by Tessa Bailey
Her tongue came out to wet her lips, and he watched it happen in slow motion. Felt the muscles in his abdomen tighten at the image of her mouth skating down, down, to deal with the turmoil in his pants. She stopped right at the front of the podium and traced a finger over his lesson plans. No one had ever touched his lesson plans before, and it felt intimate. Maybe more intimate than a kiss for someone like him. She opened her mouth to speak—
“Ben.”
The familiar voice broke through his red haze of lust. His colleague, Peter, stood at the entrance, eyeing him strangely. Why? Oh, probably because he was sweating and staring at a student like he wanted to eat her for lunch. Eat her . . . fuck. What color panties was she wearing? He’d give anything to know.
“Hey, Ben,” Peter said with a little more oomph. “We’ve got that faculty meeting.”
The blonde, looking more than a little disappointed with their audience, gave him a small smile and walked away. Just like that. She’d aroused him out of his mind, made him question his strict rules, then walked away so casually she might be headed to a beach party. When she passed Peter in the doorway, the fellow teacher looked at her speculatively, and something ugly reared its head inside of Ben. Don’t look at her. Don’t you fucking look at her, he wanted to shout.
Jesus, man. Reel it back. Repeating those words on a loop, he gathered his things quickly and joined Peter at the door. At least he had his body under control now. The icing on this cake of a day would be explaining his peter to Peter.
“What was that about?” his often nosy colleague asked him. “That looked . . . bad.”
Ben scratched his chin. “No idea what you mean. It was nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing.” Peter bumped him with his shoulder, and Ben gave him a dark look. He found Peter irritating on a regular basis, but something about him discussing the blonde in any capacity was making him twice as unbearable. They were both new to the faculty, though, and taught the same course. They were required to share notes and compare lesson plans, which put them in one another’s company pretty frequently. “Listen, we have to be careful. We don’t have tenure yet. One wrong move—”
“Stop. I don’t know what you think you saw, but you need to drop it.”
Peter held up his hands. “Just looking out for you.”
Ben stayed silent the rest of the walk to the meeting. He thought of the blonde the entire way.
Chapter 2
HONEY WALKED INTO the apartment that evening and froze. Was she in the right place? She leaned back slightly and checked the apartment number. Yup. She lived here.
Candles everywhere. Streamers. Balloons. Sugary pop music pumped from Abby’s pink MacBook where it sat on the kitchen table. Bottles upon bottles of booze were lined up on the kitchen island in every flavor imaginable. Red plastic cups and an ice bucket were placed handily beside them. The lights were out in the entire apartment, but the candles flickered, lighting the walls with an orangey glow. This is what she got for staying late at the lab to finish her organic chemistry project, hoping to distract herself from thoughts of Professor Dawson. She came home to a whole new world.
No, not Professor Dawson. Ben. She knew his name now.
Abby almost bulldozed her as she ran into the living room with only one eye of makeup and two different shoes on her feet. “There you are!”
“Here I am.” Honey gestured to the room. “Why does it look like Mardi Gras threw up in here?”
“Roxy landed a part today.” Abby was practically vibrating. “A big one.”
Honey’s hands flew to her mouth. “No way. Oh my God. What is it?”
“I don’t know yet. She wanted to tell everyone in person.” Abby latched onto Honey’s arms, and they both started jumping up and down. “Louis brought all this stuff over and went back out for more. We’re going to surprise her.”
“She’s going to hate this.”
“I know, right? She’ll get over it.”
The apartment door swung open and Louis backed in, holding a . . . fog machine? Honey might have had her reservations about Louis in the beginning. No way could this gorgeous lawyer with a trust fund that could purchase a small island be as nice as he seemed. But she’d warmed to him when it had become obvious he would do just about anything and everything to make Roxy happy. As in, saw his own arm off if it improved her day by even the tiniest degree. The fact that he always brought over butter pecan ice cream for them didn’t exactly hurt his cause, either.
