Page 37 of The Love Interest
“Um. Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
“Sure.”
“Great.” He heads for the door without waiting for me.
I grab my laptop and bag. “Nice to meet all of you,” I say on my way out.
Emmett is walking down the hall. His butt looks so good in those jeans I want to kick him. I want to kick him and then kiss him. Or kiss him and then kick him. I just want to do things to him. I’ve never met a man I wanted to do so many things to.
Somany things—aside from take a class that he teaches in grad school.
16
EMMETT
Ican’t tell if she’s mad at me or not.
Two very significant and intriguing parts of her are either very mad at me or very happy to see me. I can’t tell which—I would love to investigate further, but I can’t. I was expecting some kind of blowback in text form after I told her I wouldn’t be meeting up with her, but it never came. Which was surprising. And maybe a little disappointing.
But not as disappointing as her decision to write a historical romance novel.
And not nearly as disappointing as finding Fiona Walker’s name on the class list after attending the new-faculty orientation and reading the school’s personnel policies. And then there was the anecdote I overheard, about a visiting professor who had an affair with a grad student in his class—when he ended it, she accused him of sexual harassment, and it created a huge scandal. I can’t do that to my father.
Ending things abruptly over text was the lesser of two evils, and while I may have made the decision quickly, it wasn’t a decision I came to lightly.
I open the door to my shitty new office and glance back to make sure Fiona’s following me.
She’s wearing the same clothes she was wearing the night we met. The same clothes I’ve been fantasizing about removing from her body for just over a week now. I’ve been thinking about removing them from her body off and on for the past forty minutes too, which is not good. It has to stop. I need to explain things to her and be done with it.
I just wish she weren’t so pretty. And smart. And funny. And endearing.
And I wish I hadn’t agreed to take this job.
But I can’t back out now.
I stand by the door, holding it open, and wait for her to pass through it before closing the door only partway. She smells so fucking good it makes me angry, because she didn’t know she was going to see me today, so what’s she doing wearing perfume when she leaves the house? Why should fuckheads named Beowulf be allowed to sit next to her and smell her and put their bony asshole hands on her arm?Fuck you, Beowulf, you fucking pretentious asshole. Fuck you, all other guys.
But this is how it has to be, and it’s fine.
My office is at the end of the hall. I thought about it on the way to campus this morning, and it’s probably best to keep my door open a bit when Fiona’s in here. When any woman is in here, really. She’s not stupid. She’ll keep her voice down.
“Hi,” I say, putting my laptop and coffee mug down on the shitty desk. Then I sit at the edge of my shitty desk, facing her.
She stands near the door, crosses her arms in front of her chest, and says, “Hello,Professor.”
“Obviously, we need to keep our voices down. Please come away from the door.”
I wait for her to roll her eyes and step closer to my desk before continuing. “You’re probably surprised.”
“Indeed. A tad, yes.”
Okay, she’s mad.
I mirror her, crossing my arms in front of my chest too. “First of all, I’m very sorry about your mother.”
She’s about to say something sarcastic, I think, and then blinks and says, “Oh.” She shifts from one foot to the other. “Thank you. She really is fine now. But we always have to remain vigilant, of course.”
