Compliments by Mari K. Cicero

going to get out of me.”
    Hawk shoves his hands into his pockets as he pauses to study me. “Did I offend you? Did you feel I was forcing myself on you? If so, you should really work on your signals. Because when you started to kiss me back, I kinda sorta thought you were enjoying it as much as I was. I don’t get what happened. That mystery pulled me out of bed this morning.”
    The last thing I need to be thinking about right now is anything that combines Hawk and a bed.
    “I’m not doing this.” I turn, heading for the door. “Do me a favor and report my attendance when you get a chance. I need the hours.”
    “No.”
    My hand freezes on the doorknob. “No?”
    He knows he’s got me trapped. I glare over my shoulder. Hawk Stephens is the embodiment of cocky self-assuredness.
    “No,” he says again. “Stay the whole hour or I won’t report your attendance.”
    “But there’s nobody here!”
    He rolls up on his toes. “I’m here, you’re here. One hour, or no dice.”
    I know I could totally call him on this. With one phone call or text to Prof. Ferris, this whole farce would end. Then I consider that if Hawk was willing to go this far, simply playing tattletale won’t achieve anything. He’ll just find another place and time to talk with me.
    Sitting at the desk closest to the door, I lay my laced hands on the table. “Three minutes, and you’ll round up.”
    “Good enough.” He sits in the chair closest to him, leaving two rows of desks between us. “Why aren’t you eating?”
    “What?”
    “Why aren’t you eating?” he repeats slower, as though it might be a foreign turn of phrase with which I’m unfamiliar. “You’re a creature of habit. Every day since you started at Manderson, you’ve had a Greek yogurt, a banana, and a diet root beer. All I can find now is the root beer in your trashcan. So why aren’t you eating?”
    “You’re very presumptive, you know that?” I lean back and fold my arms over my chest. “You go through my trashcan?”
    “I go through everyone’s trashcan. I’m the janitor. Now answer the question.”
    I shrug, but refuse to give him much. “I guess I just haven’t been that hungry this week.”
    He stands again and walks one row closer. “Guilty conscious, huh? Are you guilty because you kissed me, then stopped talking to me, or something else?”
    I consider for a moment just agreeing with him and going. I’m sure three minutes has passed by now, not that I’d stay even if it hadn’t. Then I realize the best thing to do is just be honest. If that doesn’t get Hawk off my back, I don’t know what will.
    “Fine, you really want to know? Yes, I feel guilty. Guilty because I’m letting myself down. I’ve gone through too much and struggled too long to get involved with the janitor. ”
    Summoning my inner snake, I’m sure to hiss out the term like I’m insulting his mother. I see him flinch and think I’ve hit the mark when he sweeps away all emotion from his face.
    “And, pray tell, Miss Lewis, what is it about a janitor that’s so morally corrupt or disgustingly gruesome in your eyes? Do you think I’m simple? That I’m your intellectual inferior? That I smell bad?”
    Truth be told, he smells good. Far too good. I don’t know what cologne he uses, but I get hit by a wave of it as he takes another step forward and leans down, placing his palms on the edge of the desk where I’m sitting, caging me.
    “What you actually are doesn’t matter. You’re the janitor, case closed. Until I’ve found an advisor willing to invite me to their group, that’s all that matters.”
    He pulls back. “Oh, I see, it’s like that. Okay to flirt with me behind closed doors when no one else knows, but lord forbid someone finds out you’ve been running around with the help. Even if that help is also a PhD student with a full fellowship. Or at least, until it was unceremonious ripped from him for being considerate of someone else’s welfare. Maybe my