Louis set down the fog machine and started jumping up and down with them, sending them both into a laughing fit. Another thing about Louis? He’d grown up with two—certifiably insane—twin sisters, which had made it easy for him to fit in with their girl crew. Roxy had once called him the Pussy Whisperer, and it had kind of stuck. For the sake of brevity, though, they simply called him P-Dub.
“Rox just texted me that she’s hopping on the train,” Louis said, holding up his phone. “That gives us about twenty minutes.”
“Where is every—”
Honey was cut off when the door opened and people began to stream into the apartment. She recognized Louis’s sisters from a picture he’d once shown them, although she would have known anyway, since they shared his good looks. Walking in behind them was a huge group of people, including two girls with yoga mats and tattoo sleeves, three guys with scraggly beards carrying guitars, and a woman dressed like Madonna, circa 1989. Louis’s coworkers and Roxy’s actor friends continued to arrive until their voices drowned out the music, forcing Abby to turn up the volume.
Honey jogged to her room, threw her book bag into the corner, and quickly changed her clothes, opting for overalls that ended in a skirt instead of pant legs. She paired it with a white tank top and her beat-up Converse. Damn, she needed to think about a new pair of shoes soon. Maybe it was time to think about getting some waitressing shifts to ease the strain on her parents. Little things like shoes could shoot their whole budget to hell. She’d had an amazing stroke of luck finding this apartment and Abby, who only charged them two hundred dollars for rent, but she needed to remember how tight money was back home. Everything that had been sacrificed so she could be here. Living her dreams.
Her throat feeling a little tight, Honey ran a brush through her hair and left the room, locking it behind her. Didn’t want anyone getting busy on her grandma’s afghan.
As soon as she walked into the kitchen, Louis waved her over. He was standing with another guy. A tall guy with a shaved head. He was attractive in a rugged, works-with-his-hands kind of way. Kind of. . . . dangerous looking. The exact opposite of who she would expect lawyerly Louis to hang out with. Then Abby joined them, and shaved head’s entire demeanor softened, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he shifted back and forth in his work boots. Honey almost laughed out loud. This giant man was clearly infatuated with Abby. And Abby clearly had zero clue. She had to meet this guy.
Louis put a friendly hand on Honey’s shoulder. “Honey, this is my boy, Russell. We met because of beer.” Russell shook her hand with a half smile and went back to watching Abby.
Honey nudged Abby. “You’ve already met Russell?”
“Yes,” she confirmed with a precise nod. “When Russell and Ben came to yell at Roxy for making Louis sad. You weren’t there to witness the fireworks.”
“Oh.” Honey felt a flutter in her throat just hearing the name Ben. Even if it wasn’t attached to her Ben. Her Ben? When had she started thinking of him that way? Maybe when he looked at her like he wanted to devour her. “I wish I could have seen that.”
“It wasn’t pretty.” Russell’s voice sounded like thunder rumbling. “She would have gone back to him eventually. We just gave her a nudge.”
Louis looked lost in his thoughts for a moment. “Yeah, well. I guess you’re good for something. Speaking of Ben, where is he? He always shows up exactly on time.”
“On his way. He got caught up at some meeting.”
Louis checked his pho
ne again, obviously restless for Roxy to show up. He scanned the room, gaze landing on everything in one swoop. “We need more chairs. Would you mind running downstairs and grabbing some out of the super’s closet, Russell? He told me we could borrow a few fold-up ones for the night.”
“Sure thing,” Russell said, looking around for a place to set down his beer. When Abby took it from him, he smiled like she’d just crowned him king of England.
“You know what? I’ll go,” Honey volunteered. It seemed like a shame to pull Russell away from Abby. Not to mention, she wanted to be useful, since Abby and Louis had set up the whole party without her help. Growing up on a farm had instilled an almost obsessive need to pull her own weight, whether it was cooking for her roommates or lugging shit up three flights of stairs. Russell and Louis started to protest, but she cut them off. “I might be small, but I’m tough. Be right back.”
