Page 19 of Not Your Girl
“What if I don’t want to tell you?”
He gives me a soft smile. “Then don’t tell me. You don’t owe me anything.”
I give him a wry smile. “Says the guy who basically forced me into this coffee date.”
He holds up both of his hands. “Hey, I didn’t force you into anything. I just made it clear that the first time I saw you in the airport six months ago, you stopped my heart, and then you did it again when you walked into my classroom this morning.”
“And you held my phone hostage.”
He nods. “And that. I admit, it was not my classiest move, but I think my brain melted down for a second at the idea of you walking away from me again after it took me six months to find you.”
“I think there’s an argument to be made that I found you.”
He takes another sip of his coffee, and for a second, I’m transfixed by his strong hand wrapping around his mug, the way his throat works as he swallows, how his bright blue gaze stays steady on me. Elliot Wyles is all man, and I suddenly feel very much the student to his professor.
“You didn’t seem surprised.”
“When?”
“When you walked into class this morning and saw me. I was so shocked my feet glued themselves to the floor and I lost the power of speech, but it was almost like you knew I would be there.”
“I did know you would be there. I knew who you were. I didn’t when we were on the plane,” I amend, when his face screws up in confusion. “But in the airport, when we ran into your student? She called you Dr. Wyles, and you had told me your name was Elliot, so I put it together.”
“That’s why you disappeared,” he says, his voice thoughtful.
I nod. “I knew I was starting at MassTech mid-year, and I knew I wanted to ask you to be my research advisor. It felt…wrong to stick around when I…” I trail off, not exactly sure how to finish that sentence.
“It wasn’t just me. You felt something on the plane too.”
It’s a statement not a question. His eyes bore into mine, and the heat of his gaze warms my skin and has my heart thudding in my chest. Being the sole focus of Elliot Wyles’ intense, all-seeing gaze is a heady thing. So heady that I lose the ability to lie.
“I did. But it doesn’t matter,” I say quickly.
Elliot hooks his ankle around mine under the table, and even through my winter boots and his shoes, I feel the contact everywhere. From the way his eyes flash, I know he does too.
“I think you’re wrong,” he says quietly. “I think it matters a lot. Cards on the table, Amelia. I’ve never felt a connection with anyone like the one I felt with you on that plane. And right now. That means something. I think it means something to you too.”
I shake my head, but it’s all verythe lady doth protest too much. “It can’t. Student. Professor. Advisor. Also, I’m too young for you.”
He snorts out a laugh. “Not possible. How old are you?”
I sit back and cross my arms. “Twenty-five.”
“Seven years is not a lot of years, but let’s just set that aside. I’m almost positive there are ways around any kind of guidelines for professor/grad student relationships, and you don’t strike me as much of a rule follower, Mystery Girl. If you’re really uncomfortable that I’m your professor and advisor, I completely respect that. I’ll be the best advisor you’ve ever had and nothing else as long as we’re working together, I swear. But I don’t think it’s really about that. So, want to tell me the real deal?”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, unused to being so well understood. I’ve never been sure anyone in my life really sees all of me, but I have the uncomfortable feeling that, without even really knowing me, Elliot sees too damn much. It lowers my defenses just enough to answer him honestly. “Sullivan,” I mumble.
His eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”
I meet his gaze. “My last name. It’s Sullivan.”
He studies me and I can tell the second he puts it together, his gaze dropping down to my brand new, not yet released Redwood phone and then back up to me. “Gabe Sullivan is your brother.”
It’s the way he says it,Gabe Sullivan is your brother, instead of the way people usually say it,you’re Gabriel Sullivan’s sister, like Gabe owns me or something, that has me warming another fraction towards him. “Yes.” I pause, turning his words over in my head again. “You called him Gabe.”
He shrugs. “Yeah, why?”
“No one calls him that except people who know him. To the rest of the world, he’s Gabriel Sullivan, tech god, king of the smartphones, or whatever.”
