by Ally Vance
“That one,” she says quickly, pointing past my shoulder.
Chapter Three
Charlotte
The Sizzling Griddle diner is always packed on a Friday night, but it’s the closest decent restaurant to my apartment. Here, I can order a cheeseburger and chips and not feel like I’m consuming half a gallon of cooking oil on the side.
But they’re so busy that the only option when the craving hits me on a weekend is walking two blocks to go fetch my order, else I’d have to wait an hour for my food.
I’m not a patient woman.
Which is why I’m glaring at the back of a guy’s head, the one who’s been standing at the front of the queue for ten minutes because he can’t make up his mind about what he wants to order. I’m about to go over there and demand he falls back in line until he’s ready when an invisible touch strokes the skin between my shoulder blades.
Through a brief lull in the ambient chatter-clatter of the diner, I hear the jangle of the door’s bell. I turn, glance at the man who’s stepped inside, and face forward again.
Then I do a double-take.
It’s Professor Fyre.
Suddenly, my lust for a juicy cheeseburger is snuffed out. Something else replaces it…something much, much more carnal. Primal, even.
The queue waiting to order take out is about ten strong, and I’m right in the middle. Which means four people are separating me and Fyre.
It’s way too little.
It’s obviously too much.
The rain cleared up earlier today, but it left behind some muggy air that felt chilly when I stepped out of my apartment. Rather than ride my bike the two blocks to get here, and then end up with a scrambled cheeseburger—I learn from my mistakes—I walked. So clever me decides to go back up and grab a jacket.
I’m starting to sweat.
It has nothing to do with the temperature inside the diner.
It’s all him.
I can feel Fyre behind me.
Has he seen me? If he has, will he come up to me and say something? I’m still flabbergasted about our chance encounter earlier this week. What are the odds, right? Those five minutes I spent in the cab of his truck with him was the fuel for several dirty dreams and three exquisite masturbation sessions—two in the shower, one in my bed.
I just couldn’t get over how fucking sexy he looked with his wet hair and his profoundly concerned expression. I get the feeling he doesn’t like where I stay either because his face was a thundercloud when we pulled up outside my apartment block. He offered—more than once—to help me get my bike upstairs, but I was so terrified I’d do something embarrassing, say tripping on the stairs, that I shooed him away like a stray dog.
Oh God, why isn’t this line moving?
It’s taking everything I have not to turn around and make him notice me. But what the hell will happen if I do that? Would I go stand next to him awkwardly and chat while the line moves?
He didn’t come here to have a weird conversation with one of his therapy students. He came here for…
Wait. Why is he here? Is he…is he following me?
The hair on my arms stands up. A rush of heat floods through me, warming my already pink cheeks. I unzip my jacket and flap the two halves to try and cool down a little, but as circumspectly as I can so I don’t draw Fyre’s attention.
Unless he’s already seen me. I don’t think he noticed me before I turned straight ahead…but what if he did? What if he spotted me, and I immediately faced away like I didn’t want him to see me?
Oh my God…what if he thinks I’m avoiding him?
Now my cheeks are on fire. And the worse part is, even if I wanted to escape this infernal torture, I’d have to walk right past him to get to the door.
I’m trapped.
A trickle of sweat tickles down my back.
Think, Charlotte, think!
The line moves. My phone vibrates with a new message or something. Probably just a notification. I’m not on social media, but I have a few free apps for reading books and stuff. And then there’s the website where I offer freelance editing services. Maybe someone wants to book my services!
I take out my phone, and as I do, a master plan of epic proportions hits me.
Fake. A. Call.
I could walk out here, eyes down, phone to my ear on the side where Fyre is, and walk right by him without ‘noticing’ him. If he sees me, he wouldn’t dare interrupt a call to say hi.
It’s perfect.
But my insides are quivering.
Because what if, instead of calling out my name, he touches me as I walk past? A delicious little shiver chases its way through me at the thought.
I could be all blase about it. Give him a wave, then go outside.
And then run!
I’m doing it. I’m doing it!
The line moves again. My stomach grumbles.
Sorry, buddy. Gonna have to take one for the team. Maybe I’ll come back later when I’m sure he’s gone.
Now…Let’s do this properly. Trying to move as little as possible, I go through my phone’s settings until I get to the ring tone. I switch it to the default one—I had some weird forest sound selected—and tap on the ringer volume.
I jerk when the ring tone trills out, impossibly loud. Instantly, I hear a bunch of grumbles around me.
Screw all of you—this is an emergency.
I let it ring once more before making my screen go black, then I answer the phone with a quiet, “Hello?”
“Take it outside!” someone calls out in the line behind me.
And then I hear Fyre. “She’ll lose her place in the line.”
“Not my problem, guy. Should have had it on silent.”
Fyre starts to say something in return, but my heart’s pounding so hard it’s drowning out the diner. I turn and head for the door, chin down, phone pressed to my ear.
Somehow, I still see him in my periphery. But he isn’t focused on me, he’s talking to the man in front of him. I think it’s the guy who told me to take the call outside.
My heart stutters.
Fyre’s dark eyes are blazing with anger, and his jaw is rock hard. The man turns around in the queue to face my professor, and that’s when Fyre’s gaze flicks to me.
