Page 9 of Master Debater

Her eyebrows drew together, and so did mine, our confusion feeding off one another. “Your girlfriend,” Willa said.

“My girlfri—? Oh. That was just a saying. I don’t have a girlfriend.” The news seemed to satisfy her, that gleam of interest reentering her eyes. Not that I wanted a girlfriend, and was that something I should clarify?

The road ahead was sparsely populated, a rarity that demanded I go as fast as I could. Did I need the speed for my short drive to the office? No. Did I care? Also no. It did, however, come in handy for drives to the beach house in Provincetown and the trips to Martha’s Vineyard. Speed and keeping busy were my drugs of choice. Nothing bothered me more than sitting still and wastes of time, but I suddenly found myself wanting to draw out the short drive to the duplex, along with our conversation. “What about you? Are you attached?”

“About as far from it as I can be. Right now, I’m feeling more averse than ever too.” That statement spoke to a whole heap of baggage I would never have time to unpack.

Just leave it alone. It’ll only land you deeper.

Call it my ceaseless pursuit of the truth, a trait that served me well in my career. It’d also destroyed many a romantic relationship, so maybe that was a pro instead of a con. The sooner I got the possibility of fucking Willa senseless out of my head, the better.

“Ah, so we’re back to that. See, that’s the thing about distracting me from my line of questioning—as a lawyer, I’m always gonna circle back.” One more block and we’d be at the duplex. “What happened today that left you willing to drink wine from the bottom of a broken bottle?”

Chapter 5

Willa

Dammit. I had no one to blame but myself, although distraction hadn’t been my only goal. Thanks to my ex prattling on and on about sports cars, I’d developed a distaste for them. Mostly because they led to arguments about money.

While I’d done my best to fight it, Nate’s car was luxurious and exhilarating, and I hadn’t been lying about the way the seats cocooned my body.

Then there was the way Nate’s hand gripped the gear shifter. He maneuvered with such ease, I’d started daydreaming about other stick-like objects he might be able to grip and maneuver so aptly.

Thanks, starving libido. Then again, even if I’d managed to slake my ever-burgeoning lust, the fat silver watchband on his wrist that flashed under the streetlights and the prominent veins in his hands would’ve compelled me to fixate on his long fingers.

His black suit provided a peek of a dark gray shirt and black silk tie, and my fingers twitched with the impulse to undo the buttons of the jacket and take a better look. I shouldn’t have asked about a girlfriend, but he made that joke—or comment, as I didn’t think he was kidding—and I’d had to know.

I’d hoped it would help my thoughts stay on the right track, but now his single status flashed through my mind like a neon sign. Honestly, regardless of his answer, whenever I was around Nate, my thoughts tended to veer down the filthiest path possible.

If he was half as good with his hands as I imagined he would be… I crossed my legs and exhaled a shallow breath.

“Willa?” God, the way Nate said my name, all deep and demanding, caused my insides to unravel. I pressed my thighs together that much tighter, struggling to remember that mere hours ago, I’d cursed men in general.

I reached up and twisted the end of my ponytail around my finger. “Right. My job. I recently took a position at the Berklee College of Music. I’ll be teaching Composition and Theory, but I guess I’m more nervous than I wanted to admit. I so don’t feel ready for a pop quiz.”

“And I look like a pop quiz kind of guy?” Nate threaded his car into the narrow needle of a spot behind our duplex. The duplex, I mean. Whatever. Where we lived.

What he looked like was the type of lawyer you’d only see in movies, because in reality, they were Hollywood heartthrobs playing a role. Also like a guy who only dated supermodels. In theory, I should be able to easily shrug that off with a quick thought about how he was out of my league, and probably shallow as hell. The possibility of him being as smart as he was sexy was harder to swallow. Why did some people get it all, while other people—like me—end up with scraps?

You don’t have the metabolism to eat that, Will, Eric often said before he helped himself to seconds, because he did have the metabolism. He was one of those people who had to work to bulk up. When he’d bemoan how hard it was for him to put on weight, I’d wanted to pull out the tiniest violin in the world to play—right before I shoved it up his ass.

Our phone call today left me wishing I’d followed through. Yes, my bitterness was showing, but ugh. I’d lost count of how many times over the past couple of years he’d uttered the phrase “you let yourself go” to me.

Don’t think about the asshole. Focus on the question so you don’t have a meltdown in front of the guy you’ve already biffed twice in front of. “I’m a little paranoid about telling people, because while I know the material, I’m rusty. Several of the professors I’ll be working with have worked on albums, or they’ve played or had their songs played at one of the many music venues in town. And recently too. It’s been ages since I stood in front of any kind of audience—unless you count my kitty. I don’t, as he has permanent judgy face. I’ve told him countless times I don’t appreciate it, but it remains unchanged.”

“Judgy face.” Amusement coated Nate’s repetition of the phrase. “I’m going to use that next time in court. ‘Your Honor, I don’t appreciate the judgy face.’”

I laughed, my anxiety over my job lighter than it’d been in days. “I’m sure His or Her Honor would love that.” I exhaled, debating how much to share. “I can’t stop reminiscing about the day I stood on the stage of the performance center and received my master’s degree. It’d been a dream of mine since junior high, and I was so sure that moment was the start of something amazing.”

“It wasn’t?”

“Like you said, plans change.” Minding the exterior of the building, I opened the passenger door. “Anyway, thanks for the ride.” I slipped out, determined to grab my groceries and go, but there wasn’t enough room from this side of the car.

By the time I circled around to snag the bags, Nate was already on it. He balanced the three of them far easier than I’d done, the soggy one, notwithstanding.

“Oh, I can carry them,” I said, stretching out my arms to take the load.

“Afraid I can’t allow that, since I’ve seen what happens when you do.” His wink softened the statement, but I still gave an exaggerated sigh, so he didn’t go getting too smug about it.

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