Page 39 of Stranger to Love

Anthony’s smirk widened. “It has.” He nodded subtly toward the far end of the bar. “I think you’ve caught someone’s eye.”

I followed his nod, my expression probably morphing into that of a deer caught in high beams. My brain entirely short-circuited.

Sitting at the isolated corner of the bar, quietly nursing a glass of single malt whiskey, was Dr. Carter.

She paid for my drink? What the actual fuck.

She was here. Sitting entirely on her own, looking like she would rather be anywhere else on earth, yet simultaneously radiating an aura of such absolute command that the air seemed to shift around her. Damn this woman. She wasn’t looking at me, merely swirling the amber liquid in her glass as if it held the secrets to the universe.

I snapped my head back to Anthony, who was visibly suffocating a laugh at my sheer panic. He leaned over the counter, whispering, “You might want to act a little cooler than that when you go over to say thank you.”

I nervously ran a hand through my hair, letting out a breathless laugh. Phew. Okay. Go say thank you. Go say thank you to the terrifying, confusing lecturer who just bought you a drink and looked... well, like that.

My heart was hammering against my ribs. Her hair was down tonight—thick, long, and dark, the kind of hair you could completely lose yourself in. She wore a silk black blouse with far more buttons undone than I would have ever expected from her, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows in her signature fashion. I noticed she was wearing more jewellery than usual: a few heavy silver rings and a delicate pendant resting against her collarbone. Fuck me.

I looked at Anthony, feeling a sudden wave of vertigo. He looked me over approvingly. "You look hot tonight, Alex. Go for it.”

I nodded numbly. Jesus fuck, why did this woman have such a psychological hold on my nervous system? I reached for my fresh rum, then looked back at Anthony like I’d completely forgotten how to use my legs. “Vodka,” I choked out.

He let out a genuine laugh, quickly pouring a shot of vodka for me and one for himself. We clinked the glasses together. I downed the spirit, letting the harsh, familiar burn ignite my confidence. I slammed the shot glass down, shook out my shoulders, and walked away. Right. Let’s go.

I threaded my way through the crowded bar, passing a group of students heading toward the floor. Dr. Carter didn’t look up as I slid onto the empty stool beside her. Up close, the sight of her was almost overwhelming. Her features looked like they had been meticulously carved from stone—perfect, aristocratic, but carrying a heavy, deeply buried undercurrent of pain. It was a terrifyingly beautiful sight, and it was profoundly distracting. I could now see she wore tailored black trousers and towering stiletto heels. She looked incredible in all black.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Alex? It is rude to stare.”

She set her whiskey glass down with a soft click, finally turning her dark eyes toward me. A faint, knowing smirk touched her lips.

My heart was beating so violently I was paranoid she could hear it over the booming bass of the power ballad playing through the speakers. I forced a smirk of my own. “Thank you for the drink.”

She looked away immediately, treating the gesture as if it were a minor inconvenience. “You're welcome.”

I desperately wanted to ask her why she had bought it, but I knew if I pushed too hard, she’d shut down and freeze me out. I had to play it cool.

“Single malt?” I asked, gesturing to her glass.

“Correct,” she answered dryly, taking a slow sip.

I smiled. Fucking knew it.

We sat in silence for a minute, both of us sipping our respective drinks. My eyes involuntarily drifted back toward the dance floor queue; the woman in the white blouse was still there with her friends. As I watched, she looked over again, her eyes meeting mine. She smirked. I really needed to make a move soon.

Suddenly, I nearly jumped out of my skin as Dr. Carter reached out, her fingers wrapping firmly around my forearm, squeezing just enough to anchor my attention. I looked at her, startled.

She raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Are you having a good time, Alex?”

It was a remarkably simple question. It shouldn’t have made my stomach completely cave in, but it did. The sheer weight of her gaze was intoxicating. Why did she look so irritated? Her hand remained wrapped around my arm, steady and unyielding. There was no fucking way I was going to pull away from that grip. I knew she had the physical strength to snap my wrist if she wanted to; fuck, I’d probably let her.

My eyes darted briefly back toward the woman in the white blouse, noticing she now looked incredibly small under Dr. Carter’s peripheral glare, quickly turning away from us entirely. Shit. I took a steadying sip of my drink, my head spinning with a dangerous mix of vodka and adrenaline, and met Dr. Carter’s eyes. “This is probably the best part of my night so far.”

She raised an eyebrow, slowly retracting her hand to pick up her whiskey. “You must have been having a terrible time on your date.”

I nearly choked on my rum. A date. She thought I was here with Ali. She thought I actually dated men. I spluttered, “I’m not on a fucking date.”

She stared at me, her expression instantly hardening as if I’d slapped her. I immediately froze, remembering where I was. “Shit—sorry. I didn’t mean to swear at you.” I bit my lip, mortified. "I didn’t mean to say shit, either.”

She narrowed her eyes, taking a slow sip of her whiskey and looking back toward the main bar.

Deciding my survival instincts were entirely nonexistent, I decided to poke the bear. "Technically, I wasn't swearing at you. Just swearing in general.”