He stands. “Wow. That hour went so fast.”
I move around the desk and wait for him to head out. I’m supposed to lock the door when I leave.
He flashes a smile. “Hey, why don’t we go for coffee and continue this conversation. Wouldn’t that be great, drinking coffee while discussing it?”
“Actually, it’s late and I really do need to go. Thanks, though.”
“Sure, sure, no problem.” He turns and walks out the door.
I follow him out and lock it behind me.
He offers his hand again and gives me another firm handshake. “Great talk. Look forward to the next class.”
I have to give him points for enthusiasm. I smile. “Glad you’re enjoying class.”
He gives me a small salute with a too-bright smile before striding down the hall.
I let out a breath and head in the opposite direction. I don’t think I’ve ever endured a more exhausting hour of conversation. And to think my biggest concern was Connor showing up.
My shoulders droop. Connor didn’t show. I guess he’s not pursuing me after all. I shouldn’t have cancelled my Friday night date from eLoveMatch. I square my shoulders and pick up the pace. It’s fine. I was clear about my future goals to him, obviously he’s not on the same page, and the two of us together is too complicated anyway. Now I don’t have to worry. Just life per usual, back to eLoveMatch for my next first date. There’s always more potentially great guys in the app. I ignore the dread already building at the thought. I made a life plan for a reason, and I’m going to follow it no matter what.
8
Becca
So much for the stellar reputation of eLoveMatch. I can’t believe this! Here I am, waiting at The Twisted Chord to meet up with yet another guy who can’t be bothered to show up. I responded to Matt’s invitation just last night after my excruciating office hour. He seemed delighted when I replied. You know, I’m going to email a very sternly worded letter to eLoveMatch and demand a refund. I check my phone. Still no messages and he’s fifteen minutes late. I don’t even care if he has some great excuse. I’m not going to sit here and pretend he got run over by a car. If he can’t be punctual, he’s out. I don’t appreciate wasting my time. My eyes sting, and I swallow hard. Why is it so hard to meet someone new? Am I giving off an unapproachable vibe? It’s not like I can smile the whole time I’m sitting here. Can I help it if I have resting bitch face?
I toss back my wine and decide it’s a popcorn-for-dinner night curled up on my sofa, watching my favorite hot builder renovation show. Clint Owens from Reno Magic will be my date tonight. I pull some cash from my purse to pay for my drink just as a guy in a white shirt takes the seat next to me.
“Hey, Becca,” a familiar sexy voice says.
I jerk my head up, my heart hammering against my rib cage. “Connor.”
He smiles, and I find myself smiling back. He has such a warm smile that reaches his deep blue eyes, making tiny crinkles around them. He’s dressed nice in a white button-down shirt with jeans and black boots. Casually hot.
“Hope you don’t mind I’m back at our neighborhood bar,” he says.
I forgot I told him to keep away. “Hey, it’s Friday night. Enjoy. I’m heading out.”
“Were you waiting for someone?”
I press my lips tightly together. I can’t admit that my life plan is so screwed up after I just sang the praises of having a life plan and eLoveMatch in particular. I’m upset and getting a little paranoid about being stood up two weeks in a row. I turn his question around. “Are you here alone?”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “I was hoping to pick up someone.”
I huff. He acts like our night together meant nothing! Like I wouldn’t care if he picked up someone in front of me. In my bar! I claimed the place!
“Have fun,” I say stiffly. I stand, turning to get past him when he snags my wrist.
His eyes are intent on mine. “I was hoping to pick you up. I’m the guy you’re waiting for. Sorry I was a little late because of work.”
My brows scrunch together in confusion. “No, I’m waiting for Matt Williams. He’s a financial planner. Short dark brown hair, brown eyes, enjoys…” I trail off at his intense look and gulp. “You’re serious.”
“Matt is my friend’s husband. I just used some of his details.”
