He smiles again, but it doesn’t reach his eyes this time. “Yeah.”
“Do you want to study together?”
His brow furrows. “Right now?”
“Sure. I actually have a test coming up, so this works out perfectly. Do you have plans?”
He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck. “Nothing important. Meet you at the library?”
“Could we go to my apartment instead? I’ve got chicken in the Crockpot I need to take out.”
“You own a Crockpot?” he asks skeptically. “God, you’re such a dork.”
I grab my navy peacoat off the coat rack and slide it on. “All right, no honey garlic chicken for you.”
He pauses in putting on his own coat. “Honey garlic?”
“Mm-hmm,” I drawl, winding my cozy cashmere scarf around my neck.
“I mean, I guess I could stop by. Since you’re so desperate to have me over.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll text you my address.”
I pull into my apartment complex’s parking lot fifteen minutes later, where Tyler’s already waiting, leaning against the back of a beat-up Camry.
“You finally decide to show up?” he asks as I shut my car door and walk over to join him.
“Sorry I don’t drive like a maniac—”
A pitiful meow interrupts us and we both look down, a small orange kitten with beautiful gold eyes at our feet. I glance around but there’s no one else nearby. Where did he come from?
“Hey there, little guy,” Tyler murmurs, bending down to pick up the fluffball. “You lost?”
He holds the cat securely under his arm, gently stroking its fur while making nonsensical noises to it. I cover my mouth with my hands before I let out the squeal that wants to escape. Does he have any idea how incredibly adorable he is right now?
He finally glances up and notices me, his eyes narrowing. “What?” he demands, his voice noticeably lower now talking to me than it was to the cat.
“Nothing.” I smile, stepping in closer so I can pet it too. “Who’s the cutest kitten in the whole world?” I whisper softly. “That’s right, you are.”
He moves the cuddle bug nearer against his chest, shielding it from me. “Don’t baby-talk to it.”
I stare at him, my mouth dropping open. “What a hypocrite. You were just doing the same thing.”
“No, I wasn’t.” He glares, daring me to contradict him.
My hands move to my hips. “Then what would you call what you were doing?”
“I was being… reassuring.” He strokes the kitten from ears to tail. “It’s scared,” he whispers softly, just as the tiny fluffball lets out a rumbling purr.
“Do you like it when Tyler pets you?” I say in an even babier voice. He rolls his eyes, but I catch an amused quirk of his lips before he can hide it. I scratch under the cat’s chin and it lifts its head up to give me better access. “Mmm, you like that, don’t you? That feel good?”
“All right, now it’s starting to sound like bedroom talk.”
I laugh and lightly push his shoulder. “No, it doesn’t. You’re such a perv.”
He bends down and groans in my ear, “Mmm, you like that, don’t you?” My breath catches at his sensual tone, that voice I love so much even better up close and personal. Though I know what’s coming next, I still have to bite back a moan as he whispers, “That feel good?”
His eyes are dancing with mirth as he leans back to look at me, his expression sobering once he sees my face. I’ve never been skilled at hiding what I’m feeling. He stares at me, the air between us becoming charged until we’re interrupted by a loud, “Muffin!”
We both swivel our heads in the direction of a large woman running toward us, her gray hair streaming out behind her, the pink housecoat and slippers she’s donning like something out of the 1950s. “Muffin,” she screeches again, waving her arms above her head as if we don’t see her.
Tyler has the sense to wave his free hand in response so she’ll stop yelling across the parking lot, and when she finally approaches, he quickly transfers the cat to her.
“You found my Muffin,” she sobs, pressing her face into the kitten’s fur. It looks at us pitifully, its big eyes pleading for rescue, but she soon has the bundle of fur tucked so securely against her, we’d have no chance of prying it out of her arms. “How can I ever thank you?” she asks, eyeing Tyler in a way that goes beyond appreciative and into lascivious.
