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I try to focus on my notes, but my attention is elsewhere. So, I do what I do best in these times- I draw.
Flipping to a blank page, I let my mind wander as my hand moves on its own. I get lost in my thoughts as I lose track of time.
Conversation brings my attention back to reality. Looking up, I see a couple of professors walking to their cars. I offer them a polite smile before turning back to my notebook.
Staring back at me is a perfect sketch of Damien with the Cape in the background.
His eyes draw me in. His scruffy beard arouses me and makes me recall the memories of it rubbing along my thighs, and his chest has me craving another night in his arms.
I swiftly close my notebook and shove it deep into my bag. I’d rather stand next to his car than to draw memories that will only break my heart faster.
Damien’s gruff voice sounds from behind me. His tone is full of annoyance as he asks, “Shaela, what are you doing here?”
Chapter Thirteen
Turning around, I see Damien looks disheveled.
Where the hell has he been all day, and why does he look like he’s been run over by a truck?
He’s wearing a tie, and I say that loosely. The tie is pulled open and hanging around his chest. The top three buttons of his light green long sleeve shirt are undone, exposing the tiny black hairs that are scattered on his chest.
“What happened to you? You look like shit.” I see him grimace before adding, “I mean that in the best way possible.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s kind of hard to take that statement in a good way.”
I get on with my point. “Where were you all morning?”
He ignores my question, instead asking me a couple of his own. “What are you doing here? Why are you sitting in front of my car?”
If this is what he wants, then I will give it to him.
“I am here to get answers from you for once and for all. You weren’t in class, so I went by your office and Miss Blondie was talking to you, and you didn’t even want to see or talk to me! How do you think that made me feel?” I accuse.
His confusion is replaced by annoyance.
“First off, I don’t know who was in the office with her today, but it wasn’t me. I was in the academics building all day. There were several meetings with the dean and some counselors, and then I had to deal with some troubled students, so it wasn’t me.”
Is he telling me the truth?
I don’t see why he would make up such an elaborate lie, especially since he is dressed up, and he never wears that type of attire for class.
“Second,” he continues, “between the new curriculum and them making me head of the department, I am ready to head home and pour myself a drink. I missed my meditation and yoga today, so my body is tense, and I need to release it.”
Our gazes meet as we process the very apparent sexual meaning of that statement.
Is he going to invite me back to his house?
Will we do it in his classroom again?
Or is he wanting to take matters into his own hands, literally?
“My backseat lays flat to form a bed.” He says suggestively.
“That sounds great to me.” I feel awkward standing next to his car while I wait for him to unlock his doors.
He quickly puts the key in the ignition, starts the car, and sets the air conditioner to max speed.
It only takes a few moments for him to lay the back seat down. I’m amazed that he was able to turn the entire back into a large open bed.
