He looks, in a word, wrecked. His shirt is half-untucked, but not in that stylish way everyone was doing a couple years ago, and she’s stared at him long enough this quarter to know that healwaystucks his shirts. He even missed a button toward the bottom. There’s a thick line of tension in his jaw that makes her wonder if he was lying awake all night clenching it, the way she does sometimes when she’s overwhelmed with anxiety. Lavender circles beneath his eyes, hair askew and still damp from a shower—it might be adorable if she weren’t so concerned.
Worst of all: he doesn’t make eye contact, and all the confidence she had when she put on that skirt evaporates.
Shit.
Ramona may have severe doubts about her general life skills, but she knows how to make men crave her. She always feels in complete control of the situation until they kiss, fuck, turn it physical. Never mind the fact that the hookup is often more disappointing than the fantasy.
But Nick isn’t like her past boyfriends. He isn’t a boyfriend, first of all, and he isn’t a star-fucker. They usually have that kind of desperation written all over them.
In fact, what’s written all over him is more akin toregret.
“Sorry about that,” Nick says, the strap of his messenger bag getting tangled as he struggles to remove it, the poor guy. “Got stuck in traffic. Let’s start with chapter three, shall we?”
Trevor raises his hand. “We finished that last class.”
Nick blinks a few times. “Right. Guess I’m a little fuzzy thismorning. I’ll just hand back your assignments and we’ll see if anyone has any questions…”
When he passes them out, there’s a sticky note on top of hers.
SEE ME AFTER CLASS, it says in bold red pen.
Oh fuck. He’s going to really kick her out this time. He’s going to ask her to drop the class because the texting made it weird, and it’s too late to switch into something new, so she’ll be behind on credits and won’t be able to graduate on time…
And just when she was starting to like it.
When Nick dismisses them, she uses the bathroom first, trying to delay the inevitable. Then, once she’s smoothed her skirt and ensured there’s nothing in her teeth, she heads to face her doom. Gives his office door what she hopes is a confident, assured knock.
He opens the door a split second later, his hair somehow looking more rumpled than it did in class, like he’s been raking his hands through it. His glasses are crooked, and she can’t quite interpret his creased-brow expression. Almost…hesitant.
“Do your other students get to see this office as much as I do?” Ramona asks, trying to keep it casual, propping a shoulder blade against the door once she closes it. “I’m starting to think I’m getting preferential treatment. Which is the opposite of what you assured me I’d be getting.”
“Office hours are three days a week,” he says. “I always make myself available to students.”
“Right. Right. That’s good of you. Very…professorial.”
Babbling isn’t like her.
“I think that’s exactly the word they used on RateMyProfessor.com,” he says, his mouth quirking in the smallest smile, and fuck, that’s cute.
They remain at the door, quiet for a few moments while she twists her fingers in the ends of her hair, his eyes tracking her movements.
“I googled you,” he confesses, as though to defuse the tension in the room.
Now it’s her turn to break, almost laughing, because it’s not at all what she expected to hear. “Oh yeah? Find anything good?”
“You’re not mad?”
“I figured you would have already. At least I know you didn’t sell anything personal to the media. Mall breakdown, Shrek mask, burrito…”
He draws back, mouth falling open. “You have to know that I wouldnever,” he starts, and she holds up a hand.
“I know. I know.” Because despite having known him only a few weeks, she’s certain of this. “And I googled you too.”
“I haven’t been to any awards shows or galas. I’m sure it was very disappointing.”
She shakes her head, stepping closer. In this tight space, the scent of him is heady and earthy, his breaths a little uneven. Already she feels the power racing through her veins like a familiar old friend. The ability she’s always had to turn men nervous and stammering.
After all, she knows from last night—he wants her, even if he’s trying to convince himself that he doesn’t.
