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I peered over at him, wanting to pick his brain about what exactly he meant by friends, but it didn’t matter. “Oxford doesn’t even have these on file in their library.”
“That’s because the one you’re holding is one of forty copies published back before the Civil War. What do you need them for, exactly?”
“Lecture materials mostly,” I answered, tucking the book back in the box. “I need to keep my undergrad students on their toes, see if they’re paying attention in class.” They wouldn’t be able to find these books to reference, that was for sure.
“Speaking of students,” Bill drawled as he leaned against on the display cases that held several first editions. “Whitney Dahl’s quite a firecracker, isn’t she? I like her. And so did my friends. We’d like to have her back the next time we have game night.” He paused, looking me up and down. “You’re invited too, I guess.”
“Thanks,” I said gruffly, carefully closing the box. “She is. A firecracker, I mean. I—” I shook my head to try clear the thought of her out of my mind. I’d spent the whole morning thinking of her after what I’d witnessed on Greek Row. I’d been trying to find a way to pull her aside and talk to her, but I couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse.
“You must be used to your students fawning over you,” Bill continued.
“No,” I laughed. “I mean, some try to flirt with me, but I take this position seriously.” It was the truth. I couldn’t go a single class without someone needing to talk to me afterwards, trying to flirt or ask me out to coffee or drinks under the guise of needing help with a particular subject. I noticed the sidelong glances in the hallway and tittering of the groups of women I passed, but I ignored it all.
“But when it comes to Whitney,” he pressed, giving me a knowing look, “things are... different?”
I flexed my jaw. Bill noticed and chuckled to himself.
“This place is always open to you, friend. To her as well. If you ever need a... quiet, obscure place to meet up.”
“That’s not what this is, Bill.”
“Did you not notice the way she looked at you all night?”
“She’s my student—”
“A graduate student.” He arched a blond brow at me. “Is that really so bad?”
“If it ruins her reputation, yes. It is bad.” I couldn’t care less about my job in that situation. Knowing Whitney could be dropped from her program and all of her hard work on the line and up for review made my skin crawl. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, do that to her.
And for myself? The worst thing about this was that it wouldn’t hurt me. I’d just leave and go back to Britian, back to research, while leaving Whitney behind to pick up the pieces of what we’d both agree would be a mistake.
That’s if there was truly anything going on between us other than a forbidden attraction.
Bill’s chuckling broke me from my silent musing, and I looked up from the book to find him staring at me.
“Like I said, this place is open to you.”
I nodded, gathering the box and tucking it under one arm. “Thanks for the books.”
“Thanks for the company,” he said, mimicking my accent as he followed me out of the backroom. “I’ll see you around. Whitney too, I hope.”
“There’s nothing—”
“There’s nothing going on, sure, I get it. Your secret’s safe with me.”
I frowned at him and turned to the door, stepping outside just in time to see Jessica Lowry walking out of a coffee shop across the street. She was bundled against the cold and paused to hold the door open to whoever walked behind her.
I felt a mingled sense of despair and relief at the sight of Whitney. She looked happy, her eyes bright and awake as she walked beside Jessica down the sidewalk, the two of them gripping paper to-go cups.
Was it my place to tell her what I’d seen this morning?
No, it wasn’t. We weren’t friends. I shouldn’t be concerned with her personal life whatsoever.
I hadn’t turned back to the trails leading to campus soon enough. Whitney and Jessica started crossing the street and spotted me coming out of the bookshop. Jessica nudged Whitney, who turned a pretty pink as they drew near.
“Are you two following me?” I asked playfully, feeling a wave of relief when the corner of Whitney’s mouth turned up at the edges.
“I think it’s more like you’re following us, Professor.” Jessica smiled, bringing her coffee to her lips. “Did you just come out of that shop?”