He takes a step back so I’m partially shielding him, and I honestly can’t blame him. “No need to thank us,” I tell her, looping my arm through Tyler’s so she’ll be less likely to drag him off to her and Muffin’s lair. “Just glad we could help this little guy.” I reach out to stroke his soft fur one last time.
“I could give you my number if you ever want to stop by and visit Muffin.” She directs this at Tyler, completely ignoring me.
“No, thanks,” he says hastily, steering us toward the apartments until we’re in front of my door.
“What? You don’t want to have a private visit with Muffin?” I whisper as I fish my keys out of my pocket.
“Open the damn door,” he grits out, glancing over his shoulder. “She’s just standing there, watching us.”
“Well, Muffin probably needs a daddy.”
He shudders and unlinks his arm from mine, sliding it across my waist in a possessive hold. His fingers curl around my hip and I freeze in shock, the keys nearly slipping from my hand. “What are you doing?”
“Calm down,” he says easily. “If she thinks we’re a couple, she won’t wait out here in the parking lot to corner me later.”
“Oh, right.”
What, did you think he actually wanted to touch you? That he likes you? You know you could never capture the attention of—
Okay, message received. I regain control of my hands, finally fitting the key in the lock, and let us in. Warmth immediately washes over me and I glance at the thermostat. Eighty freaking degrees. What, Kelsey can’t even bother turning it back down before she leaves?
“Why’s it so hot in here?” Tyler asks, his arm dropping from me as he unzips his coat, laying it carefully on the back of the couch.
“Don’t ask,” I mutter, stripping off my own coat and scarf as I adjust the temperature.
I head into the kitchen and put a pot of water on to boil for the jasmine rice, then check the chicken. The heady aroma of honey and garlic greets me as I lift the lid of the Crockpot, but before I can bend down to take a bigger whiff, Tyler beats me to it, edging me out of the way.
“Fuck, that smells good.”
“Do you have to curse at everything?”
“I’m showing my appreciation. It emphasizes how strongly I feel about something. Besides, I’ve heard you say it too.”
“When?” I demand, unable to recall a single instance I would have said that in the lab.
“When you couldn’t stop talking about my fuck buddies.” He smirks, leaning back against the kitchen counter.
Oh, that.
I replace the lid to the chicken, turning to the stove to pour in the rice. “You seem to provoke me into saying things I wouldn’t normally say.”
“It’s a specialty of mine.” He shrugs nonchalantly.
“You do it to everyone?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs again, watching the water boil in the pot.
“And that doesn’t bother you?”
“If it bothered me, I wouldn’t do it.”
I drop the subject since I’m obviously not getting anywhere.
What, did you think he’d apologize to you? Get real. Like he cares about you at all. Like anything you say matters one bit to him. Like you mean—
“Are you okay?” He interrupts my train of thought, startling me.
“What?” I glance over at him, his eyes narrowed at me.
“You went out of focus there for a second.”
“Oh, um, yeah.” I rub my palms on my jeans, willing my heart to slow down. Logically I know tha
t just because the thoughts come to me doesn’t mean there’s any truth to them, but sometimes they still get to me. “I’m hungry is all.” I motion toward the couch in the living room. “How about we start studying while dinner’s finishing up?”
He takes one last look at me and shrugs for a third time. “Sure.”
We sit down at the dining room table, quizzing each other on the material we expect to be tested on. His class is a chapter ahead of mine, but I’ve read ahead anyway.
Listening to his answers reminds me of all those times in Dr. Hanover’s class—not just how intelligent he is, but also the longing I’d had for him once upon a time.
But that’s gone now. Obviously.
The timer for the rice dings, startling me, and Tyler raises his dark brows at my jumpiness.
I scurry in the kitchen, wanting to be away from that knowing gaze. Of course any former crush I had on him is done. He’s made it clear he’s not looking for anything.
I set a steaming plate of honey garlic chicken atop a bed of jasmine rice in front of him, smiling as he takes a bite and lets out a sound of pleasure.