I nearly stop walking.
The sullen fury in his eyes is enough to melt my bones.
But somehow I manage to keep going. In a flash, Fyre’s face clears. Gone is the rage. An almost mischievous light flickers there now, and I realize he’s going to do something…but I realize it too late.
Fyre snakes out an arm, catching me around my midriff, and brings me to a dead halt beside him.
“I thought I recognized you,” he murmurs, his deep voice turning into a low rumble.
His steely grip has me squirming internally. I never thought he was this strong. I glance down at the arm wrapped around my middle, trying to imagine it without the dark blazer he’s wearing. My pussy starts tingling.
Professor Fyre draws me closer.
My eyes fly back to his, and I swallow hard, my phone forgotten in my hand. It’s not even pressed to my ear anymore.
He’s going to kiss me.
I don’t know how I know, but I just do. Why else would he be drawing me close, scanning my face, bringing our mouths near to—
Someone walks past me, bumping my shoulder as they squeeze past.
That’s why.
Because I’m in the goddamn way.
“Sorry,” he says in that quiet voice of his, but it’s a lie. He’s not sorry. Someone else pushes past me, and they’re not as polite as the one before. They jar me so hard, my phone slips out of my hand and skitters over the floor.
Fyre’s brow furrows. “Charlotte…are you okay?”
It’s because I’m so close to him. It’s because he says my name like that—deep and throaty. It’s because just last night, I fell asleep minutes after climaxing to the thought of him eating me out.
Wetness pools in my underwear.
> I gasp, utter mortification staining my cheeks. I’m wearing a denim skirt and knee-high boots today, so all that’s standing between me and the whole world knowing how wet this man makes me is a tiny slip of fabric—which is already soaking wet.
Twisting out of his grip, I charge out the diner’s entrance, not caring who I knock into the way out. He calls my name, but I don’t turn back.
I can’t.
I will drop dead from embarrassment if I ever see him again.
Chapter Four
I’m a liar. I said I’d drop dead if I ever saw Professor Fyre again? Well, I don’t. Even though I’m still in a tizzy about what happened at the diner, when I go to open my door almost an hour later, it’s with the full expectation that it’s my cat-hoarding neighbor who’ll be standing there, asking me if I’ve seen one of her many feral cats.
But, instead, when I wrench open the door, it’s Professor Fyre looming over me, not Mrs. Crawford with a cat on her arm.
Am I hallucinating? Is this some weird sex day-dream?
But no. As soon as Fyre clears his throat and holds up my phone, I know it’s real because the screen is cracked.
My dreams are never this detailed.
I take my phone with trembling fingers. “Wh—How—Where—?”
“You’re the only Ash on the intercom system,” he says.
When my shocked expression doesn’t change, he adds, “I’m your therapist. I do happen to know your surname.”
“B-But the buzzer didn’t…” I trail off because I don’t know why I keep trying to challenge the reality of this situation.
“A very kind lady let me in, but only after she made sure I didn’t know anything about her missing cat.”
“Mrs. Crawford let you in?” My head’s swimming and I have a feeling it’s to do with Fyre’s frank, unblinking stare.
Then he holds up a brown paper bag printed with the name of the diner we were both just at. “I took the liberty of ordering you some food. Cheeseburger okay?”
I don’t know how I feel about Professor Fyre sitting on my couch. Hell, I don’t even know how I feel about eating in front of him. Especially since I’m starving, and goddamnit this cheeseburger is so fucking delicious. I try to restrain myself, but then I lose concentration after a bite or two and realize I’m devouring my food like my last meal was a pretzel I ate seven weeks ago.
“Damn, she wasn’t kidding—they do make good burgers,” Fyre says.
I’ve been avoiding looking in his direction as much as possible, but this has me stymied. “She?” I ask through a mouthful of burger patty and cheese.
“Sally, my patient.” Fyre stares at the window opposite us as he pops a fry into his mouth, and then glances over at me. “My session with her ran late tonight, and she recommended this place to me when I left. Guess she heard my stomach grumbling.” He laughs, and it’s the warmest, richest sound I’ve ever heard.
How does he do it? How can this man add such vivacity to my dark, colorless world with just one laugh?
“Their burgers kick ass,” I agree with a nod, “but they make a mean pizza too.”
He smiles around another fry, and then his expression turns serious. “Is everything alright with you?”
My food gets stuck in my throat. I swallow hard, but it doesn’t budge. Snatching up the soda he bought me, I suck on the straw for a few seconds. “Yeah,” I say glibly. “Why?”
“You just…you ran out of there so fast.” He glances at my cracked phone where I left it on the coffee table. “I thought something had happened.”
Oh God, I have to lie again. The thought makes my stomach twist, so I quickly put the take out container down on the coffee table. I take a few more sips from my soda can before setting it down.
“I got a call from my mom,” I tell him, not making eye contact. This is difficult enough without trying to look him in the eye. “I misheard her over the noise in the diner. I thought she’d told me my gramps had died.”
“Shit,” Fyre says.
