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“A nightclub.”
“Oh,” I respond and shrug. “Never heard of it. But that’s probably because I just moved back from the West Coast.”
“You’ve never been to Orchid?”
“Nope. Can’t say I have.”
He furrows his brow and stares at me for so long that I feel compelled to break the silence and distract him.
“Is it fun?”
“Is what fun?”
“Orchid. The nightclub you’re talking about.”
“Yes,” he says suspiciously. “It is.”
I nod and force a laugh from my throat. “I guess I’ll have to go sometime, huh?”
He’s not convinced, but who could blame him? I’m talking from so deep in my ass, a proctologist wouldn’t even know what I’m saying.
“So…it looks like I’ll be your TA for spring semester,” I muse, in an attempt to change the subject.
“What did you do Friday night, two weeks ago?” he asks, calling my bluff.
“Huh?” I question, so far down this rabbit hole, there’s no coming out. I might as well change my name to Alice and do some networking in Wonderland. Hopefully, it’s easy to get a job there, because I’m well on my way to tanking this one at NYU.
“Friday. Night. Two weeks ago.”
“Friday night? Two weeks ago?” I tap my chin. “Um…I…uh…spent the night in. Unpacking boxes. You know, because I just moved back here, and I had a lot of boxes to unpack. I probably had, like, twenty boxes to unpack. Lots of unpacking—” Oh my God, stop rambling! Only a liar would feel the need to keep giving information!
He stares at me, and I decide to shut my mouth. Opening it isn’t getting me anywhere good.
Seemingly dropping the subject, he steps around his desk, holding out his hand toward me. “It’s great to meet you.”
Hesitantly, I place my hand in his, only to startle when he rubs his thumb against the mood ring on my right ring finger. It was my late mother’s ring and one I pretty much never take off. Not when I sleep or take a shower or, you know, go to freaking nightclubs.
Facepalm.
Professor Winslow smirks down at me, his eyes telling me all I need to know—he knows exactly who I am, no matter how much shit I sling.
I could easily give in to the truth, but I’m just stubborn enough not to. The nightclub was dark and the drinks were flowing and, goddammit, I’m not admitting defeat yet.
Holy hell, Rach. This is a mess.
But what other option do I have? How can I tell the professor my father waxed poetic about, the one I’m supposed to assist for the next two semesters, that yes, I am the girl who gave him my underwear in the middle of a nightclub?
Nice to fucking meet you.
Ty
I glance pointedly down at the ring—a mood ring—on her right ring finger, and she lets go of my hand like it’s morphed into a scorching hot plate.
Rachel Rose is her. The woman from Orchid.
“What’s your mood tonight?” I asked her.
And she answered with a seductive, “A little wild. A little reckless.”
The conversation I had with her that night replays in my mind, and I know there’s no way in hell I’d get those big green eyes and entrancing lips of hers confused with someone else.
And fuck me, this woman, she’s even more of a goddess than my brain allowed me to remember.
Her skirt, coat, and blouse are classic and professional, but even they can’t hide the mind-blowing curves that lie beneath the material. Her breasts are full, her hips and thighs perfectly rounded, and her legs shapely in a way that reminds me of paintings from the Renaissance.
She is the exact type of curvy that turns me into a fool.
And her face is undeniably beautiful too. More so than the dim lights of Orchid allowed me to see.
“Rachel,” I repeat her name, letting it fall slowly off my tongue. “It’s always good to be able to put a name to a face.”
Her laugh is awkward, but that’s probably because she’s been lying through her pretty little lips ever since we made eye contact. “Well, it’s nice to meet you too, Professor Winslow.”
“Please, Rachel, just call me Ty.”
“O-okay,” she answers and swallows hard against a nervous titter in her throat. “So…uh…what would you like for me to accomplish today?”
How about you acknowledge that you gave me your panties? is the very first thought to come to mind. Is that something you do often? and Or was it just something you did for me? are the second and third.
Thankfully, my brain-to-mouth filter seems to be connected today because no matter what my dick has prepared in its PowerPoint presentation, this is Nate’s daughter.
I can’t go there.
“We’ll keep it laid-back today. I have a folder of information for you. My class schedules, some teaching plans for the semester, that kind of stuff,” I answer, even though everything inside me wants to press her more about that Friday night. I swear, this woman has some balls to just outright deny something we both know is true.
