by Kyra Fox
How does this girl have a Ph.D. in chemistry?
My hand runs over my neck, and I scan the room looking for the easiest way out when I catch her gaze. I see a flash of acceptance pass through her eyes, and for the smallest second, the amusement is gone when she gives me a sad but understanding smile without breaking her lecture pace.
She expected me to leave once I realized what she is.
I mentally slap myself upside the head for her benefit. I had spent the better part of the last ten minutes not so subtly undressing her with my eyes, and now I’m ready to bolt because she’s smarter than average? Something I assume she’s accustomed to judging by her reaction when she understood I was ready to flee. It was a dick move, and I’m a dick for considering it.
So instead of bolting, I sit back comfortably in my chair and pull out my laptop. Her voice falters with a note of surprise, and she clears her throat.
Pulling up Professor Thorne’s latest assignment to work on while I’m stuck in a class I have zero interest in, I peek up at Zoe every once in a while, and see she’s looking at me warily, constantly with a futile attempt to tuck her too-short bangs behind her ear. I smile at her and wink, though I have to be honest—it’s with false confidence.
“Man up, Eric,” I grumble to myself. “She’s just a girl, what’s the worst that can happen?”
But I still have a sneaky feeling that I am in way over my head with this one.
ZOE
Class is over, and I’m taking questions from some of the students, mainly course requirements and schedule conflicts stuff.
Chiseled and broad is behind me, watching and waiting, his gaze sending a tingle of static electricity up my spine.
The panicked look on his face the second I had introduced myself didn’t escape me, and I was certain he would head for the door, but chiseled and broad stayed, and I caught him glancing my direction every now and again with curiosity and half-grins I didn’t know what to make of. It made me nervous, and I don’t like it, so I keep going through the periodic table repetitively in an attempt to regain composure and control.
Hydrogen, Helium, Lithium…
Finally, I’m free to turn to him. Now that he’s standing in front of me, I can see him more clearly, make out his broad tapered form under his jacket.
Beryllium, Boron, Carbon…
“Dr. Lawrence.” His voice is a deep, warm bass and contrasts the hard lines of his face.
Nitrogen, Oxygen. That’s an important one, Oxygen.
“What can I do for you, Mr...?” I need to tilt my head upward because he’s at least a half-foot taller than me, and though my knees melt a little at his proximity, I keep my posture straight and smile professional, waiting for his name.
Fluorine, Neon, Sodium, Magnesium…
“Eric Mackenzie, but everybody calls me Mac.” He shrugs then rubs the place where his shoulder and neck meet.
Aluminum, Silicon…
“What can I do for you, Mr. Mackenzie?”
“You can start by calling me Mac.” He gives me another one of those panty-melting grins and my stomach flutters.
Oxygen, Oxygen.
“And agree to join me for a drink.”
I smile, though I’m having trouble remembering to breathe. Phosphorus, Sulfur… Oxygen.
“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Mackenzie, but I don’t fraternize with my students.” He laughs at my comment and shakes his head, running his fingers through his thick black hair as if contemplating the right answer, then rubbing his big palm over his neck again.
I’m starting to realize he may be as nervous as I am, and it makes my insides melt a bit. Eventually, he lets out a low huff and meets my eyes.
“In that case, Dr. Lawrence, it’s a good thing I’m not one of your students.”
“You’re not?”
Chlorine, Argon, Potassium…
“Nope. I’m from Professor Thorne’s course; only stuck around to ask you out because I thought you were an administrative worker here to set up a presentation for the next professor and ended up sitting through an entire lecture about hydrogen bonding. So I really need that drink.”
I laugh despite myself. “Going for the honest approach I see.” I contemplate his invitation as I slide my laptop into its protective sleeve and shove it into my giant tote.
I grab my coat and turn back to him. “And yes, I could go for a beer, Mac, as long as you call me Zoe.” Mac smiles, his entire face lighting up, and I feel the flutter double, forgetting to resume my mantra.