He’s still holding my wrist and I like it way too much. I just stand there, staring at him while my mind whirls from shock to confused to—I hate to admit it—extremely flattered. He wants to see me again after knowing I’m looking for a relationship, and he made a real effort. On the other hand, he broke the rules and that does not bode well for professional rules, which absolutely can’t be broken. What he did was completely unethical. Why am I so drawn to him? I wish I weren’t. It’s just too complicated.
“Con, you used his picture too. It’s against the rules to impersonate someone else. I could have you banned from eLoveMatch for life.”
“Okay.”
He loosens his grip on my wrist and takes my hand in his, enveloping mine with warmth. He shifts, bringing us closer. I’m standing between his legs, and we’re eye to eye. I don’t know what to do. I didn’t expect to see him tonight, and I convinced myself he wasn’t into a relationship. Now he maybe is into it, but it’s extremely risky. My parents would never accept me dating a student, never accept him. The levels of subterfuge I’d have to go through to make this work are way out of my comfort zone. And, yes, I’m working on getting out of my comfort zone, but lying is a step too far. Plus, I psyched myself up for a first date with Matt and all the work that goes into trying to present my best self while also looking for signs of potential in my date.
I’m so confused.
“You wanna stay for a drink?” he asks.
I look toward the bar, but it doesn’t appeal. I know what I really want, and I think he’ll understand. He did say he wasn’t so into the bar scene anymore. “Honestly, I just want to go home, eat popcorn for dinner, and watch the Home Improvement channel.”
“Perfect. I’ll go with you.”
For some reason I hadn’t anticipated that. “You’re just inviting yourself over?”
He holds me by the chin, his blue eyes twinkling with good humor. “Your secret prince loves the Home Improvement channel.”
I can feel myself caving. He’s touching me, he smells so good, and he loves to do what I love to do—watch hot builders at work. No, wait.
“Why do you love the Home Improvement channel?” I ask.
“What’s not to love? Watching a project come together. It’s always improved at the end. Plus I can secretly laugh when I know they way underpriced how much it would cost to do something. It’s like they leave out the cost of labor.”
It occurs to me he could really add a unique perspective, which could be fascinating. “Okay, but you shouldn’t assume—”
“I assume nothing.” He guides me forward and then walks me out, one hand on my lower back. The heat of his hand electrifies me, sparks radiating from the spot. Then he ruins it. “Now let me be up front with you, Ms. Edwards, I don't want to write that paper. That’s not for me.” He’s addressing me as his teacher.
This is so wrong.
Still, my brain zeroes in on why he thinks writing the paper isn’t for him. I think he lacks confidence in his academic abilities because he skipped college. I can tell he’s smart though.
“Why don’t you want to write it?” I ask and gasp in surprise as he lifts me through the front doorway, his arm anchored around my waist. And then my cheeks heat as I realize it’s probably because of when I fell through this very same doorway.
He sets me down on the sidewalk and takes my hand, heading toward my place. “My grammar is atrocious.”
I focus on his problem instead of my embarrassment. Besides, I kinda like the way he casually lifts me. “Do it anyway. It’s part of class.”
“You'll judge me.”
“I'll judge you for not doing the wor
k. Why did you sign up for this class if you weren't going to do the work?”
“To listen and see if I was missing out on any big business secrets.”
“Are you?”
“I wouldn’t say secrets, but it’s interesting to hear how other companies tackle difficult problems. My view has been really narrow, working with the same crew for years on the same kinds of projects. Until recently. I can see how your class could be really helpful going forward. Especially with so much riding on our current project. There’s a lot of money on the line and a lot of responsibility on my shoulders.”
I try to hide my disappointment. I’m a terrible person because I was going to suggest, if he wasn’t learning anything, he should just drop the class so we could get back to the fun stuff. Bad teacher, very bad. I can’t ask him to quit the class for selfish reasons.
“I’m glad you find it useful,” I say, attempting a smile.
