SLOANE;
The words hang in the air.
He stands up suddenly, creating distance between us. Walks to the window, his back to me.
"I think we need to take a step back," he says, his voice tight. "This is exactly what I'm talking about. You're testing boundaries. Seeing how far you can push. And I need you to understand that there's a line, Sloane. A very clear line. And we can't cross it."
I stand up too. Walk toward him.
"Sloane—" he says, warning in his voice. But he doesn't turn around.
"Tell me you don't think about me," I say to his back.
His shoulders tense.
"Tell me you don't notice what I wear. Or the way I look at you. Tell me I'm imagining it."
"This isn't appropriate—"
"That's not an answer."
He turns then, and his face is a mess of emotions. Frustration. Conflict. And und