“How does Stout sound, Zoe?” It’s an establishment which prides itself on having all the local beers, from the biggest breweries to the micro-breweries, but more importantly, it’s right outside campus grounds.
“Perfect.” Definitely perfect, I muse to myself watching his sculpted rear end walk ahead of me to open the door. Not ten minutes had passed from when I was fully resigned to tucking him into the fantasy drawer in my mind and spending the evening with a glass of wine and maybe a toy from the shoebox under my bed if the mood struck.
This is a much better alternative.
And who knows? Maybe drinks will be the prologue of the evening.
Chapter Two
MAC
“Okay, okay!” Out of breath from the fit of laughter, Zoe and I shared, I suck in some oxygen before continuing. “That was a way better ‘most embarrassing high school moment’ than mine, and you totally win.”
Zoe wipes the corners of her eyes. “I still can’t believe you weren’t a jock. You have football wonder-boy written all over you.”
“I still can’t believe you were a cheerleader; you have chess club star player written all over you.” Zoe’s bubbly laugh is delightful, and I really like the sound, especially when I’m the one inducing it.
“Maybe I was the chess clubs’ star player.” She winks.
“Really?” I look at her with wonder, thinking it would be too many fantasy boxes ticked off in one girl.
“No.” She giggles. “I mean, I’m not half bad, but not star quality level.”
“Disappointing. Next question: the clothes. Seriously?” I give her a once over and shake my head in disdain.
“I don’t dress like this all the time.” She takes another gulp of her beer. “It’s my lecture look.”
“Your. Lecture. Look?” I repeat slowly, accentuating each word as I peer at her with a raised eyebrow. “It is way too old for all of your twenty-two years, Babe.”
“Babe? Seriously?”
She laughs with her entire body again and shakes her head at me, and I can’t help but be embarrassed that I’m coming across as a chauvinistic ass. I’m not one to usually trip over my tongue like this.
“And for your information, I just turned twenty-five.” She points her almost empty beer at me.
“No fucking way.” I gawk, and she just nods. “I only said twenty-two because you seem too by-the-book to drink underage. You look nineteen.”
“And my guess is you’re twenty-six,” she replies with a cocky grin.
“Will be for the next two months.” I let her have her moment of glory. “But let’s get back to the leper look.”
“Lecture! I need to stand in front of people, some of which could be my grandparents, and have them take me seriously.” She sighs in resignation. “This may not be a great look, but it works.”
“It most definitely does not work.” I take a sip and look at her pointedly. “I bet you have a rocking body underneath all those oversized clothes.” That statement earns me a dirty look, and I cringe. “That was extremely sexist, wasn’t it?”
Zoe just raises an eyebrow and points at her beer, signaling I should order her another round. She’s on her third, and for all her small stature, she doesn’t seem the least bit affected; the girl is not a lightweight, and I have to admit I’m impressed.
“I am so sorry.” I catch the bartender’s eye, signaling another round. “I swear I’m not a pig.”
“Just an ass?” She cock
s her head to the side and crosses her arms over her breasts.
“Oh yeah, definitely an ass.” I laugh, but even I can hear the awkwardness in it. “I’m usually much better at this.”
Zoe leans forward and places her hand on my knee, sending a flash of warmth traveling up my thigh, spreading to my stomach and redirecting my blood flow south.
“Piece of advice. You’re going to have to start dishing out some real compliments if you ever want to find out what’s under all these oversized clothes. Babe.”
I can’t help but burst out into laughter again. In the last few hours, I’ve laughed as much as I have in all the past month put together. Maybe even two. “Okay, fair enough,” I concede. “When I think of one, I’ll be sure to dish it out.”
She swats my knee and leans back in her chair smiling, distractedly licking her curvy upper lip from beer foam, a gesture I find extremely alluring if only because it’s very obviously not intended to be sexy.
