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“You’ll figure it out,” I say, “when you meet someone you really like. Things will click, and everything will flow easily between you, I promise.”
Eden looks troubled. She tears her gaze away from the carpet with a sniff. “Yeah, right. Okay, um… text me when you’re done?”
“I will. Thanks, Eden.”
“Sure.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and I stare around our room in a daze. The two of us aren’t sloppy, but we’re not neat freaks either, and I spend the next five minutes shoving sweatshirts in hampers, tugging bed covers straight, opening the window andspritzing air freshener around. I tidy and fret like a madwoman, then remember too late that I need to shower, and dash to the bathroom in a panic.
When I come back, Ambrose Brent leans against the wall outside my dorm room, looking so out of place in his button-down navy shirt that it’s almost funny. He raises an eyebrow as I hurry toward him, dressed in nothing but jersey shorts, a loose white t-shirt, and shower sandals that smack against my soles.
“Sorry.” Scrubbing at my damp hair with a towel, I let us into my room. “Hi. Come in.”
Silent and looming, Ambrose follows me inside.
Six
Ambrose
Everything about this room screams that Lane is an undergrad, and that I have no business being here. The two twin beds, pushed against opposite walls, each piled with cushions. The band posters papering the walls, the shower caddy Lane sets on her desk, and the wooden shelf above decorated with post it notes about essay deadlines.
Everything about this room says it belongs to two young women on their first adventure out into the world, and that I should turn around and leave.
I’m so much older than Lane—in experience if not in years. Scrubbing a palm down my face, I turn to my student. “How old are you exactly?”
She frowns, tugging a hairbrush through her damp hair. It’s darker blonde when it’s wet, and the scent of coconut is stronger than ever. My stomach growls. “Twenty one. Why?”
“Because I’m seven years older than you.”
“Psh.” Lane waves a hand, draping her towel over the back of her desk chair. “That’s nothing.”
“It’snotnothing. I’m being—irresponsible.”
“If only.” Lane’s teasing smile stops the panic clawing my throat, if only for a moment. I tug at my shirt collar as she speaks, like I need more air. “You don’t have to stay, Ambrose, but I really hope you do. We’re both adults. We’re not doing anything wrong. And besides… I’ve missed you.”
She has?
Seriously?
Christ, I’ve missed her too. Over the last few days, every errant thought in my head has been about one person: Lane Rhodes. Lane, Lane, Lane.
Following her into those library stacks, while hearing the soft swish of her dress. Crowding her against those shelves, and feeling her heartbeat where her body pressed against mine. The hot slide of her tongue. The nip of her teeth.
Every detail of our time together haunts me.
But that doesn’t mean I should make the same mistakes again. I’m supposed to teach Lane about Astrophysics, not… notthat.
And yet here I am in her dorm room. Here I am, watching her spin the lock on the door, my abs clenching under my shirt. My heart thumps harder. Can she hear it?
Lane is freshly showered, her bare limbs pink and scrubbed. What does her soap smell like? Would she let me close enough to tell?
Thunder rumbles outside the open window, the evening sky clogged with clouds. Goosebumps rise on my arms, and static crackles in the air. This close to the coast, Kephart College gets lashed by plenty of storms, but tonight’s looks like a big one.
“We could talk about aliens.” The words scrape out of my throat. “The search for extraterrestrial life.” That’s part of her module, right?
Lane grins. “We could. Or you could teach me more about kissing.”
Fuck.
