Finish What You Started

by Alexandra Evans

  He limped toward the bursar’s office and picked up a schedule to check out which class he’d transfer to. There wasn’t one. Surely another professor taught Comp II online. It was an undergrad requirement, so there should be tons of students taking the course and more than one professor teaching it.

  When it was his turn at the window, he was met with a stern-looking older woman dressed in a button-down blouse, her gray-streaked hair wound up tightly in a bun, her cheater glasses hanging from a beaded chain around her neck.

  “How can I help you?”

  Ty placed the class schedule on the counter. “I was hoping to change professors for the online composition class I’m taking.”

  “Oh, yes. You’re the one the dean arranged to have Ms. Manning teach online. Schedule issues, right?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Was there a problem with Professor Manning? Perhaps you can meet with the dean, he can speak with her.”

  “No. There’s not really a problem,” Ty said. Other than I want to get into my teacher’s pants and she won’t let me as long as I’m a student. “I was just hoping another professor could provide the same arrangement. I’m not sure Professor Manning is a good fit for me.”

  “Well, I’d love to help you transfer to another professor, but there’s no one else teaching that course this fall. Our other composition instructor is on sabbatical, and we have a lighter enrollment since this class is usually taken in the spring. You could always withdraw and take it again next semester. At this point, however, you wouldn’t get full tuition reimbursement.”

  Money didn’t matter. He had plenty of that. What mattered was being able to see Harper without causing any problems. “Who is the instructor in the spring semester?”

  “I think we have that part of the schedule ready,” she said. “Give me a second.”

  Glasses in place, she concentrated on the computer monitor to her left, tapping on the keys and glaring at what looked like an Excel spreadsheet. She looked up with a frown. “I’m sorry, I’m only seeing Ms. Manning as the instructor then as well. Appears she’s the only one teaching that class at all this year, the online version anyway, with Dr. Hannigan on sabbatical. They may be hiring another adjunct professor at some point if enrollment warrants. I could start a waiting list for that.”

  Dammit. He didn’t want to do anything without talking to Harper about it first. There might not even be a reason to go through all this mess. “No, that’s okay. Thanks. You’ve been really helpful.”

  “You’re welcome, Mr. Johansen. Good luck with tonight’s game.” The woman actually cracked a smile, and he returned it with a wink, sending a blush zinging from her neck to her cheeks. She waved him off with a chuckle. “You boys,” he heard her say quietly as he exited the office.

  The trip back to the car was painful and slow. He climbed in and sat there for a few minutes, rubbing the sorest spot until the knives spearing his knee felt more like…duller knives. At home, he wrapped the swollen joint with a gel ice pack and lay on the couch for a quick nap. Not the best game-day plan, but that twist he’d given his knee must have done something. He should go see the team doctor, let Coach know, but for now, he’d see if the ice pack, nap, and pain relievers would do the trick.

  At the moment, he had to figure out what the hell he was going to do about the next three months. Could he and Harper wait that long to see if there was some sort of flame to the sparks? Could they really get away with sneaking around? Maybe it wouldn’t even last a couple more dates, but Ty had this gut feeling that Harper was more than just a hookup. She was special, and he’d felt it the first time he’d walked into her office and she’d had that little smear of chocolate at the corner of her mouth. He’d wanted to lick it off. He’d never had that sort of reaction before to someone who was a virtual stranger.

  Nope, Professor Hottie…she’d be worth the wait. He just hoped she’d be willing to wait for him.

  7

  After the game, a 2-1 loss to the Cards in the last of a three-game home stand, which he was responsible for after a lousy throw to first put the go-ahead run on third base, Ty went along with Paul Curtis and J.J. Freeman to their favorite postgame hangout, the Dugout. He sat nursing a beer while the other guys hooked up with a couple of bottle-blonde cleat chasers.

  As he drained the last of the pale ale, he felt his cell phone buzz. Pulling it from his pocket, he looked down to see a text from Harper. He hadn’t gotten around to letting her know the outcome of his visit to the bursar’s office before the game. In fact, he’d fallen asleep and almost been late for pregame, which Coach had not been happy about. He read the message.