Zoe has no façade about her, something I like more and more as I spend time with her. The showy girls are easy to lose interest in as fast as I find it, but Zoe’s openness is intriguing, irritably so as I’m drawn to her like I’m an asteroid sucked in by her orbit, about to have a colossal collision.
Though I’m getting a distinct feeling, she really just wants one thing from me, or she wouldn’t still be here.
I want her, more than I thought I would, but there’s something about Zoe that makes me want to just spend time with her, keep sitting at the bar and talking to her, which is surprisingly easy.
That feeling scares me, so I decide I’m not going to pursue her. I’ll enjoy her company for the evening, and we’ll go our separate ways, so I might as well make the most of the time I have left and loosen up, let myself forget the real world and have some fun.
We keep playing our game of Twenty Questions, and I manage to avoid any more idiotic slipups as we laugh and talk so easily that I don’t notice the time. My phone pings with an incoming message and I glance at the screen.
“Oh, shit, it’s almost midnight.” I jump up from my barstool and pull out my wallet. “I have to be at work early tomorrow. I don’t usually work Friday’s, but one of the guys on rotation came down with the flu, and I can always use the spare cash, so I offered to fill in.” It’s a handy excuse, but I still feel a pang of disappointment that my time with Zoe is coming to an end.
“At Lenny’s auto shop, the one you were telling me about?”
“Yep.”
“You like it there?”
“I do. Lenny took me in when I was fifteen, taught me everything I know about cars. I love the place.” I help Zoe into her coat. “Seeing something that I helped fix with my own two hands working smoothly is one of the most satisfying things in the world.”
“Fifteen, that’s young.”
I berate myself for the slip. This is exactly why I can’t take things further than one fun date at the bar; she distracts me, and I let out information that leads to questions I don’t want to answer.
“I was a natural, figured I’d learn the trade early.” That’s not even an embellished version of the truth, it’s more like a three-quarter-lie.
“Is that why you’re taking engineering classes?” She nods a thanks to the bartender as I hold the door open for her and we exit into the cold night air, starting to make our way to the parking lot. “Because you want to build something of your own one day?”
“It never really occurred to me to create something,” I admit after a long pause. “I’m trying to learn the foundations for running a business. Lenny’s grooming me to take over when he retires, buy the shop off him. His kids aren’t interested and seem thrilled he has someone he trusts and likes to continue his legacy. I guess it takes the pressure off them. And engineering interests me, enriches me in my field of work, but if I’m being completely honest, I really just want to have a degree, graduating from college is just… It’s sort of on the bucket list.”
Zoe smiles.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I give her a don’t BS me look.
“It’s nice to meet someone who wants something for the personal sense of accomplishment, and not only for how it will advance him or look on his resume, and—oh my God are you blushing?”
She’s laughing at me, hard.
“No. Shut up,” I grumble and keep walking toward the parking lot while Zoe falls in step with me, still chuckling. I try to keep an irritable face on, but I can’t suppress a smile.
Zoe turns to me when we reach the parking lot. “So, I live within walking distance from campus.”
It’s an invitation, and every part of my body wants to take her up on it, but I know I shouldn’t. She’s different than anyone I’ve ever met before, and I have a feeling her type of different spells trouble for me, if only because of how drawn I am to her.
“I had a really good time, Zoe.” More than I’m willing to admit.
“Yeah, a great time.”
She wants me to kiss her. I can tell by the way her head tilts up, and her lips part in a soft sigh as her gaze flicks to my mouth and back to my eyes. It’s so tempting to give in, lean down and taste her rosy lips, feel that silent gasp escape into my mouth. I brush her bangs out of the way, like I’ve been itching to do so many times tonight, and bend down, engaging every ounce of will power in my body to kiss her soft, smooth cheek.
“Get home safe, Mac.” If she’s disappointed, she’s doing a hell of a job hiding it.
