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He jerked back, turning away from me to clean up the trash. He cleared his throat. “That’s going to be sore tomorrow. Have a friend help change out the Band-Aids and keep it clean. Should be better soon.”
“Yeah.” The word barely escaped my parted lips. My eyes dropped to my lap as tears threatened.
What the fuck was I thinking? What had I been doing? Fuck, I was so dumb. So fucking dumb.
The self-ridicule kept coming, and I couldn’t deny any of it because I felt like a predator, and there was no hiding my attraction now. How was I going to spend the rest of the semester with him after this? Fuck.
Embarrassment seared through me. When he left to go return the first aid kit, I quickly put my jacket back on and tried to leave before he came back, not wanting to face him. I got as far as the front office door before he came back in.
“Wait for me. I’ll walk you to your car.”
I couldn’t turn and look at him. With my hand on the knob, I said, “You don’t have to do—”
“I do. Please.”
I kept my distance and my eyes down as we walked toward the parking lot. At my car, I muttered a quick thanks and tried to get in, but a hand pressed the door back closed. Finally, I turned to look into his eyes. I tried to read them, tried to understand what he thought of me, of what had just happened.
They looked. . . regretful?
“Here’s my number, should you ever need it.”
I took the card he extended to me, taking in the masculine handwriting.
“Thank you.” I looked at him again, trying to find the regret again. Trying to find out if I was right or just crazy.
Maybe he was just as attracted to me as I was to him.
He was just so much smarter than me to not act on it.
13
Callum
Oaklyn walked into the office the following Monday and gave me a timid smile. Probably unsure of exactly how I’d act after Friday night.
That night . . . That night had split me open. Seeing her jump when I said her name. Seeing the lingering fear and frustration in her eyes. Then seeing her arm. I didn’t know how I’d kept a lid on my anger. To find out it was from some asshole threatening to sexually assault her and her friend? My stomach churned remembering the wave of nausea that had hit me when she’d said it. I’d managed to hold it together enough to take her upstairs and take care of the wound. As I’d bandaged her arm, I salivated over the feel of her flesh beneath my fingertips. Even if it was just her arm.
There was nothing sexual about what I’d been doing, but the tension had crackled between us, heating up the room. She’d turned to look at me, so close, her deep golden eyes had fused onto mine. Her tongue had peeked out to slick across her lips, pulling my gaze to the soft pink flesh. I’d wanted to lean in, taste them, flick my own tongue across them. I’d been so entranced by the way she’d leaned toward me. I’d thought of nothing else but moving closer too. I’d watched her eyes drift close, and I was ready to say fuck it and give in.
Then the alcohol pad began to seep through my pants, the cold tickling at my thigh. It’d been minor, but enough to snap me back to reality. It might as well have been a bucket of cold water doused over my head.
My chest had clenched when I saw her eyes widen in confusion, when I saw the sheen of tears before she’d looked down in embarrassment. I’d given her space to collect herself, taken a walk to replace the first aid kit, calling myself every stupid name in the book. I’d resolved to apologize when I’d returned, determined to take responsibility for leading her on. Then I’d seen her trying to bolt, and I’d forgotten my whole plan. Scratched everything and instead pretended like nothing had happened.
Which is exactly what I’d continue to do today too.
“Feeling any better?” I asked when she stepped into my office.
“Yeah,” she said, moving to sit in the chair in front of my desk. I fought to keep my eyes from trailing down to watch the way her skirt rode up her thighs as she sat. “A hell of a lot better than Olivia. I think she was still hungover yesterday.”
“I don’t miss those days,” I said, cringing.
“What?” she mock-gasped, pulling her hand to her chest. “You? A rowdy boy in college?”
Laughing at her dramatics, I shook my head. “More like rowdy high school boy.”
“Was this before or during the class presidency and physics club? I won’t judge,” she held up her hands. “Physics club would drive me to drink too.”