  Sorry about the game.

  She’d watched? Harper wasn’t a big fan of baseball, something he personally had a hard time understanding, so the thought of her putting herself through what could be a three-hour game gave him a little jolt. She’d watched it for him. He was sure of it. Felt his chest puff up just a bit at the thought.

  Were you there in the stands? he asked.

  Harper: No, I saw the score on the news.

  His head deflated a few PSIs. So much for the little jolt. She’d just seen the outcome. Maybe he should be thankful for that, although if she’d caught any of the replay, she probably saw him bobble that throw. He could still be flattered that she’d watched the sportscast, right? He had to laugh at his own arrogance, thinking she’d gone out of her way to watch a game.

  He replied, Yeah, not a good night. Hey, I went by to get the class changed today.

  Harper: And I’m the only one teaching it, right? I don’t know why I forgot Hannigan is on sabbatical. Sort of a last-minute thing. That kiss must have addled my brain. She added a flames emoji.

  Ty chuckled. So, he hadn’t been the only one with a few brain cells fried after what they’d shared the night before.

  Ty: Can you talk?

  His phone rang almost as soon as the message was sent.

  “Hey, gorgeous,” he answered.

  “Hi.” Her voice was soft and sounded a little sleep-scratchy. The huskiness went straight to his groin. “Sounds noisy where you are. What are you doing?”

  “Hanging out with the guys.” He looked up to see J.J. and Paul dancing with two women to the slow tempo of an old blues tune. The way one of the couples behaved, he wanted to throw some cash at them and tell them to get a room. Or maybe he was just jealous he was here instead of with Harper making similar moves. Naked.

  “I’m sorry about the class.” She interrupted his X-rated thoughts. “I didn’t even think about there not being another option. I could have saved you a trip.”

  “I’m glad to know that kiss affected you as much as it did me,” he murmured. Well, as much a murmur as he could do and still be heard over the noise.

  “Wait, it did?” He could hear her smile, and his own mouth spread. “I can still feel that little buzz when our lips touched.”

  “Yeah. I couldn’t remember my own name for a couple hours,” he joked. Shit, he was getting a hard-on just talking to her about something that had happened a full day ago. “Coach had to yell my name twice before I figured out he was talking to me.”

  “Wow, kissing me made you forget your own name?” Her laugh was infectious, and he found himself letting out a chuckle.

  He looked at his phone screen, checked the time. “I know it’s late, but… Would you be okay with me coming over? I’ll be discreet, won’t tell the guys where I’m going or anything.”

  She hesitated, then “Okay. But only if you bring a pizza. I’m starving. I fell asleep in front of the television and forgot to eat dinner.”

  “Well, we can’t let you starve.” He stood and motioned to Eddie the bartender as he dropped a twenty on the table. “I’ll be there in thirty.”

  “I’ll be waiting.”

  Ty felt his chest tighten at her husky, sleepy voice and the smile he sensed in her words. Like…would she be waiting in some cute pajamas? Maybe a lacy nightgown? Or nothing at all
.

  He called to order the pizza as soon as he got to his car, and when he picked it up, left the poor kid at the counter staring at the twenty-dollar tip he’d left in his rush to get to Harper’s place.

  Twenty-five minutes after they’d ended their call, he arrived and knocked on her door. No lacy teddy or PJs. No birthday suit. She wore a pair of painted-on jeans and a zombie Shakespeare T-shirt, and she looked edible in them. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She wore no makeup that he could tell. Although he was a little disappointed that she wasn’t naked, she looked perfect to him.

  “Hi,” she said with a smile.

  “Hi,” he replied. He watched as her nipples tightened beneath the shirt, and all his brain could think about was how they might feel in his hands, his mouth… He shook himself. Stop being such a fucking Neanderthal, Johansen. She’s beautiful, but she’s also smart and snarky, and she likes you, which is a miracle in itself. “Can I come in?”

