Page 335 of The Winslow Brothers

She nods cautiously and then puts her head back down to her work, and I try to do the same. I write two words and then glance up to see what she’s doing.

Amazingly, she’s actually focused, and just as I put my head down again and try to do the same, her eyes flutter upward, barely snagging on the gaze of mine in passing.

I deliberately ignore it, clearing my throat and waiting for my eyes to adjust to the words on my paper.What am I even saying at this point? Does this lesson even make sense?

Breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth, I force a deep circulation of air through my lungs and try to reset. It’s going to be a long day—and a truly long-ass semester—if I can’t find some way to make peace with being in Rachel’s presence without wanting to rip her clothes off.

Just focus on the job, Ty.

After a couple more deep breaths, I forget that Rachel is there and get back into the lesson. It’s aboutLove in the Time of Cholera,a book I’ve always foundinteresting. It’s complicated and messy and real. It’s not a happily ever after wrapped up in a bow, and also, I’m a fucking liar because I’ve been thinking about Rachel and Rachel’s eyes and Rachel’s legs and Rachel’s sheer-panty-covered pussy this entire time.

Fuck.

I shift my pen under the wordcomplicatedand underline it five times. It’s a heavy theme today in more than just this book, that’s for sure.

I close my notebook, placing my pen inside, and pick it up to carry to my office. Rachel’s head comes up at my movement, and I try on a friendly smile. Which I’m pretty sure looks more like The Joker’s signature grin than anything remotely normal.

“I have a couple of notes I left in the office that I need,” I tell her.

Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit.

“I’m going to run and grab them.” I keep lying through my teeth. “And then, I’ll probably just finish up in there until it’s time for class.”

She nods carefully again, and I return the gesture with a little more fervor. Too much, if I’m honest.

“Okay, well…see you in half an hour.”

“See you then, Professor Winslow.”

I don’t dally after that. On quick legs, I head straight for the door. The sooner I get the hell out of here and gather myself, the better for both of us.

Out in the hallway, I take long strides, jockeying around students, and swing open the stairwell door to jog up the steps to the second floor in a hurry. I barely look at anything other than my feet. Which is why when I crest the top of the flight and bump immediately into someone, I’m not all that surprised.

“Ty!” Professor Rose greets excitedly, laughing off the physical contact. “Where’s the fire, son?”

My head jerks side to side quickly, and I force a smile onto my face. It’s not that it’s not good to see him—it’s just that the timing could definitely be better. Generally, I try not to be thinking about a man’s daughter’s pussy when I look him in the eye. A small rule of thumb, if you will.

“No fire, sir. I just need to do a couple of things in my office before class starts shortly.”

“Running your own errands when you have a TA?” He shakes his head. “I hope you’re not going too easy on Rachel on my account.”

The mere mention of her name makes me choke on my own saliva, and his eyes widen at the grotesque sound while I hack into a fist to gather myself. “No, sir. Definitely not.”

“Good, good. She needs the structure.”

I suck my lips into my mouth. I don’t think there’s anything safe to say here, so the best practice is to say nothing at all.

“Oh!” he says, almost startling himself and holding up a singular finger. “I almost forgot! I have something for you.”

“Something for me, sir?”

He nods, swings his leather briefcase in front of himself, and roots around in the front pocket, eventually coming out with a single page of poetry. He hands it to me, and I study it quickly. It’s Walt Whitman, and it looks really old—like it could be out of a first edition.Holy shit.

“Nate? Is this…is this what I think it is?”

He smiles proudly. “First edition. Brutalized, obviously, evidenced by the fact that I’m handing you a single piece of paper, but I found it in a pawn shop many, many years ago with Nadine, and it just resurfaced in my attic cleanout. I’ve been meaning to give it to you. I know what a fan you are of his work.”

Not to be dramatic, but this whole exchange feels like a collection of all the understatements of the century.

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