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He dials Stella while I get the leash. When I return, his back is to me, arms stretched across the fence, surveying land that isn’t mine. His shorts curve over his rounded butt cheeks and end above his knee. Dark, curly hair covers his legs, except along the smooth inner curve of his muscular calves. I flush, remembering the flex of all those hard muscles as he pounded into me. Those thoughts are quite unnecessary, so I blink and shake them away.
“Ready?” Trace’s body vibrates with happiness at the sight of the leash in my hand.
“Yep.”
“How much time do you have?”
“Same as you.”
“What do you mean?”
I lead him left onto Hailey Street. Cars buzz by. Trace happily trots along, pausing to sniff each parking meter post.
“You’re my plans for the afternoon.”
“Until we get the background reports?” I hope one of the executives at Sullivan Arms stands out. The longer we go without leads, our chances of locating Sophia dim.
“Are you happy in this neighborhood?” Ryan asks.
“I like State Street.” There are plenty of bungalows throughout the area that I couldn’t afford. The only reason I’d been able to snag this one is because it is so tiny, and the minuscule lot size prevented a developer from coming in, knocking it down, and putting in something larger. “How’d you pick your area?”
“Real estate agent.” He scans the street as we walk. He is always scanning his surroundings. “Do you do this walk at night?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”
“It’s really a good neighborhood,” I assure him. “Mostly families. Young families. And a lot of dog walkers.”
“Have you met many people?”
“I’ve met a lot of dogs.” I smile up into my reflection in his shades.
He doesn’t return my smile. His hands are in his pockets, hinting at casual, but his upright posture and attentive stance says alert, borderline formal. Even in shorts and trainers, he carries a professional air.
“I suppose I should trust you’ve not got any diseases? We didn’t really talk about it back there…”
The corners of his lips lift into an almost-smile, the first sign of real life since we’d headed out into the neighborhood. A woman pushing a stroller approaches, and he waits until she’s passed before answering.
“I’m clean. I always use a condom.” He exhales and tilts his head my way. “I did really enjoy that.”
“I really enjoyed that, too,” I say, entertained by his formal choice of words.
“So, college life. What’s that like?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you hang with other professors? Students? Are the students hot for teacher?” He grins. I rather like how his face softens when he relaxes.
“It would be scandalous if a professor dated a student. I mean, I think decades ago no one batted much of an eye as long as, you know, the professor wasn’t attached. But, nowadays, no, the university is quite serious about sexual misconduct. When they hired me, I had to sit through a training.”
“Well, that’s about your behavior. I’m asking about the students. I think about what it would be like to have you as a professor.”
Gods, that smile. I want to reach up and plant a kiss smack dab on those lips. Or grab his hand and link our fingers.
“Did you have the hots for one of your professors?”
“At the Naval Academy? Absolutely not.”