“I really don't want to write the paper though,” he says, pushing his advantage just because we saw each other naked.
I keep my voice firm. “There's a point to the homework, and that's to help you learn it on a deeper level. Writing the paper will ensure you put more thought into things on your own instead of just echoing back what I say in class.” I think of how Mike did that during my office hours last night, but keep it to myself. I don’t think I should bitch about another student to my current student. Oh God. What am I doing?
“Fine, Teach. I’ll write the damn paper.”
This is getting too deep into student-teacher territory, and I’m reminded of all the reasons I set a boundary between us.
I halt and pull my hand from his grip. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You go watch TV at your place and I’ll watch it at mine. You can text me your opinions on the renovation, okay?”
He stares at me with those intense blue eyes. I swear he can see right through me—all my conflicting emotions and my intense attraction to him. “Becca, here's the facts. We have insane chemistry—”
“Con—”
“Don't deny it. I can't ignore it. We both like renovation stuff, and I think we can have a good time together hanging out or whatever. Neither of us loves the bar scene anymore. Be honest, you're forcing yourself to show up for drinks every Friday night to meet someone, and you’re not enjoying it. Well, you’re in luck. You met someone, me, so you don’t have to force yourself to do that.”
“But—”
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he says gruffly.
Oh, that’s nice. Really nice. “Me too, but—”
“Bec.” He strokes my hair back over my ear. “I told myself to leave you alone, but I keep running into you, and maybe that means something.”
My pulse picks up, and something bubbles up inside me that feels dangerously like hope. He’s warm, he’s sincere, it’s not just the physical for him. “It’s risky,” I whisper as if my boss were just around the corner. “For me. There’s a lot on the line.”
“I know and I swear I won’t do anything to hurt your career.” He takes my hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “No one has to know.”
“Hiding a relationship from everyone—all the lies and deceit—I’m not sure I can do it. My boss, Dean Sears, is close with my dad, and my parents—both teachers, if you remember—would probably disown me over the scandal. Plus I’d be fired, never to work in academia again, and my entire life plan would implode.”
He blows out a long breath, his brows drawing down. “Okay, I get it. Believe me, I wish the circumstances were different, but this is what we got. And I don’t want to walk away from you, from us.”
I want to deny him, but what comes out is simply his name said with all the longing I truly feel inside. “Con.”
“Let’s go.”
I sputter as he practically drags me down the sidewalk. “There’s still a major problem.”
He stops and hauls me against him. “Kiss me.”
I stare at him, my breath stalling, my mind going utterly blank. The heat of his body radiates through me, all of my softness pressed against his hard muscular frame. I’m so caught up in him.
He cups my jaw, his thumb stroking the sensitive spot behind my ear. “Please.”
I comply because he said please, and it’s just as wonderful as before. Sparks fire over my skin, the heat igniting between us. I wrap my arms around his neck and lose myself in the kind of passion I’ve only imagined before.
A long moment later, he breaks the kiss, his fingers trailing down the side of my neck, giving me a hot shiver. “Bec, other people have a problem, but there’s no problem with us.”
He backs away, and I desperately want him close again. Would anyone really know if he went home with me in Brooklyn? It’s not likely I’d run into my NYU students here. They’re probably hanging out in the city. But I’ll still have to face him in class tomorrow morning. It would be impossible to hide the attraction. One look from his knowing bedroom eyes and I’d blush.
Why is it so hard to do the right thing?
“Con?”
“Yeah?”
“How about we pick up again after class ends? Then there’s no issue.”
He exhales sharply. “That’s December. It’s September now.”
“Yes, but then it wouldn't be such an ethical quandary, and by then I'd know if they want to keep me on as a professor. There’s a possibility I could be brought on full time.”
He looks to the sky before leveling me with a hard look. “So you expect me to wait four months for you to decide if you want to watch TV with me on a Friday night?”
“Closer to three months. And you know it wouldn't just be TV.”