She skirted past a group of guys in various styles of plaid and dipped out of the apartment. After peeking down the hall to make sure Roxy wasn’t coming, lest she ruin the surprise, she skipped down the stairs to the first floor, letting her mind drift back to her literary theory class that afternoon. Either she’d been breathing too many fumes in the lab and had become delusional, or she and Ben had shared a . . . moment. She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected him to react to her. She’d expected him to maintain his careful detachment to anyone and everything apart from his lecture, the material. Just like always. Instead, he’d looked at her as if he’d recognized her. Then . . . oh then, he’d let his mask slip, and there’d just been heat. Heat everywhere, licking over her skin and dragging her toward him. The way he’d made her feel shouldn’t be felt in a lecture hall, surrounded by a hundred students. It should only be felt in the bedroom or the shower . . . or in a field under the moon.
All right, now she just sounded ridiculous. She could no more picture the professor lying under a Kentucky moon than she could picture him in jeans and a T-shirt. No, if she succeeded in seducing him, he would probably keep on his tweed jacket and glasses the whole time they got it on. He’d probably quote Salinger when he came, instead of giving a good old-fashioned moan. Which was fine with her. Oh mama, was it fine with her.
Honey reached the super’s supply closet and found that he’d left it propped open with a block of wood. “So helpful,” she murmured, making a mental note to bake Rodrigo some brownies to say thank you. The kind with walnuts and frosting on top. Humming to herself, she reached over to flick the light switch. Nothing happened. “Looks like I’ll be operating in the dark.”
BEN WAS LATE by five minutes. It really shouldn’t matter, five minutes. Three hundred seconds. It wasn’t even enough time to boil an egg. But it did matter. It mattered because he’d been thrown off his game already today and it had now carried over into his evening. He hadn’t finished grading papers on time because of his fascination with the faceless Ms. Perribow’s work, which he’d read twice more on the subway ride to Chelsea, bringing the grand total to nine. Nine times. And yet if he was honest with himself, he’d read it again to distract himself from thoughts of the blonde. His Lolita. Granted, she was clearly past the age of consent, unlike the character he’d secretly named her after in his mind, but as a sophomore, she couldn’t be more than nineteen. Twenty, tops. Young. Way too young.
As far back as his first date in high school with Janine Conway, he’d dated older women. He liked older women. They had more in common with him. Shared similar interests, such as The Moth podcast or Diane Lane movies. Not to mention, they were easier for him to communicate with. If they wanted something, miracle of miracles, they told him instead of playing head games and confusing the hell out of him. They didn’t fiddle with their hair or drag him along on group dates with their always-laughing friends. He could hear himself think with older women.
But there was more to it. A lot more. His parents’ situation had instilled a healthy fear in him from a young age. A clear picture of what could happen if you let sex overrule your common sense. You got trapped. And when it was all over, you were left with nothing but bitterness. So when he got the urge to be with a woman, he made sure he could keep his head. He maintained control over his emotions, and if for some reason he ever felt the control slipping, which he hadn’t felt until today, he got out. Quickly.
How could he get out of this situation, though? He couldn’t very well meet with the administration and ask them to remove Lolita from his class. On what grounds? That he wanted to drag her onto his desk and bury himself between her legs? That would go over like a dream.
What’s more, he hadn’t even spoken to the girl. Hadn’t exchanged a single word with her. For someone like him, who placed more value on someone’s thoughts than their attractiveness, it made him a little disappointed in himself. And rather absurdly, it made him feel unfaithful to Ms. Perribow. She’d been sitting in that lecture hall today with her brilliant, witty thoughts, and he’d only been able to think about jumping Lolita’s bones. Shameful.
Ben rang the buzzer for 4D and was let inside immediately. Six minutes late now. An egg would be boiled at this point. Totally edible. He was halfway up the stairs when he heard a loud crash from below and a very distinctly Southern, feminine voice say, “Ouch.” And, “Shit.”
