Page 311 of The Winslow Brothers

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

When I turn back around, though, the panties are still in play. Frankly, they’re in play in abigway.

With one hand, Rachel takes a pen off my desk, lifts her underwear out of the box, and drops them on top of a stack of papers beside my conference phone. The Post-it stays stuck to the delicate material until they reach their destination.

The entire time, she keeps her beautiful green eyes locked with mine.

The rush of adrenaline that floods my veins is nearly enough to knock me off my feet.

Goddamn, she is something else.

“Thank you, Professor,” she says, her voice confident and her chin raised high. “I appreciate you getting this together for me.”

“You’re welcome, Rachel,” I answer, not even trying to stop my smile. “Anything else you need? From me? From the office? Anything at all?”

“Nope.” She shakes her head, and a little tsk leaves her lips. “Pretty sure I have everything I need right here.” She lifts the box in her arms and smirks, one eyebrow climbing pointedly up her forehead.

“See you Monday, Professor,” she calls over her shoulder as she turns and exits the way she came, leaving me standing there with her panties on my desk and the kind of hard-on usually seen on pubescent boys or produced by little blue pills.

I grab it through my pants, squeezing at the base to cut off the blood supply and remind it of the rules.

This is a game—one I’ll let run its course because she’s a worthy opponent and a fascinating adversary.

But at the end of the day, that’s where it stops. Rachel Rose is off-limits, and when the panty tug-of-war ends, so will the rest of it.

I nod to myself.

Ty Winslow has finally found a line he won’t cross.

Right?

Friday, January 25th

Rachel

I’ve almost survived another full week of classes at NYU.

My master’s workload is certainly challenging, but it’s manageable. I feel like I’m fitting in enough shifts at Lydia and Lou’s bakery that I’m actually helping them out, and I’m not exactly minding sitting through Professor Winslow’s classes.

He is an entertaining guy. Kind of an asshole at times, but I think that’s what makes it interesting.

And I’ve only had to experience my panties appearing once this week. Before Tuesday’s ENG 101 class, he asked me to run out to his car and grab something he needed for class, and when I got there,surprise, surprise,my underwear was nicely folded up in his back seat, the Post-it note still present.

However, even that little note is starting to show the wear of this silent game we’re playing. Its edges are wrinkled, and the sticky adhesive is hanging on for dear life. The physical display of my persistence made me smile.

Obviously, I didn’t take them. If he wants to drive around with women’s underwear in his back seat, that’s his problem. Not mine.

While the ENG 101 students finish getting settled into their seats, I steal a quick glance at my phone. First, my calendar, noting what grad work I need to get done tonight after pulling a few hours at the bakery.

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