Trust Me (Rough Love 3)

“So…but…” Andrew looked flustered and grabbed my hand again. “What does this signify?”

“It’s a collar for my finger. I’m supposed to wear it all the time.”

“Or you get punished?” He rolled his eyes.

“You know about our thing,” I told him. “You’re in a power exchange relationship too.”

“Yeah, but mine isn’t so smothering.”

“You don’t have rules and consequences?”

He lowered his voice and leaned closer to me. “Not like you. I hate that I can’t see you whenever I like. This whole once-a-week rule is creepy.”

“He wants me to focus on work right now.”

“Bullshit. He wants you all to himself.” The waitress delivered our food, and Andrew bit into his sandwich with barely restrained vitriol, before violently dunking a French fry in ketchup. “I mean, even this,” he said, waving a hand around. “Making us meet in a public place? How many hours did we hang out together at your apartment when we were in school? I mean, what the fuck does he think is gonna happen? I’m super flaming gay.”

He announced that very loudly. An older gentleman at a nearby table turned to Andrew with a speculative smile, but Andrew was taken, and he wasn’t in the mood to flirt. I watched him murder another French fry.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said. “We like this place. Does it really matter where we hang out? Why are you getting so upset?”

“Why aren’t you getting upset?” he shot back. “I mean, your thing with Price isn’t normal or healthy. All this controlling structure, all these rules?”

“There aren’t that many rules.”

But there were. I wasn’t supposed to meet with a man, any man, gay or straight, unless it was in a public place. I had to show Price any texts I exchanged with men, including Andrew and Vinod. There were rules about what I wore and where I went, and where I slept, and when I could orgasm. There were rules about speech and posture and how I reacted to punishment, and now there was a rule about wearing a gold and garnet ring.

“If you don’t see how freaky it is—” Andrew said.

“We like freaky, remember?”

He glanced over my shoulder. “Shit. Speaking of freaky, Professor Predator has entered the building. Keep your head down. Maybe he won’t notice us.”

It was easy for me to blend in, with my plain brown hair and short stature, but Andrew stuck out like a beacon with his huge mop of blond hair. Within moments, Martin Cantor, ex-professor, rejected lover, was standing beside our table with his takeout order under his arm.

“Hi, kids,” he said.

I looked up at him in exasperation. We were in a public place, yes. I wasn’t breaking any rules by talking to him, but I’d still have to tell Price that I’d run into Cantor—and based on his mood the past couple weeks, he would likely react in a fucked up way.

“How are you, Professor Cantor?” said Andrew.

“I’m good. How are you? How’s the painting?”

“It’s great. I’ve got a website now, and lots of studio contacts. I’ve been busy.”

“Glad to hear it.” He turned to me next, his eyes dark and probing as ever beneath his scruffy salt-and-pepper hair. “And Chere Rouzier, what a pleasure. I haven’t seen you since graduation. How’s the real world treating you?”

He’d seen me at graduation on Price’s arm, and his skewering regard told me everything I needed to know about his feelings on that.

“The real world’s been treating me well,” I said. “I’ve set up a studio, and I’m designing for a pretty big client. I can’t say anything about that yet.”

“So big you can’t drop names, yeah?”

“I guess.”

Cantor always made me feel defensive. We never would have worked out. “I just got back from Paris,” I said, to change the subject. “It was beautiful.”

“Ah. Price dragged you there for the architectural conference?”

“Well, I didn’t go to the conference. But I soaked up a lot of inspiration.” And got punished. And got a new ring that means…something. “It was an eventful trip for me,” I finished lamely. “I was happy to go.”

“I guess it helps to have rich, powerful friends.”

Cantor had always been a squirm-inducing combination of nice and nasty. Now I was the one murdering French fries as he stood there with a judgey expression. “So, you and Price are still together?” he asked, trying to sound casual. “All is well?”

“Everything’s great.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Andrew watched the two of us, a bemused smile at the corners of his lips. He was the one who’d coined the term “Professor Predator” based on Cantor’s inappropriate interest in me. I guess Cantor had been a pretty good metals professor, but now that I’d graduated, all we really shared was an awkward past.

“Well, okay then,” he said, shifting his takeout bag to his other hand. “I’m back to Norton. You two take care.”