He contemplated minding his own business in the interest of minimizing his lateness, but it was a girl. She could be hurt. He couldn’t very well take out his current frustration with a certain golden-eyed blonde on this girl. It wouldn’t be fair, and it kind of made him a dick for even considering it. Ben reversed his progress and covered the hallway in eight quick steps. He heard shuffling coming from inside what appeared to be a closet. After pulling open the door, he was unable to see a damn thing in the dim glow the hallway light provided, so he stepped inside, peering into the room.
I’m being tested. It’s the only explanation. He only caught a brief flash of the most beautiful, bent-over ass in history, mint-green panties peeking out from beneath a jean skirt, before the door closed behind him and cast the closet into darkness.
A beat of silence passed. “Whoever you are, please tell me you didn’t just shut that door.”
Her husky voice affected him like fingertips coasting down his stomach, toward his belt buckle. It made him think of skinny-dipping, which made no sense. He’d never gone swimming naked in his life. “I, um.” He reached behind himself and tested the doorknob. Jesus, it was locked. “Based on how you said that, I’m assuming you don’t have a key.”
A long moment stretched on without her responding, but he heard a slight hitch in her breathing and wondered at it. Then it hit him. Of course, she would be worried. Moron. A strange man had just locked himself into a closet with her.
“Oh. Oh, hey.” He held his hands out, dropping them when he remembered she couldn’t see him. “Listen, I’m here for the party upstairs. I’m six minutes late, probably seven now.” An egg timer went off in his brain. “I heard a crash and came to check on you. Please don’t be nervous.”
“Ben?” He heard her gulp. “You are that Ben?”
“I’m . . . a Ben.” Confusion had him shaking his head. “Do we know each other?”
A long pause. “I’m . . . I’m Roxy’s roommate. Louis told us Ben was on the way, but I didn’t think or even consider . . .” An incredulous laugh. “Why would I?”
“Okay, maybe I’m the one that should be nervous.”
“Nervous around me?” Her voice seemed strained. “I’m harmless as a June bug.”
Since she couldn’t even see him, he didn’t bother to hide his amused expression. He’d heard about Roxy’s roommates from Louis, but only briefly and in passing. His best friend had been a little tied up since meeting his girlfriend, and boy’s night had been put on temporary hiatus. At least until Louis managed to convince himself she wouldn’t disappear into a cloud of smoke. But Ben remembered hearing about the Southern roommate who’d given Louis a hard time, which had immediately earned his and Russell’s unquali
fied approval. That kind of thing rarely, if ever, happened to their overachiever buddy, and it was cause to celebrate.
Ben opened his leather satchel and felt around for his cell phone. “I’ll give Russell a call. He’ll come down and let us out.”
“Oh.”
Did she sound disappointed? If that was the case, did that mean she wanted to be stuck in the closet with him? How could that be, when she hadn’t even seen his face before the door closed? Up until now, he’d been trying to forget the glimpse he’d gotten of her tiny green panties. The ones that had been wedged in between two sweet little ass cheeks. God, after the day he’d had, a day that had put him in the eye of a sexual frustration cyclone, this was a test he wasn’t prepared to pass. His hand closed around the hard case of his cell phone, and he hit speed dial for Russell. No answer. He tried Louis. Twice. Again, his friend didn’t pick up.
“The music must be too loud,” she whispered. Oh, shit. Had she moved closer? Don’t think of the panties, Ben. Don’t. Too late. Jesus, was it a full fucking moon? His dick had been hard for three different girls today, all for different reasons. Intellect, beauty . . . now a soft Southern twang that he wanted to hear say his name again, right up against his ear.
“Tell me about yourself,” Ben said abruptly. If he just kept her talking, eventually someone would wonder where their elusive roommate had gone and come looking. He was determined to circumvent this attack on his self-discipline, if for no other reason than to prove he could. To himself. Why this victory seemed so important, he couldn’t quite decide, except he resented how easily he’d been tempted today. Distracted. It never happened to him, and he needed to keep his house of cards standing. “You’re from down south, right? What are you doing in New York?”