He closes the distance and strokes my hair back over my ear before cradling my jaw with one large hand. “And how do I know that?”
My cheeks flush. “The insane chemistry. Something would happen. It's playing with fire.”
“And you don't want to get burned.”
“Exactly,” I say softly.
“What if you just get toasty?”
I laugh.
His palm slides down my arm in a warm caress before taking my hand. “I’m not waiting around for four months. That's just wasting time. Besides, what if you meet someone through that dating app, or I meet some other sexy professor?”
I narrow my eyes. “Why didn't you say a sexy grad student?”
He squeezes my hand and winks. “Guess I have a thing for teacher. Offer expires in ten seconds.”
I pull my hand from his. “I don’t appreciate the time pressure. You know I’m conflicted.”
“I’m trying to get you to stop thinking so much and just feel. Us together feels good.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“In or out, Becca? Last chance.”
I park a hand on my hip. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow.” I turn on my heel and walk toward home. Geez. I don’t appreciate the bossy demanding attitude. Ten seconds. Hmph. Just because I’m on the quiet side doesn’t mean I don’t have a backbone.
“If I see you at The Twisted Chord with another guy, I'm gonna have to say hi,” he announces.
I whirl. “Is that some kind of threat?”
He shrugs. “Don't meet your guys in my neighborhood bar is all I'm saying. It's rude to the guy who offered to watch TV with you.”
I march back to him. “That’s my neighborhood bar. I already claimed it.”
“You've been warned,” he says like it’s out of his hands.
I bristle. “What is your problem?”
“I don't have a problem.”
“Yes, you do. A big one.”
His blue eyes gleam, a small smirk on his face. “And that is?”
I throw my hands up. “You're bossy, you think you know everything, and you don't care about professional boundaries. Or personal ones!”
He cocks his head. “Now, Becca, if I knew everything, why would I be taking your class?”
I’m suddenly overheated despit
e the cool night. I peel off my white cardigan and tie it around my shoulders. “And you're too calm about everything.”
His lips curl up. “Too cool for school.”
“Stop making school and teacher jokes!”
He snags my wrist in a loose grip, his thumb stroking the sensitive underside. I ignore the tingling heat radiating from the spot. “Sometimes I forget women can't take a joke.”
“I can take a joke!”
“Then why're you getting so worked up?”
My cheeks are hot, actually all of me is hot. I’m agitated beyond belief, yet I can’t seem to pull my wrist from his grip. It feels too good when he touches me. I stare at my traitorous wrist and watch as he turns it, exposing my rapidly beating pulse. His gaze collides with mine as he lifts my wrist to his lips and kisses the pulse point. I nearly swoon.
He lowers my hand, his fingers clasped firmly around my wrist so I can’t make an escape. It’s almost a relief to have him take control, keeping me close. “Bec.” His voice is husky.
“Yes?” I breathe.
He leans close to my ear. “You know those renovation shows are fake, right? If I were there, I could tell you the real deal, which would be helpful if you're in the market for a home. Personally, I’ve been saving for years to buy my own place.”
This is the sexiest dirty talk I’ve ever heard. “You're a saver?” So many men don’t have that long-term planning ability. It’s one of the things I look for in a guy, being a planner myself.
He smiles, and I feel myself weakening. “I’m a saver. I've eaten the same packed lunch for years to save my pennies.”
My voice sounds throaty even to my own ears. I’m just so turned on. “Saving is actually a good quality. It says you can hold off on instant gratification and think long term.”
He kisses my neck, working his way up to my ear. My knees weaken. “Is that what you look for in a guy?”
“Yes,” I admit.
He meets my eyes, his breath fanning over my lips. “What else?”
I lean against him and realize it’s because his arm is now banded around my waist. “I look for good health because that says he takes care of himself, a good relationship with his parents, and no heavy relationship baggage.”
Rogue Angel (The Rourkes, Book 10) Page 8