Page 4 of Playing with Fyre

I don’t. I did try once, a few years ago, but then came Red Friday. My entire world fell apart—and I became unhinged. I could no longer stand those intimate face-to-face meetings. Depression, anger management, grief, they would just keep pouring burning oil over my soul. I left my practice, my town, the tattered remnants of my life behind and started fresh here at the college.

But my Charlotte doesn’t have to know that. There are many things she doesn’t have to know, and I prefer to keep it that way.

For her safety, and my sanity.

“Please—” I half-turn and gesture at my truck. “Let me take you where you need to be. I can’t stand the thought of you riding around in this weather. Not with these idiots on the road.”

Her lips twitch, and her eyebrows draw together. She balances on the bike again, a second away from pedaling off. “What about your meeting?”

Rain starts trickling down the back of my jacket. “I’ll call ahead, tell her I’ll be late.” I flick my head, sending rain-slicked hair off my forehead.

“Really, I’m fine.”

Christ. If I had fucking candy, I’d be using that to lure her into my truck. But I can’t push this. She has to make the decision herself.

“Okay. But I won’t accept any excuses for that project being late, even pneumonia.” I smile easily at her, turn, and head back to my truck. I shove a hand in the pocket of my trench coat and use it to keep my dick flattened. Just the thought that she might have accepted my invitation is giving me a hard-on.

The rain is insistent enough, cold enough, wet enough that Charlotte makes up her mind a few seconds later.

“Professor!”

I give my dick a relentless squeeze, willing it to subside, and glance at her over my shoulder. She’s biting down on her bottom lip as she takes a quick scan around, and then hurries up to me.

I can already feel her skin against mine. Wet from the rain, wet from something else entirely.

“Good girl,” I murmur as I reach for her bike’s handlebars.

She freezes, blinks, and dismisses what she thinks she heard as a blush creeps onto her cheeks. I love that shy look. Her hair’s too wet now, but when it’s dry and she ducks her chin like that, a black curtain falls in front of her face. Every time she does it, I have to stop myself from going over and smoothing those raven locks away from her face. It would raise too many questions, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s how to avoid questions.

I take her bike and wheel it to my truck, easily imitating a sane, helpful college professor. It should come easily enough—I’ve been playing the part for years now. By the time I’ve secured her bike in the back of my truck and slid into the driver’s seat, I’m just as wet as Charlotte. She throws me another shy glance from the passenger seat as I twist to the side to put on my seatbelt.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, and then scoops wet hair from her face and twists it into a knot at the base of her neck.

“How could I ignore a lady in distress?”

She lets out a huff and rolls her eyes atlady, but the corner of her mouth curls up. We sit for a second, rain drumming on the roof of my car. I’d have let the moment go on for eternity if it meant I could keep breathing the same air as her, but it’s too soon. I have to keep up appearances.

I’m her teacher, not her lover.

Not yet, anyway.

I clear my throat. “So, I could try and guess where you live, but then you might not get home in time for supper. What would your boyfriend say?”

She jumps a little and then laughs. “God, sorry.” She points. “Make a left two blocks down.”

“Sure thing.” I make sure my voice is cheery even though I’m far from happy. This shitty neighborhood gets worse the further west you go, and if she’s going where I think she’s going…

“So, uh, have you seen me before?” Her voice is soft, almost meek. For a second, I wonder if that’s how she always was, or if this is the new her. I’ve had firsthand experience in how trauma can change a person.

“Yes, of course. You were in my class an hour ago.”

She laughs again, louder this time. “No, I mean—” She cuts off. “When you’re meeting your patient.”

“Of course I have. It’s impossible to miss your black hair.”

She blushes at this and bunches her hands in her lap. We’re barely more than two feet apart, but that just reminds me how much closer we were earlier today.

Christ, I shouldn’t have done it. Shouldn’t have entered her personal space like that. Anyone could have noticed. If they’d reported it to the Dean, she’d have asked questions. There are many things I shouldn’t have done. But I’m not perfect. No one is. Everyone makes mistakes. Like the one I’m planning to make with Charlotte.

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