Page 46 of Smut

But we do it.

The ironic affairs of Forrest Cosway in The Heart Thief are finished and handed into Professor Dumas on time. Actually, we had it ready to go a week before but Amanda wanted to keep on tweaking it, and while I would normally not fuss with a project this much, this one was special and I understood her need to make it all that it could be. Hell, I still think it could use another round of editing, but if there’s anything I’ve learned from this class it’s that you have to learn to let it go.

Now the manuscript has been handed over (as well as emailed), and there’s a heavy sense of loss and confusion in the air, like the day after your birthday. For me it’s double since this was my last assignment of my entire degree and I have no idea what’s next.

No idea at all.

I try not to think about it.

“So,” Amanda says as we leave the classroom, casually hanging her thumbs through the belt loops of her skinny jeans. With the April weather warm but temperamental, I’m seeing more of her skin lately, and right now my eyes rest on the dusting of faint freckles on her shoulder, showcased by her emerald green tank top. The freckles even lead down to the swell of her breasts, and I have an urge to find out where else they might lead.

“So,” I say. She catches my eyes on her skin, and I’m in no hurry to move them away. “What next?”

“I guess this is it,” she says, stopping by the foot of the stairs. She shrugs. “I mean, class is over, the year is over.”

We’re over, is what she wants to say next.

I knew this was coming. When the project was complete, we would cease to be partners and cease working together every other day. I didn’t expect to feel this curious pang in my chest, but it’s as unwelcome as a hemorrhoid so I swallow it down, push it aside, and ignore it.

“Hopefully Dumbass will take it easy on us,” I tell her, trying to find something to say.

She rolls her eyes but smiles easily. “I can’t believe I never thought about such an obvious nickname, even though Professor Dumas is not a dumbass.”

“You were too busy trying to be the teacher’s pet,” I remind her.

“This is university. There are no teacher’s pets,” she snipes at me.

I rock back on my heels. “Hey, I said you were trying to become one. You didn’t succeed.” I pause, suddenly feeling awkward. “I’m sure we’ll do great. I don’t mean to get all cocky—” She lets out a derisive snort and I continue, “but we wrote the fuck out of it. And I’m not sure if you know this, but I’m kind of a big deal.”

“Right, right.” She sighs and looks around her, her body language telling me she wants to get going. “Well, I guess I’ll see you...”

“Come into Crawford’s Books for a friends and family discount,” I tell her with a wink. Bloody hell, that was lame. What’s wrong with me?

“I promise,” she says, yet I have a feeling she’ll be avoiding the bookstore for the rest of her life.

She waves goodbye and heads down the stairs. It’s exactly where I was going, but I don’t want to do that weird thing where you say goodbye and then end up walking in the same direction, so I wait a while at the top of the stairs until I hear my name being called from behind me.

“Mr. Crawford,” Professor Dumas says, waving her arms at me, the fringe on her shawl swinging. Her eyes are bright, a warm smile on her face. I love how she calls me Mr. Crawford, as if I’m distinguished somehow.

“Glad you’re still here,” she says as I walk over to her.

“Don’t tell me you’ve read it already,” I say.

“No, no,” she says. “Just the first few chapters. You learn to speed read in this job.”

I bite my lip, waiting for her to go on, praying it’s not rubbish.

“It’s wonderful, really,” she says. “Complex. Layered. Not without its faults, of course.”

“Of course,” I say, though I can’t believe how thrilled I am at the feedback.

“I’m sure the rest will be great,” she goes on. “But I know you’re graduating, and I wanted to tell you that you have talent. A gift, if I can use a cliché.”

My grin is splitting my face in two. So much for being cool and composed. “You can use all the clichés you want.”

“I just hope you don’t stop. I know you’ve finished a business degree, and I know how important Crawford’s Books is to the community. Just don’t let that side of things squelch your creative side. If you stay disciplined, you’ll be able to write whatever you want and perhaps make a living off of it, as long as you make it a priority.”

Obviously this is all music to my needy ears. But I still ask, “What about Amanda?”

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