Page 137 of They Are Mine

Because if he had a habit of messing around with students, I wouldn’t want him.

I’m not just another girl.

I’ve also kept an eye on the drab little woman in registration.

He flirts with her, but it’s not real.

He amuses himself with her, indulges her little giggles and flustered smiles. But he’s never asked her out. They don’t exchange texts. They don’t call.

And trust me, I would know.

Her phone had zero messages from any men. Not a single one.

Which was honestly sad.

I didn’t expect otherwise, but I still returned it to the lost and found the same day. I’m kind like that.

But now?

Now it’s time for Elliot to notice me.

And it won’t be on campus, where he’s rigid and professional.

No.

He’s going to fall for me at his favorite restaurant.

My outfit is flawless.

Elegant, like he likes. But still me.

Soft pink satin, hugging my curves just right, the hem landing at that perfect, teasing length, long enough to be demure, short enough to make him wonder what’s underneath.

I already know how I’ll sit. Crossed legs, just so.

Just enough for my thigh highs to peek out.

A quiet, sophisticated little hello.

The stockings are sheer white, topped with delicate satin bows, the exact shade of my pink heels, dangerously high, cruelly beautiful.

I tested the hem of my dress, measured the way the pearls drape over my collarbone, resting just at the curve of my cleavage. A delicate invitation.

Everything is intentional.

The perfume is a warm, spiced vanilla.

Still sweet, but not girlish.

Layered. Complex.

Like a woman who knows exactly what she’s doing.

And then, of course, the books.

I take two.

One is Keats. Poetry. Because Elliot looks like the kind of man who reads poetry slowly, appreciating each word like a fine scotch. Noah’s book.

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