I don’t think I’ve heard him swear before. My pulse picks up speed. “But he hadn’t,” I add hurriedly as I point at my ear. “Too much noise. She told me he’d been in for some elective surgery. Nothing serious.”
“That’s a relief then,” Fyre says. He nods as he puts his container down and then starts glancing around my apartment. “Could you point me in the direction of your bathroom?”
Oh fuck.
“You…uh…now?” My heart starts galloping. I’m pretty sure it’s a fucking mess in there. Underwear, dirty clothes. When last did I wash out the sink?
Shit, shit, shit!
“I just want to wash my hands,” he says, a crooked smile jumping onto his lips.
“Oh, I just use the kitchen sink. Water pressure is much better.” I stab a finger toward the basin. Not so much showing him where it is as demanding that he use it instead.
“That sucks,” he says through a laugh as he goes over to wash his hands. “Pressure that bad in the shower too?”
“Oh no, that’s fine. Maybe it’s from a different pipe or something.” Oh my God, the lies! How am I ever going to keep all this shit straight?
Fyre wipes his hands on a paper towel he tore off from the roll tossed haphazardly onto the counter, walking closer with a broad smile on his face.
It’s unreal how he fills my apartment with his presence, with his size. In the classroom, I never realized just how big he was. How tall, how broad-shouldered. But here? I feel like I’ve let a giant into my home.
He’s headed straight for me, which I guess is the closest route back to his seat after visiting the kitchen sink. But he stops a foot away, towering over me until I’m forced to crane back my head and look up.
At the sight of his expression, I shoot to my feet.
His eyes are narrowed, his jaw bunched. “Wait a second,” he says.
Oh fuck.
I want to step back, to keep away from him in case he lashes out at me. I don’t know why that’s suddenly a possibility, but the instant I think about it, I can’t get it out of my head.
“What is it?”
“Your mother cleared up the misunderstanding over the phone, then why did you run out of the diner like Satan himself was chasing you?”
Not Satan.
You.
I was terrified of you.
Like how I am now. My heart beating so fast in my chest.
Fyre steps closer. His full mouth is set in a straight line. “Why are you lying to me, Charlotte?”
His earthy, woody scent envelops me. I’m sucked into his eyes like they’re whirlpools out on some midnight ocean.
Trapped, again.
My heart pounding in my chest.
But is it fear…or excitement?
He opens his mouth again, his expression becoming even sterner, and I do the only thing I can think of to stop him from scolding me.
I kiss him.
I have to grab hold of his jacket and haul myself onto the tips of my toes to get it right, but I do it. I kiss Professor Fyre like my life depends on it. But the second after our mouths touch, I’m not pretending anymore.
I’ve been dreaming about this moment for weeks.
And it’s just how I pictured it would be. Wild, and violent, and utterly intoxicating.
No, fuck that.
This is better. This is far better than anything I could ever, ever have imagined.
Chapter Five
Fyre
I’m thankful the rain has passed. Forecasts predict a clear—if chilly—weekend.
All the better to stalk you with, my dear Charlotte.
I’m parked in my sedan directly opposite her apartment building. I never drive this to the college, so she can’t know it’s mine. Or that I’m inside, watching.
I’m conflicted as fuck right now. Guess I have been since the moment she laid that pretty mouth of hers on mine. Hell, maybe even before that. I suppose I knew I was fucked the moment she first slipped silently
into my class, shoulders hunched and face hidden behind her hair as if she would be all too happy if no one ever noticed her.
But I did, Charlotte. I noticed you, and I locked on to your scent, your presence, like a motherfucking bloodhound.
Now I sit here, stewing. I want to race up those stairs and demand you close your curtains so everyone and their dog can’t happen to look up right into your bedroom. But I want to look into your bedroom, so you can’t very well be closing your curtains, can you?
I rub my palm against my thighs, the thick jeans creating friction with my skin. It’s ten o’clock on a Saturday night. Someone your age should be out dancing. Drinking with friends. Fuck it, watching a movie if you’re into that.
But here you are, alone in your apartment, with only your bedroom light on. At this angle, I can see only the vague suggestion of a lamp and a bedpost. You haven’t come close enough to the window for me to see you.
I jerk at a touch to my lips and snatch my hand away from my mouth. I felt the desperation in your kiss. Fuck, it trembled through your entire body when I slid my hands around your back and dragged you up against me.
Did you think it would make me forget that you lied to me? That you tried to cover up the fact that I scare you?
My fingers trace the outline of my lips.
God, but you taste so good, little Charlotte. You’ve poisoned me with that sweet mouth of yours. And still, I want more.
My phone is on the seat beside me. I’m so tempted to call her, but the time isn’t right. If I fuck up now, I fuck up for good. I’ll lose my chance to be with her in the way I so badly want to.
My cock hardens at the thought of being inside her. Having her pussy grip me, desperate. Hungry.
Just like her mouth.
Just like my soul. I could have devoured every inch of her supple body last night, but when I slid my hand over her tit, she pushed me away. Wearing a scandalized expression like she’d never considered the thought that there could be more than just kissing.
Let’s hope for her sake, that seed is good and planted.
I reach for my phone, then snatch my hand back and twist my bottom lip with my fingers.