“This gives your desserts a run for their money,” he says in between bites. “Maybe you should open up a full-service restaurant.”
It feels good to hear his praise, that we’re on better terms now than we were weeks ago. We’ve become… friends. And that’s great. More than I could have hoped for.
So why does it suddenly seem like not enough?
Chapter Six
Mia
C minus.
Right there in bold red marker across the top of my test from last week.
I quickly flip it over before anyone can see. Did Dr. Vasquez really have to use such a bright color? Like the grade wasn’t bad enough?
I thought taking Classical Mythology as an elective would be fun, but apparently an idle interest in the subject doesn’t mean I’m actually any good at remembering what roles some of the lesser-known deities play.
Zeus? Hera? Sure, I know those. But Telphousa? Polyphemus? Yeah, no clue.
I read the selected texts for the test, but I guess I need to do a better job of committing the names to memory.
How’s it going to look on grad school applications that you’re unable to pass a simple elective? If you can’t even remember a few Greek gods, how will they trust you to complete graduate courses? Perform top-level research? Defend a thesis?
I take a few deep breaths before I get too overwhelmed and drag my feet to the Stress Lab later in the day, my mind still on Mythology.
Things go from bad to worse, though, as I begin setting up my stuff, only for the biofeedback machine not to turn on.
I press the button over and over, savagely, until my index finger is sore. I keep my back to Tyler, who’s on the other side of the room getting out the questionnaires for his participants, so he won’t see the tears forming in my eyes.
Please, please just work. I can’t take anything else today. Kelsey already yelled at me for no good reason this morning when she discovered I’d eaten all the leftovers. I’m also worried because my biofeedback group isn’t catching up to Tyler’s physical activity one.
I jam my thumb down on the button one last time, but still nothing.
What did you expect would happen? That it would magically turn on? You’re an idiot.
I gulp down a rough breath, my fingers trembling as I bring them up to cover my mouth.
You can’t even get this machine to work right. What was Dr. Price thinking letting you be in control of this? He’ll realize what a screw-up you are soon enough.
My heart picks up speed, the sound of it in my ears muffling everything else. I sit down heavily in my desk chair, suddenly unable to catch my breath. It’s like there’s a weight on my chest, keeping the air out.
He’ll give the whole project to Tyler, who deserved it in the first place. And you know he won’t fight for you to keep your spot on the team. He’s only concerned with number one.
A strangled gasp leaves me as I attempt to breathe, desperately trying to get air in my lungs.
“Mia?” Tyler crosses the room, bending down till he’s eye level with me. “What is it? What’s going on?”
He looks wild-eyed at me, searching for what’s wrong, but I’m too worked up to respond. I make a motion to my throat, clawing at it. It’s like my body’s out of my control.
“Mia, you’re scaring me.” Though his voice is calm, the beginnings of panic stir in his eyes for just a moment until he shuts it down, his face expressionless.
Tears fall in hot splashes on my cheeks, but there’s nothing I can do about it as I still try to suck in air. I point to the biofeedback machine, hoping he gets the message to turn it on before our first participant shows up.
“You need me to do the biofeedback?”
I begin to shake my head to tell him no, that’s not what I meant, but his hands suddenly trailing down my arms stop me. His thumbs gently trace circles on the insides of my wrists, the pressure soothing.
“Close your eyes,” he says in that beautifully deep voice, “and take a deep breath. Focus on relaxing each muscle of your body and slowing your breaths. Inhale and exhale with me.” He counts to three steadily, bringing air in, then releases it on the same count of three.
I do all I can to concentrate on his words, the rhythm of it more than anything else, just trying to get out of my own mind. If I can just breathe with him, everything will be okay. This crushing weight will release.
I clutch at his arms like he’s a lifeline and he lets me, wrinkling the sleeves of his soft cotton shirt, taking in shaky breaths next to his strong ones.
