Page 79 of She’s Worth the Risk

Zinnia’s sitting up in bed when I return, wearing one of my T-shirts, her expression thoughtful. I hand over a steaming cup of coffee and climb into bed beside her. When she leans in to kiss me, I linger, heart aching.

“So, listen,” she says at length, cradling her mug. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

My gut tightens instantly. Here it comes.

She eyes me uncertainly over her mug, then finally murmurs, “I’ve been thinking about sticking around in New York for a while.”

Surprise flashes through me. I stare at her, heart beating hard.

“Really?” I ask, unable to stop hope from creeping into my voice. She hears it and smiles.

“Yes. What do you think?”

“I love that idea,” I reply, probably a little too hastily, and force myself to dial it back, dropping my gaze to my mug.

“I know it wasn’t the plan,” she adds, and I can feel her gaze on the side of my face. “So if you don’t want… I mean, this, us…”

Fuck it.

I set my coffee down and turn to face her squarely, taking her hand. “You have to know I’m crazy about you, Zinnia. Every time I think about you leaving…” I swallow the emotion rising in my throat, voice gruff as I add, “If you stay, I want to keep doing this.” No, that’s not right. “I need to keep doing this. With you.”

Her eyes move between mine, shimmering. “I feel the same.”

Thank God.

My chest expands, filling with relief, and something else. Something I’m too scared to acknowledge. I press my mouth to hers, focusing on the softness of her lips. On the knowledge that this isn’t over.

But as she draws away, her brow dips. “I should also tell you… I enrolled in another class at NYU.”

Oh.

Shit.

Dread immediately eclipses the relief. I tear my gaze away as her words sink in, contemplating what this means.

I’ll be dating a student on campus. A student I used to teach. I can’t do that.

And yet, I find myself wavering.

“Which class?” I ask.

“Art, Patronage, and Power in Renaissance Italy. I think the professor’s name is Teagan Webber.”

I let my breath out in a long stream. At least it’s not one of my classes. And Dr. Webber’s class is excellent. I can absolutely see why Zinnia’s drawn to it. If anything, I’m fucking proud she’s taking another class. Thrilled that she’s studying further in a field she has a natural gift for. A field that lights her up.

I take a long sip of coffee as I process this, trying to figure out what to do. I’m over the moon that Zinnia is sticking around, and almost delirious that she feels the same as I do.

But there’s no denying this complicates things.

My gaze drifts back to her, sipping coffee in my bed. She’s wearing an old T-shirt of mine, one I usually throw on when I shower after the gym. It’s loose and worn now, the neck stretched, and it slips low on one shoulder, revealing a hint of her smooth, creamy skin. I marvel at the shared ease between us, how the past two weeks have not only felt exhilarating, they’ve felt natural. A few months ago, I could never have imagined a woman in my bed like this, and now I can’t imagine it without her.

Her eyes lift to find me staring at her, and heat flickers in their hazel depths. Any doubt I feel evaporates as my blood burns with desire. With the need to keep her close.

The fact is, there’s nothing to figure out. Zinnia’s staying in the city, and there’s no way I won’t be with her. So what if I was her professor? We met before that, and we’re both adults. She won’t be in my class, and honestly, even if she was? I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’m not sure that would stop me.

“We’ll make it work,” I tell her.

And when she smiles with relief, setting her coffee down to snuggle close, I know there was no other answer to give.