Page 7 of The Professor's Wife

I wasn’t easy. I wasn’t naïve. But God, had I waited for a moment like this?

To be seen.

To be wanted.

Life had thrown its curveballs, and despite the pain, I wouldn’t trade the years I had lived. Rowe had once been my reason for everything. But tonight, for a few hours, I wanted to be something else.

Just a woman, with no other tags attached.

A woman being seen.

Even while I smiled, part of me remained aware of the pub door behind him. Every time it opened, something in my body tightened before I could stop it.

“What do I call you?” I asked, my voice low, almost shy.

“Tristan.”

“Tristan,” I repeated, letting it roll from my tongue. “Tris. Trist.”

He laughed, a warm, throaty sound. “Please stop.”

“What?” I teased, raising a brow.

“Tris is just…”

“Not a fan?”

“Fuck no.”

“Tan, then?”

He winced. “I knew a Tan in school.”

“Didn’t like him?”

“Hated him.”

“What did he do to you?”

“Nothing. He just had that look, you know?”

I tilted my head. “No, I don’t.”

“Arrogant. Like his shit didn’t stink.”

“You’re so triggered.”

He let out a dry laugh. “Fucking hated him.”

I laughed, too, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep.

“Tristan, then.”

“Tristan,” he echoed, his gaze dropping to my mouth. His voice softened. “It sounds good when you say it.”

Trouble.

Big trouble.