He closes his eyes, like he needs to get himself together. For a split second, I think I won.

Turns out, I’m a fool. “I am in a position of power, Maya. I have a great deal more money than you do.”

“My brother is filthy rich, and I have full access to his money.” I fold my arms. Take a step into him. “Come on. Give me more.”

“There are several complicating factors. You knew me when you were young, and vice versa.”

“True. And since we knew each other so well…I dyed my hair the year I turned fourteen. What color?” His lost expression would be funny, if I weren’t busy arguing for my life. “Where did I go to school? What was my favorite book? What was my best friend’s name? Come on, Conor. Tell me something about me as a teenager, or I’ll have to think that you barely ever glanced at me. Which, incidentally, is exactly what happened.” I step closer. “This is not a crush that I never outgrew and you’re exploiting. There is no hero worship. This is, plain and simple, me meeting someone that I like, and wanting to—”

“Because you’re heartbroken and rebounding from the end of your first long-term relationship. I came to your aid when you needed someone, and now you feel grateful, and—”

“And what? What if I want to have sex with you because I feel grateful? What if I want to have sex with you because you have pretty eyes, because I like your mattress, because you’re rich?”

“Maya.”

I exhale, outraged. “If you are not interested in being with me, for any reason at all, then I’m going to drop this, no questions asked. No is a full sentence. But you’re not saying that. You are automatically assuming that being younger and poorer and recently dumped makes me unable to initiate consensual sex, and…This is infantilizing. If I can move abroad on my own, if I can vote, then I can also decide who I want to fuck.” There is a quiver to my lips. I don’t like the way it undermines my point, so I gather myself, and add, more calmly. “I understand that you’re worried about taking advantage, and I appreciate it. But I’d like for you to stop patronizing me and treat me like an adult.”

I’m pretty proud of how that last part came out—determined, fully fledged, uncompromising. Even more so when it becomes obvious that Conor has no half-decent response to that.

“Isn’t it what your father thinks, Conor?” I ask quietly. It’s the kill shot. “That every relationship has to be conceptualized in terms of power? That someone always has to dominate and take advantage?”

He is desperate, clenching his jaw, all his muscles tense. So out of options, he backtracks all the way to our axiom. “Maybe I just don’t want you,” he says through gritted teeth.

I smile. Poor guy. “Yeah? Maybe. Though you already admitted you do.”