Page 105 of The Charlie Method

Beckett appears from the steam-filled doorway, a towel wrapped around his waist. “You have lab now?” he says in a low voice. His class with her isn’t until tomorrow morning.

“Yeah.”

“Text me after. Let me know she’s okay.”

Charlotte’s been on his mind too. Charlie, I mean. Charlotte, Charlie. It’s hard to reconcile the two. But I suspect I know which one I’m going to find when I walk into the lab.

I’m right.

Her gaze is shuttered, indifferent, as I settle onto my stool. She’s wearing black leggings and a gray, belted sweater dress, her hair in a bun with two wisps framing her face.

She is so damn cute, and my groin clenches involuntarily at the sight of her.

I remember how tight she was.

I remember the way she moaned when she came.

When we were in the living room, she tried so hard not to vocalize her pleasure. I can still hear Beckett’s raspy voice in my head. Teasing her.Let us hear you, baby girl.

Fuck.

“Morning,” I say through the lump of pure lust clogging my throat.

“Morning.” Her tone is devoid of emotion.

“How was your weekend?”

Charlotte keeps her gaze on her textbook. “Good.”

“Mine was good too,” I say, even though she didn’t ask.

She doesn’t answer. She flips to another page.

I want to talk to her, but Professor Bianchi enters before I can. It’s rare of him to make an appearance in lab—usually Monica monitors our experiments. But we’re starting a new unit of study today, and much to my chagrin, Bianchi doesn’t stop talking for the next two hours. I swear the man has a hard-on for stem cells.

I sit there trying to listen, frustration building inside me. When class finally ends, my lab partner wastes no time gathering her stuff.

“Charlie,” I say.

Her jaw is tight. “Charlotte.”

“Sorry. Charlotte. Can we talk?” I frown at her cold demeanor, the way she continues to avert her gaze.

“I have a meeting with my capstone advisor,” she says, and I pick up my pace as I practically chase her to the door. “It’s all the way across campus.”

“Fine. I’ll walk you.”

She rejects the offer without even turning around. “No. You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.”

“Well, I don’t want you to,” she says in a strained voice.

I know when to back down, so I don’t push the issue. That one anyway. But I do reach for her hand and stop her from scurrying away from me.

“Can you please just talk to me for three seconds before you go?”

She hesitates. Then dips her head in a nod.

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