Chapter 90
**Sara**
The lights flickered on as we entered Tom's swanky apartment, illuminating the sleek modern decor. I plopped down on his plush leather couch, sinking into its familiar embrace. It was becoming a bit too familiar if I'm being honest.
I kicked off my shoes, wiggling my toes against the cool hardwood floor. The silence between us was thick, like a fog rolling in off the bay.
Tom cleared his throat. "Can I get you something to drink?"
"Red wine would be great," I replied, trying to sound casual. "You know, to take the edge off."
He nodded and disappeared into the kitchen. I heard the clink of glasses and the pop of a cork.
Tom returned, two glasses of deep crimson liquid in hand. He settled beside me on the couch, close enough that I could smell his cologne. It was intoxicating, and I hadn't even taken a sip of wine yet.
We sat there, drinking in silence. The only sound was the gentle swish of wine in our glasses and the occasional car passing outside. I stared at the modern art piece hanging on the wall, trying to decipher its meaning. Was it supposed to be a bird? A plane? Superman?
I chuckled to myself. I was sitting in my professor's apartment, sipping wine and staring at a piece of art resembling a toddler's finger painting. Life sure had a way of throwing curveballs.
"What's so funny?" Tom asked.
I shook my head. "Nothing. Just admiring your taste in art. Is that supposed to be a bird? Or maybe a plane? Wait, don't tell me - it's Superman!"
"It's abstract, Sara. It's not supposed to be anything."
"Ah, so it's a very expensive Rorschach test. Got it."
He rolled his eyes, but I caught the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Tom drained the last of his wine and turned to me. "Want some more?"
"Hit me, bartender," I said, holding my glass.
Tom disappeared into the kitchen, returning with the bottle. He poured generously into my glass, then topped off his own. As he sat back down, I shifted on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position.
"You okay there?" he asked, watching me squirm.
I sighed dramatically. "This couch is too soft. It's like sitting on a marshmallow. A very expensive, leather-covered marshmallow."
"Most people would consider that a good thing."
"It's comfortable, alright. Too comfortable. I might sink in and never come out. You'll have to explain to my parents why their daughter disappeared into your furniture."
"I'm sure they'd understand. 'Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Parker, but Sara has become one with my couch. It's a natural phenomenon that happens to my students sometimes.'"
I laughed, nearly spilling my wine. "Oh God, can you imagine? My dad would have a conniption."
"We could always tell them you're doing an in-depth study on the ergonomics of high-end furniture. It's very important research, you know."
"Oh yes, very important," I agreed, nodding solemnly. "I'm sure it'll be the cornerstone of my thesis. 'The Impact of Overly Comfortable Couches on Student Productivity: A Case Study.'"
"I'd read that paper."
"Of course you would. It'd be a masterpiece." I took another sip of wine, feeling the warmth spread through my body. "But seriously, Tom, I gotta hand it to you. This couch is pretty amazing. And don't even get me started on your bed."
"Oh? Do tell."
I smirked, feeling a bit bold from the wine. "That mattress of yours? It's like sleeping on a cloud. A very naughty cloud that makes me want to do very naughty things."
Tom leaned in, his voice a low rumble. "Is that so?"
"Mhmm," I hummed, tracing the rim of my wine glass with my finger. "And this whole apartment? It's like something out of a fancy magazine. I half expect to see a celebrity walk out of your bathroom."
"Well," Tom said, setting his glass on the coffee table. "If you like it so much, why don't you stay?"
I blinked, caught off guard. "Stay?"
"Yeah, stay. Move in with me. You can have everything here – the couch, the bed, the apartment... and me."
For a moment, I was speechless. The offer hung in the air between us, heavy and unexpected. I looked around the room, taking in the sleek furniture, the expensive art, and the view of the city lights twinkling beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. It was tempting, I had to admit.
But then reality came crashing back.
"Tom," I said, setting my own glass down. "I can't stay here."
His face fell slightly. "Why not?"
I let out a small laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "Where would I put all my stuff? Your closet is already bursting with more designer suits than a magazine photoshoot."
"We could make room," he countered.
I shook my head with a sad smile. "I can't. It's not about the closet space."
"Then what is it?" His eyes searched mine.
I tried to find the right words. "It's... it's everything. I'm still a student; you're my professor. We're at completely different stages in life. I can't just move in with you on a whim."
Tom's face fell, but he quickly recovered. "You're missing out on so much. This apartment, the view, the lifestyle... me." His voice dropped to a husky whisper. "Think about all the things we could do in that bed. The ways I could make you scream my name."
"You're not exactly selling me on new experiences here. In case you forgot, we've already done plenty in your bed."
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
