Page 86 of Stranger to Love

Billie straightened her clothes as I stepped away, clearing her throat in a desperate attempt to push down her own arousal. God, I was a horrible person. She offered me a shy, flickering smile, shaking her head. "No, it's okay. You don't need to be sorry if you have to go."

I must have looked as guilty as I felt, because she actually moved to comfort me. She pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. "It’s okay if you forgot you had something on. Just go." She stepped back, giving me another one of those sweet, devastatingly understanding smiles. "We can... another time."

She turned and unlocked the door, holding it open for me. I grabbed my bag, but I hesitated on the threshold, looking back at her. What was I even supposed to say? She was clearly misinterpreting my sudden exit as a fucking scheduling conflict, and I wasn’t about to explain that the ghost of Dr. Carter was currently haunt-fucking my brain.

Now I was standing there like a deer in headlights, looking like I was hesitating because I regretted leaving, when in reality, I was regretting ever coming there in the first place.

Billie’s cheeks flushed, taking my stare for lingering desire, and a fresh wave of guilt twisted the pit of my stomach. I was such a fucking prick. I offered a final, tight nod and walked away. As soon as I rounded the corner, out of her line of sight, my stride lengthened into a breakneck pace. By the time I hit the outdoor courtyard, I was practically fucking sprinting.

I rushed into the main Business Building, my boots echoing like thunder on the linoleum. I knew Dr. Carter didn't have open office hours that afternoon; she should have been alone, marking papers or prepping for tomorrow, unless she was in a meeting. But, fuck, I didn't care. I didn't even fully understand what I was feeling—all I knew was that the air in my lungs felt thin and the only person who could fix it was the woman I had just spent an hour trying to replace.

I reached her door and skidded to a halt, my chest heaving. I was a fucking mess. My hair was probably a disaster from Billie’s fingers, my pulse was erratic, and I was pretty sure I had "guilty fucking idiot" written across my forehead in neon lights.

I didn't knock. I didn't give myself the chance to overthink it or let my pride talk me out of it. I just grabbed the handle and pushed.

The door wasn't locked.

Dr. Carter was sitting at her desk, the glow of her laptop illuminating the sharp, tired lines of her face. She didn't look up immediately, her voice coming out in that clipped, professional tone that usually made me prickle. "I believe I made it clear that I am unavailable for consultations this afternoon—"

She stopped mid-sentence as she finally raised her head. When she saw it was me, the pen in her hand snapped against the desk. Her eyes took in my disheveled state, my laboured breathing, and the frantic energy rolling off me.

"Alex," she said, her voice a dangerous mix of warning and disbelief. "What are you doing here?"

I didn't move from the doorway. I just stared at her, my voice cracking the second I opened my mouth. "I’m an idiot. I’m a fucking idiot, and I needed to come here and tell you that."

She stared at me, and I took it as a tentative win—she hadn’t moved to murder me yet. I took a cautious step inside and closed the door behind me, the click of the latch sounding final.

I dropped my bag with a heavy thud and threw my hands up in a gesture of total surrender. “I’m sorry for swearing, but I am an idiot. A huge, colossal, monumental idiot.”

She didn't move. She didn't blink. She just kept staring at me with that unreadable, piercing intensity, so I kept digging. "I don’t want Blondie," I blurted out, the confession feeling like a weight lifting even as it sounded ridiculous. I rubbed my face in frustration, my skin still buzzing with frantic energy. “I acted like a fucking child—sorry for swearing—I should never have run out like I did yesterday. I just—look, I don’t get it. I don’t. I’ve never felt—ugh! Why can’t I finish a single fucking sentence? Sorry. For swearing.”

I was rambling like a complete lunatic. Great plan, Alex. Bravo. I was standing in the office of the most formidable woman I had ever met, sweating, swearing, and making about as much sense as a broken radio.

Dr. Carter slowly leaned back in her chair, her eyes tracking the movement of my hands. The silence stretched, but this time it wasn't the suffocating quiet of the kitchen island. It was the kind of silence that happened right before a storm broke.

"Finished?" she asked quietly. Her voice was level, but I could see the pulse jumping in the hollow of her throat.

She didn’t answer me at first. She just stood up, the movement slow and deliberate, her dark red dress catching the light. She walked around the edge of the desk until there was nothing but a few feet of air between us.

"You don't want 'Blondie'?" she repeated, her voice low and dangerous. She tilted her head, her eyes scanning my face—probably seeing the lingering flush on my neck, the mess of my hair, the guilt written in my eyes. "Because you looked quite content 'discussing coursework' with her ten minutes ago."

"I was trying to prove a point to myself," I snapped, the honesty bleeding out of me because I was too fucking exhausted to lie anymore. "I was trying to go back to how things were before this weekend. Before you. I thought if I could just... find a distraction, I’d stop feeling like my chest was caving in."

Her expression flickered—a flash of pain that she was too proud to voice. "And did it work?"

"No," I whispered, taking a step closer, close enough to smell the familiar scent of her perfume. "It was miserable. I was kissing her and all I could hear was your voice. All I could see was you at that podium. I’m a mess, and it’s your fault. You’re the one who let me walk out of that house into the rain."

"I let you walk out because you looked at me like I was a cage, Alex," she said, her composure finally cracking. Her voice trembled, just a fraction. "I saw the way you pulled away in that kitchen. I saw the panic in your eyes. I thought... I thought I was protecting you by letting you go."

"I wasn't panicked because of you," I said, my voice cracking. "I was panicked because I realised I didn't want to leave. And that scared the shit out of me."

The silence that followed wasn't cold anymore. It was heavy, vibrating with everything we didn't say that morning. Dr. Carter reached out, her hand hovering in the air between us for a second before she finally rested her palm against my cheek. Her skin was warm, grounding me instantly.

"You are a very difficult woman, Alex," she breathed, her thumb tracing my lower lip.

"I know," I murmured, leaning into her touch. "But I'm your difficult woman. If you'll still have me."

I felt a wave of genuine fucking nausea roll over me. I had spent my whole life being the one in control, the one who left before things got heavy, and then I was standing there exposed, vibrating with a set of emotions I didn't have a manual for. My heart actually ached when she pulled her hand away, the loss of her touch feeling like a physical blow.