want," he said.

It was the same sentence he had used in his office, and we both heard it.

"Rule one," I said.

His eyebrows went up.

"Hands where I put them," I said. "Nothing happens unless I say. You don't touch me until I tell you to."

"Is that on the syllabus?"

"I'm making it up," I said. "It's called economics."

He laughed, one short rough breath, and the laughing went out of his face a second later.

"Yes, Ms. Linden," he said.

I took his coat and hung it on the hook.

I took his wrists next and drew them in front of him, and he let me.

"Stand there," I said.

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