The Line I Shouldn't Cross

"Liya said to wait inside. She’s running ten minutes late," I said, my voice tighter than I wanted it to be.

I sat on the edge of the fabric couch, my laptop open on my knees, staring at the presentation slides we were supposed to finish tonight.

Leo didn't answer. He didn't move away either. Instead, he dropped his weight onto the cushion right next to me. The couch dipped, tilting me slightly toward him. He smelled like winter air, sharp soap, and the faint, bitter trace of tobacco. He wasn’t wearing his usual leather jacket, just a black t-shirt that made his shoulders look twice as wide in the dim light of the living room.

"She’s always late," Leo said. His voice was a low rumble, way too close to my ear. "But you’re early, Ivy. As always."

"It's professional," I muttered, staring hard at the screen. My fingers hovered over the keyboard, completely frozen. I wanted to shift to the other side of the couch, but that would show him he was getting to me. On campus, Leo made a sport out of ignoring me or dropping some sarcastic comment whenever I walked past him and his friends. Tonight, his usual smug smile was gone. He looked focused. Too focused.

He leaned in closer, his chest practically brushing against my shoulder. I could feel the heat radiating off him. My hand started to shake, the plastic pen I was holding rattling against the edge of my notebook. I gripped it tighter, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," he whispered. He reached past me, his forearm scraping against mine. His skin was warm, a sharp contrast to the chill in the room. He snatched the notebook right out of my lap.

"Hey! Give that back," I said, reaching for it, but he lifted it just out of my reach, his eyes scanning my messy handwriting.

"The Economic Impact of Modern Trade Routes," Leo read aloud, a mocking laugh slipping from his lips. He shook his head, looking down at me. "Ivy, this is painful. It’s absolutely boring."

"It's a solid topic for a business presentation," I snapped, my face heating up. "Liya and I already agreed on it. It’s safe, it’s researched, and it’ll get us an A."

"It'll get you a nap," Leo retorted. He set the notebook on his thigh and clicked my pen. "Your professor will be asleep by slide three. You need something that actually makes people sit up. Something real."

"And you’re an expert on academic presentations now?" I crossed my arms, trying to block out how close he was. He was leaning so far forward that if I turned my head too fast, our noses would touch.

"I’m an expert on what people actually care about," he said. He didn't look at the screen anymore. He looked right at me, his eyes dark, reflecting the faint glow of the laptop. He flashed a quick, sharp smile, his teeth bright against the shadows. "Watch."

He leaned over my shoulder completely now, his weight pressing against my back. I held my breath, terrified to move, terrified of how fast my heart was thumping against my ribs. He brought the pen down to the page, crossing out my title with three heavy ink lines.

Right below it, in bold, aggressive strokes, he wrote: The Psychology of Forbidden Attraction.

I stared at the words. "Are you crazy? I can’t present that with your sister."

"Why not?" Leo asked. He didn't pull back. He slowly turned the pen in his fingers, then held it out to me. But he didn't drop it into my hand. He waited until my fingers wrapped around the plastic barrel, and then he let his thumb linger, pressing firmly against my knuckles. His skin felt like fire. "Afraid of a little research?"

"It’s not professional, Leo," I whispered, my throat incredibly dry. I tried to pull my hand away, but his grip stayed firm for one extra second, a deliberate delay that made my stomach flip.

"It’s the only thing worth talking about," he murmured. He leaned down, his lips moving right past my cheek, stopping mere millimeters from my earlobe. His breath was hot against my skin. "Tell me, Ivy, what do you think makes people want what they can't have?"

My heart practically stopped. I couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't look away from the dark fabric of his shirt. He tilted his head, his lips grazing the edge of my ear, about to press closer.

Click.

The heavy metallic sound of the front door lock turning echoed through the quiet house.