Page 11 of Filthy Professor

I thought over my answer as I tossed back my shot. “I . . . liked him immediately. He was fascinating and fucking hot and he seemed just as captivated with me. The chemistry was practically combustible. I’ve never felt anything that intense before.”

She hummed. “Dreamy. And he’s an archaeology nerd, just like you! Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

“Did I screw up?”

“By screwing him?”

I shook my head. “Not that part. I kind of . . . booked it out of there pretty quickly right after.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You banged and ran? Kat!”

I motioned toward my empty shot glass, and Emma sighed but poured me another. “Yeah. I mean, all I could think about was—”

“This is not like that. Jamie is your editor. And even so, you guys are still working okay together, right?”

I cleared my throat. “Yes, but this is my subject—”

“For one article! You’re going to lose out on what sounds like a great guy because you need to talk to him for work once? That’s not the same thing and you know it.” She paused, pouring herself another shot before her eyes settled on me. “You’re scared. Why?”

My stomach swirled with whiskey and uncertainty as she stared at me, waiting for an answer. “Because . . .” Different answers spun in my brain, but the only one that made sense was the distance, and even that wouldn’t satisfy Emma.

“Look, he sounds like a guy worth knowing.” She leaned toward me. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“We have a call scheduled in the morning to finish the interview, and . . . we’ll see.”

Emma grabbed my hand. “See it through, Kat. Trust me. You deserve to be happy. Just give him a chance. If he’s really as great as you think he is, it’s worth pursuing.”

I grinned, thinking about Harrison’s smart mouth and irresistible dimples. “Okay, Em. I will.”

“Good. Now, let’s get our Vegas on!”

Chapter 8

Harrison

After tossing and turning most of the night, I came up with a plan to impress Kat when she called this morning. I would answer her questions first this time, and make sure she got what she needed for her article. Then we could talk about other matters— us. I’d found a show in Milwaukee this weekend by an Elvis impersonator who was supposed to be pretty good, some guy named Ashton Olsson, so I’d grabbed tickets in the middle of the night.

As I sipped my coffee, my mind was preoccupied with my phone, both for the time and for any messages from Kat. When my phone vibrated, I jumped and grabbed for it.

JJ: How was the interview?

I frowned at the message from my cousin. He’d been trying to get me back out there for months.

Me: Interesting.

JJ: Was she hot at least?

I rolled my eyes and didn’t answer him. I wasn’t interested in talking about Kat to him, not yet anyway.

JJ: Come on. I’m at the coffee shop down the street from you - The Frothy Mug.

I sighed, realized I had an hour to wait still, and decided to go meet him. As I pushed open the door, I was greeted with the deep aroma of roasted coffee beans. Scanning the crowd, I spotted JJ at a table in the corner.

He looked me over as I sat down. JJ had an annoying habit of being able to read me too well. “You got laid.”

I groaned. “How do you fucking do that?”

Shrugging, he took a sip of his drink. “It’s a gift, along with my magical powers.”

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