  “Oh, yes, of course!” She pulled the door wide and stood back for him to enter.

  He held up the pizza box as he walked inside. “I got barbecue chicken. I hope that’s okay.”

  “Is there any other kind of pizza?” she said with a grin as she shut the door and locked them inside. “Extra sauce?”

  “Is there any other way?” he replied. “Just in time too. We were the last order to come out of the kitchen before they closed.”

  Harper led the way through her little craftsman bungalow, through the small but neat living room with its oval rag rug and overstuffed sofa, and built-in bookshelves on either side of the fireplace crowded with books. He followed her into a bright white kitchen with gray granite countertops and glass cabinet doors.

  “This is really nice,” he said, wondering if she’d done the reno herself.

  “Oh, please, you must live in a mansion ten times bigger.”

  He didn’t correct her on her assumption, hoping she’d find out in person soon enough. She pulled two colorful Mexican ceramic plates from the cabinets and set them on the counter. “I have beer and I think a bottle of white in the fridge. White wine goes with barbecue chicken pizza, right?”

  “I think so.” He fished slices of pizza from the box and placed them on the plates. “I’ll take a glass if there’s enough.”

  She reached up to snag stemless wineglasses from a higher shelf, exposing a couple of inches of skin between the waistband of her jeans and her shirt. He felt his mouth water, actually water, and it wasn’t because of the tangy smell of the pizza. It was all he could do to keep from reaching out and wrapping his hands around that bare skin and pulling her close. Feeling the rest of her smooth body as he ran his hands up her back, pulled her shirt over her head—

  “You want a fork, or do you eat it Sophia Loren style?”

  He shook himself out of his lustfest. “Wha— Who?”

  “Oh my God, you don’t know who Sophia Loren is?” She pulled the bottle of wine from the fridge door, popped the cork, and poured them both half a glass.

  “No, should I?” Was this some celebrity he should know? Like from some popular show? “I don’t watch much television, other than sports.”

  “She’s, like, the most beautiful woman ever.” She rolled her eyes as she handed him a glass. “You never saw any of her old movies growing up?”

  “Nooo,” he replied. So, old movie buff. He jotted that detail down in his mental Harper notebook. “I was outside playing most of the time, believe it or not. My older brother played sports, so I bugged him until he let me join him and his buddies. Don’t know anything about video games either, in case you’re wondering.”

  “What do you do in your copious amounts of spare time, then, Tyler Johansen?” They sat down on barstools at the center island, and Harper pulled her plate toward her. “See, you eat it like this.” She folded her slice of pizza in half and bit into the tip, then added through a mouthful, “Like a pizza sandwich. Sort of.”

  So that was how this Sophia Loren ate a slice of pizza? He was game. He did the same, but nearly choked when Harper used her tongue to wrap around the strings of cheese and pull them into her mouth. Ty wondered what it would feel like to have that tongue wrapped around him, his own tongue, his dick… Hell, he didn’t care as long as it touched some part of him. Jesus, he was going to die if he didn’t get a taste of her. Now.

  “I, uh, I… I work out,” he muttered. He let his eyes wander to her breasts before he jerked them back up to look her into the eyes. “I like to read, watch sports. I’m pretty boring, actually.”

  “What are you staring at?” she said. “Were you actually checking out my boobs?” Harper’s grin told him she didn’t really have a problem with it if that should be the case.

  Grasping for anything other than telling her he’d been dreaming about her sucking his dick, he nodded toward her. “You have sauce on the corner of your mouth. Right there.”

  Harper flicked her tongue. “Hang on,” he said as he reached out and swiped the sauce before popping his finger into his mouth. “There.”

  She homed in on his mouth before tracking her eyes up to his and holding his gaze. She dropped her pizza back onto the plate, leaned into him, and, before he knew what was happening, locked her lips onto his.