We continue that way for long minutes until it’s safe for me to open my eyes, my chest finally rising and falling in an even tempo. My lashes and cheeks are still wet as I look up at him and he slowly brings a hand up to wipe the moisture away, his thumb featherlight on my skin.
He moves to tuck an errant curl behind my ear, brushing my neck as his hand wanders down, leaving shivers in its wake, then cups the back of my head, cradling it tenderly. The warmth of his fingers relaxes the muscles there, even more so when he gently massages the area, loosening the still lingering tension.
He’s silent, his eyes flicking back and forth between my eyes and mouth, and it takes me a moment to realize what he’s signaling. I’m unable to move, to think, to focus on anything but his face gradually coming closer.
I shut my eyes at the first gentle press of his lips. I didn’t know he was capable of such softness, such tenderness. My stomach dips in anticipatory delight as his other hand slides into my hair, holding me more securely to him as he moves his head a fraction, changing the angle of the kiss so it’s deeper now, but still just as slow and exquisitely soft.
I sway toward him, relaxing my hold on his shirt, kissing him back with enthusiasm. I had no idea he felt this way, that he likes me—
A sharp burst of laughter from the hallway outside the lab has us breaking apart, like we were caught doing something wrong even though we’re still alone.
He moves back, seeming to forget that he was bending down, and falls on his butt, his eyes wide and disconcerted, every emotion there for me to see. I’ve never seen him so lost, so unsure, but I can tell the moment his normal assurance slips over him, like armor he’s donning.
He stands and says offhandedly, “You’re welcome,” turning toward the biofeedback machine and fiddling with the buttons.
I’m still processing everything that just happened, how soft his lips were, the hard muscles of his arms, how hot his skin had burned through his shirt. “What?”
“For taking your mind off your panic attack. Redirecting your thoughts.”
My jaw drops. “You kissed me just to distract me?”
He nods tightly, avoiding my gaze, his attention still on the machine.
Makes sense. Why would he kiss you for real?
I turn away from him, straightening papers on the desk that were already pe
rfectly straight until I have my emotions under control again.
“It’s fixed,” he announces. I spin around to find the screen lit up, in perfect working order again. “A couple cables had come loose.”
How had I missed that? “Thanks,” I automatically reply before remembering I’m mad at him. At least I think I am. Before five minutes ago, I didn’t even want him to kiss me. So why should it matter now that it wasn’t a real one?
We both pretend like nothing happened in strained silence before our first participant shows up and then immediately go into experiment mode for the next two hours as each student comes in for their allotted time.
After the last person leaves, he looks over at me expectantly, but I have no idea what to say. Was it obvious to him I was really into that kiss? That I thought it meant more than what it did? Should I play it off like it was no big deal?
“Are you ready to go to Dr. Price’s office?” he asks finally.
Wait, what?
“For the check-in meeting,” he continues when I stare at him blankly.
“Oh, right,” I stammer. I totally forgot about that. We’ll be going over the data we’ve collected and discussing our experiences in the study so far. “I’ll be there in a second.”
He gazes stoically at me for a moment, then leaves, the door softly snicking shut behind him.
I let out a long breath, collecting myself before walking down the hall and out into the main waiting room. His office is open, and I take the same seat next to Tyler I did that first day, after setting a pile of folders and books carefully on the floor. The area is still as messy as ever, probably even worse now that the semester is in full swing. There’s also what looks like a day-old sandwich on the desk and half-eaten cookie. I’m so glad he doesn’t do any of his experiments in the room we’re assigned to, or the place would be just as junked up.
Tyler doesn’t look my way, but I can sense his attention on me all the same, even as we answer Dr. Price’s questions. What are the data trends so far, are we finding anything that surprises us, how are the participants engaging with the study?
Things are going smoothly until I’m asked about how comfortable I feel using the biofeedback machine and I immediately freeze up. Is it unethical not to mention what happened today? Do I have a duty to report it? Or is it okay not to say anything since technically it didn’t involve the participants in any way?
Under Pressure (Lessons Learned Book 1) Page 5