Ignoring the hate mail, I focused on the real students with real questions. The ones actually seeking the help I wanted to give. Questions like what to do if you weren’t feeling that spark when you kissed your partner anymore, or what to do if sex was painful despite mentally being into it, or what to do if your partner was more experienced than you.

Some were much more graphic than others. One made my cheeks burn hotter than ever when someone asked about the taste of a certain bodily fluid—

“What are you reading?” Brandon’s voice practically shook the room as he snatched my cell out of my hand.

I jolted, having been so engrossed I didn’t hear him come into the room. I spun around, darting out of the chair, only to freeze when I looked behind him.

The door was closed.

And locked.

Ice-cold fear snaked through my veins, rooting me to the spot. The air thick, I choked on my words as I glared at him. His eyes were wide, his jaw nearly unhinged as he scrolled on my screen. The private questions section that only the creator of the blog would be able to see—the ones not yet chosen to make public.

“Wait,” he said, the word sliding off his tongue on a slant. He glanced at me. “You’re Ask Me Anything?” A dark, greedy laugh tumbled from his lips as he returned to reading what was meant for my eyes only.

Realization rocketed through me—once again his eyes and hands were where they didn’t belong.

And he didn’t give a shit.

“Fucking hell, Amber,” he said, that sly grin shaping his lips. He tossed the cell at me so fast I almost didn’t catch it.

My fingers flew, signing out from the blog before securing my cell in my back pocket.

“If you knew all this stuff,” he said, stalking toward where I still stood, my feet frozen but adrenaline shaking my muscles, “then why the hell didn’t we do more?”

I hissed.

I literally hissed at him like an angry cat when he stepped entirely too close.

He towered above me, his eyes hooded as he looked down at me. “We could’ve practiced all these things. I could’ve taught you so, so much more.” Reaching out, he trailed a finger down my arm. Despite having a long-sleeve on, I felt it like an ice cube to my skin. “We still can.” He smiled. “I’ve missed you.”

I jerked away from his touch, backing up so much I ran right into Jake’s desk. I gripped the edge, the air in my lungs tight.

“Come on,” he said, his head tilted to the side. “Tell me you haven’t missed me.”

“I haven’t,” I snapped, and thanked God my voice had returned.