  Tongues mingled, teeth clashed, and Ty slid his plate aside before standing, taking her face between his hands and slanting his mouth across hers. She wrapped her fingers into his hair and tugged, sending lightning straight down to his throbbing groin. He deepened the kiss, plunging his tongue inside, sliding it across hers. She tasted of such unsexy things: barbecue sauce, ranch dressing…but there was something else there, something undefined that made him pull her off the barstool and lift her onto the countertop.

  Harper wasn’t sure what had just happened. She’d lost her mind, that was for sure, when Ty put his finger in his mouth and licked. Next thing she knew, he’d hoisted her onto the counter and spread her legs, wedging his powerful thighs between them, forcing them apart until she could feel that hard length of him pressed into her soft parts, even through the layers of thick denim. Her panties were soaked. She pressed her sex harder against him. He rubbed across her clit, and she nearly exploded with desperate need.

  Oh God, she was going to die.

  Ty growled, actually growled as he reached warm, rough hands around to her back and unhooked her bra. Were they moving too fast? Yes. Did she care? Definitely not. That damn class, though… She could get fired for this. She could lose her job. But right now, all she wanted was Ty inside her, to wrap her legs around him and feel his hot hard length push into her. It’d been so long since someone had touched her, possessed her in that way. Is that really what you want? She was definitely insane if the voices in her head were trying to stop this from happening. It was happening.

  She let her head fall back as he nuzzled her neck and slipped one hand around to capture her breast, teasing the nipple between his fingers. He bunched her shirt upward, and she lifted her arms as he slid it over her head. Squeezing one breast, he licked his tongue across the nipple, then pulled it into his mouth. Nipping, tugging, sucking. She pushed him away enough she could unbuckle his belt, unbutton and unzip his pants before reaching inside and wrapping her fingers around his dick.

  “Fuck,” he groaned. “Yes, that.”

  “Ty!” She pushed her breast toward him, pulled him closer, shoving her breast farther into his mouth. He sucked hard enough to make her gasp as she rubbed her hand up and down his cock, spreading the pre-come from the tip downward and back up. He bucked into her hand, and she tried to push his pants over his hips so she could see his arousal, press it against her core.

  Just as his pants fell to the floor, she heard a loud noise and a vibration against the tile. What the hell was that? Screw it, she didn’t care. But Ty stopped, rested his head on her shoulder, and groaned. “Shit.”

  It was his cell phone ringing, playing… What… “Take Me Out to the Ball Game”? Seriously?

 
He nuzzled her neck and took a deep breath before slowly letting it out. “I’m so sorry, I have to answer this.”

  What the hell? They were sort of occupied. “Can’t you let it go to voicemail?”

  He stabbed his fingers into his hair. “That ringtone means it’s probably an emergency,” he said. “Just give me a minute. I’m, fuck, so…”

  It physically ached to have him lift his weight from her and move away. He pulled his pants back up and fished the cell from his pocket as he answered with an angry “What?”

  This was for the best, she told herself as she pulled her T-shirt back on and fastened her bra. Interrupted before they could make a really big mistake. She’d been about to do something patently stupid, like having sex with a ballplayer student on what, their second date? Could it even really be called their second date? Could it even really be called a date?

  He turned to her a few seconds later, his clothes righted, keys in his hands. “I have to go.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head, obviously pissed if the pinch of his mouth and the heightened color in his cheeks were any indication. “Rookies. They shouldn’t be allowed out without a sitter. I guess I’m supposed to be their sitter.”

  He ran his fingers through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck, clearly as frustrated as she felt. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know how long this is going to take. One of the guys is in a bind. No. That’s bullshit. One of the guys is drunk out of his mind, trying to start a fight at the bar, and I need to go make sure he’s okay. Get him home to sleep it off before he gets into worse trouble than he already is.”

  “It’s okay.” No it’s not, her sex-starved brain said, but the smart part, the one where her common sense still existed even after that near-orgasm, knew it was for the best. Too fast. This was all moving too fast for her. She needed time to get her bearings and figure out what she wanted. Thank goodness for drunken, fighting ballplayers.