Page 2 of Not Quite Perfect

Bringing my gaze back to his, I finally said, “I really enjoyed Zora Neale Hurston’sTheir Eyes Were Watching God, The Fitzgeralds—both F. Scott and Zelda, mad as she was—and Edith Wharton. Although, now that I’m saying it out loud, I realize practically all the novels I love best have been made into movies. For all you know, I’ve never even picked up a real book.”

David moved to the empty seat next to me and reached for my dog-eared copy of Faulkner’s seminal masterpiece. Thumbing through it, he examined the notes I’d scribbled in the margins and chuckled at some of my more colorful observations. Eventually, he set it back down with the rest of my belongings.

“Anyone whose notations are filled with that much passion on the subject is a true reader. I particularly appreciated the part where you ranted about how Caddy only existed to showcase Faulkner’s misogyny and hatred of women.”

“Spoken like a true professor,” I snickered, remembering the paper I’d written on that very topic my senior year.

My instructor had returned it with a bright red “C” in the upper right-hand corner. While my thesis about the prevalence of sexism in early American literature had been well researched and supported, apparently, I’d missed the point of the assignment entirely. Alas, that’s what tended to happen when I was fueled by Red Bull and righteous indignation at two o’clock in the morning.

“Since you’re the expert,” I continued, twisting in my seat and bringing our knees within scant centimeters of one another, “what’syourfavorite book?”

“Wonder Boysby Michael Chabon. Also made into a movie.

His sexy smirk threatened to undo me.

Do not swoon, do not swoon, do not swoon.

Difficult, given the temperature, but I somehow managed to hold it together.

“I’ve read the bookandseen the movie,” I told him. “I’ve even been inside the house they used for filming Grady’s place. One of my professors lived there.”

All at once, David’s smile dimmed and he eyed me with what I interpreted as disappointment. I was confused for about two-point-two seconds until I realized that he’d misinterpreted my statement.

“Oh! No, nothing like that,” I blurted with a laugh and a wave of my hand. “I assure you, my presence there was entirely on the up-and-up. Every year Professor Burrows hosted an end-of-term cocktail party for the program’s graduating seniors. He thought it would help us transition into the ‘real world’ where grown-ups didn’t do keg stands.” I chuckled and used my fingers to make air quotes. “The joke was on him though because two years later a couple of guys ended up getting high in his bathroom. Rumor has it his parties were by invitation only after that.”

All at once, David relaxed and his gaze dropped to my mouth. “Can I confess something?”

Unbidden, I felt my tongue dart out and lick my lips. His eyes flared with heat, and I nodded.

“You can call me a creep and tell me to fuck off, but I find it incredibly sexy that you’ve read my favorite book, seen my favorite movie,andhave a unique piece of trivia about it to boot.”

Feeling myself blush under the weight of his stare, I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and dropped my eyes to gawk at David’s hands. I’d never been a hands girl before. Traditionally, forearms were more my thing, but I couldn’t stop picturing them molded to my naked body. What would it feel like to have those long, tapered fingers digging into my flesh as he rocked me back and forth over his cock?

I blinked and shook my head, pushing the inappropriate fantasy to the back of my mind. This was bonkers. I’d known this guy for all of thirty minutes and I was fantasizing about getting horizontal with him. Thatneverhappened.

But it was precisely because I’d never felt such an instant, all-consuming attraction to a man before that I raised my eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. If this attraction was one sided, I’d never in a million years say what I was about to say. But the way David had stared at my mouth—like he couldn’t wait to taste me—and the look of bold, open longing in his eyes told me it wasn’t. I waspositivethat he wanted me as badly as I wanted him.

“For what it’s worth, I find you being a professor incredibly sexy too. And the fact that you didn’t try to convince me my opinion on Faulkner isn’t valid is an incredible turn-on.”

What did it say about me—or rather, the men I typically met—that something as benign as simple respect was a major aphrodisiac?

“Is that so?”

I nodded and my mouth split into a shy grin. “It is.”

“What do you think we should do about that?” He smirked again, and oh dear god, his dimples popped. I was such a goner.

Pulling every last ounce of bravery I possessed to the forefront, I looked him square in the eyes. “I think we should get dinner together. Tonight, if you can.”

David smiled back at me, and I felt it all the way to the tips of my painted pink toes. “I’d love that.” He reached out and squeezed my hand before quickly dropping it and leaning back in his seat.

I was sweating like a buffalo in this heat and humidity, but he looked entirely unflappable in his navy linen pants and white cotton t-shirt.

“But first, tell me more about this professor who didn’t think keg stands were an important and necessary life skill.”

From there, our conversation flowed quick and easy. We spent the rest of the ride to Dobbers Island getting to know one another. I talked about my work as a reporter covering everything from an overabundance of stray kittens roaming the streets to insurance fraud when a nearby town’s beloved ice cream parlor burned down. Meanwhile, he discussed what it was like shaping the minds of his students and how he’d always loved reading. I told him the reason for my visit to the island, and he described summers there as a child.

By the time we pulled up to the dock, we’d exchanged numbers and agreed to meet at seven o’clock in front of the restaurant nearest the inn where I was staying. David had offered to pick me up and then walk over to the restaurant together, but the less my family saw of him, the better.

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