“Yeah, you too, Zoe.” I start walking toward the bus station and then, against my better judgment, stop and turn around. “Hey, Zoe?”
She stops and turns to look at me.
“You’re genuine, really genuine, and that’s rare.” I give her my best grin because I realize my words are too heavy to let hang in the air between us. “That’s a freebie, no proof of rocking body necessary.”
Zoe laughs with her entirety again, then matches my teasing grin.
“I don’t know, Mr. Mackenzie, I tend to be a woman of my word.”
Her words make it difficult, but I force myself to only smile in response, mustering all my willpower to turn around and walk away from her, from the promise in her big doe eyes, while part of me is screaming that I'm an idiot. But I'm convinced it’s the right thing to do, for both our sakes.
ZOE
“He kissed you on your cheek and said you were genuine?” Phoebe stops the wineglass halfway to her mouth and raises a skeptical eyebrow through the screen.
It’s Friday, and I’m on my weekly Skype happy hour date with my two best friends, a tradition we established back in college, so we won’t drift apart.
I groan and drop my head to the table in despair. “I’ve been friend-zoned, haven’t I?” I feel like crying.
Trista tilts her head from side to side as if her thoughts are playing ping pong between her ears. “Well, didn’t you say you got non-platonic vibes from the second he sat in the front row?”
“Yes.” I take a sip from my Pinot Grigio. “I caught him staring at my boobs all the time, though I was wearing a sweater one size too big, not exactly prime ogling material, especially not with my cup size. And I swear he wanted to kiss me. He looked at my lips like they were candy.”
“Yeah, he’s definitely into you,” Trista surmises, as the reigning authority on friend-zoning, considering her and Brian’s somewhat bizarre relationship. I want to believe her verdict, but considering how the night ended, it’s a difficult feat.
“Obviously not that into me.” I can’t help but wonder what’s wrong with me that I can’t even get a guy to screw me.
“Oh shit, I have a call from work, I have to get that.” Trista disappears from the screen, her voice getting fainter until it’s reduced to a muffled blur. Phoebe and I sip our wine waiting for her to return. A minute passes, then three, then five.
“I think we lost Tris.”
“Yeah, she’s not coming back,” Phoebe agrees with a sigh. “
And we can’t even pillage her wine.”
“I miss you guys; I could really use a hug.” I pout at the screen.
“I know, Sweetie, but are you sure you read the signs correctly, that you weren’t just seeing what you wanted to see?”
Phoebe’s being realistic, it’s her thing. Trista is all jump first think later, I overthink every detail, and Phoebe is somewhere in the middle with her weigh-your-options and make a calculated decision demeanor.
And as much as I appreciate that she’s just looking out for me, the fact that my best friend thinks my judgment regarding guys isn’t sound, stings.
But Phoebe’s worried in vain because there aren’t any emotions involved when it comes to Mac. I’m on too long of a dry spell, and Mac makes my lady parts aware that they’re well overdue for some male attention. He’s nothing more than a means to scratch an itch.
“I barely touched his knee, Phoebs, and he looked at me like he could barely stop himself from fucking me right there on the bar.”
“So, make sure he’ll never be able to see you as merely friendship material,” Phoebe says like it’s the easiest thing in the world to do. It is for her, she oozes sex appeal. Me? Not so much.
“How?” I ask, even though I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer.
“Oh, you’re going to love this!”
Oh, I am so going to hate the answer.
“But you have to promise me you’ll go through with the plan!” She points a finger at me, and even from 226 miles away that look on her face scares the crap out of me.
“Okay, I promise!” I raise my hands in defeat and chug down what’s left of my wine, pouring myself another hefty portion. “So, what’s the plan?”
Phoebe has a bit of a dangerous gleam in her eye, and she’s rubbing her hands together. I have to stop myself from laughing at how much she looks like a cartoon villain.
You have nothing to lose, I remind myself as I listen to her lay out her grand scheme.