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I sit back against the cool floor tiles, the painful bulge protruding from my trousers a testament to the visceral reaction the painting evokes in me.
Jack, what the fuck are you doing?
Is it really her? The only way to find out would be to go next week.
Chapter 14
Leyna
The blindfold was weirdlast week, but that’s not why I’ve just emailed Karinna to say I’m done. The blindfold was actually fun and I found it completely freeing because I was unable to see anyone’s face.
But then I saw a face I know all too well, and I nearly lost my shit.
I had spoken to Karinna, changed quickly, and was heading towards my car. And that’s when I saw him, Professor Jack Stanhope, walking out of the same building, art supplies in tow. How could I not have noticed?
Because you were blindfolded, you numpty.
Was he there last week too? I have no idea. Part of me thinks, if you’re so bothered about anyone seeing you, why did you sign up in the first place? But that’s why I wear my disguise, I reason with myself. I guess I just didn’t expect to actually see someone I know from work—what are the chances?
Never mind. I put it out of my thoughts as best I can—he probably has no idea it’s me. Even so, I’ve made up my mind and have sent an email off to Karinna just the same. This is too close for comfort. I’d always said I would do it until I felt it wasn’t right anymore and clearly, that day had come—I’m done modelling.
––––––––
THE NEXT DAY AT WORK, I’m tiptoeing about, waiting anxiously to see if Jack is around, wondering if I’ll see him in the department. Does he know it’s me? How will I even know if he knows? Do I honestly think I’d be able to read his face, that face which is about as expressive as a slab of stone? He’s hard to read on a good day but it doesn’t matter either way because it’s not like either one of us will talk about it. This is why I wear the disguise. With both hands I cling for life to the idea that it’s entirely possible he has no idea that it was me. And, I decide that I won’t acknowledge it even if he does bring it up, which he won’t because he’s a gentleman and wouldn’t do that, not at work, .
A voice niggles at the back of my head,is he a gentleman, though? It’s how I’ve always thought of him, but looking at what happened the other day, at the baiting and the flirting and the teasing... I egged him on, I encouraged him to step outside of those lines of propriety. I brought it all on myself—and I really fucking enjoyed it. Deep down, I’m looking forward to seeing Jack again, to seeing what he has up his sleeve, how he’s going to try to tease me this time. I look forward to seeing how this game of cat and mouse will play out and my knickers get wet just at the thought of it. If only Lorna and all the other buggers weren’t around—then we could really have a bit of fun.
I notice a stack of papers on my desk that Lorna must have left for me with a note affixed to them. I can tell just by looking that they’re exam scripts. The note is short:Deliver these to Room 332 in Old Elvet. It’s one of the older buildings on the campus. I say campus, but because everything is so old, it’s more like a sprawling community of unlikely houses and random buildings that have been converted by the university. Many departments occupy old houses, terraced houses, whatever the university was able to purchase in the general area of the main buildings. Old Elvet is one such building—a little out of the way, across the road and way up a hill near one of the colleges. It was probably someone’s house at one time or another but that’s all I know. I’ve never actually been inside before.
‘Just going to deliver these,’ I shout over to Lorna, not that she cares. She only cares if she suspects I’m not working.
I step outside of our building and the cool air and damp wind chill me to the bone. It’s November and it’s bloody freezing. I always get stuck with the shit jobs, I grumble to myself, as I make the long trek over to Old Elvet. I suspect Lorna set these on my desk and then pretended not care because she won’t have wanted to leave the building, either. I check the time. Shit. I only have five minutes to get there.
I half run up the hill, my lungs working hard and my thighs starting to burn as I keep glancing at the smart watch on my wrist. I can finally see it. It’s on the corner. It has white plastering and black pipes affixed to the exterior in strange spots, probably due to having had so many renovations over the years. These places were originally made without modern-day toilets, kitchens, and classrooms in mind.
I push open the creaky slim wooden door and take note of my surroundings. I’ve never been in here before and don’t have a clue where to start. I wander along one corridor and notice the numbering is all messed up. I glance down at the note again: 332, it says. Would that be on the second floor, third floor? I climb the first set of stairs I come to and start looking for room numbers. I don’t see any, so I try peeking into the rooms, listening at doors to see if any classes or tutorials are in session. I come across one and knock gently. It’s a grumpy old professor, I’m certain I’ve seen him around the department.
