Page 58 of Love, Academically
“Do you think he did?”
Rhys raised his eyebrows expectantly at Sniffly Girl. He wasn’t going to ask her to repeat herself, but if she wanted an answer, she was going to have to. What would that stupid course that he’d dragged himself through have told him to do?. He sighed.
“I apologise, I was distracted. Can you repeat that, please?”
The students exchanged glances.
“Do you think John had Arthur of Brittany killed?” DeVon asked, leaning forward. At least they were engaged, but when on earth did they move on to Richard’s successors?
“I think we will never definitively know,” he said vaguely. “But it is highly likely that Arthur died in captivity in Rouen Castle and that John did indeed have a hand in it.”
“But he was his nephew,” DeVon commented.
Rhys smiled. The Angevin family tree was convoluted and difficult to get to grips with, but DeVon had obviously done some work for this seminar.
“Do you think that mattered to John?” Rhys probed.
He could be doing so much more with his time than coaching students through the ups and downs of medieval kingship. After his two lectures this afternoon, he had forty minutes scheduled to, once again, fine-tune his statement for his Fellowship application. As a reward, he could lose himself in Henry II’s impressive administrative structure for an hour and twenty minutes. Then kickboxing, dinner, and home.
That was his orderly day and he liked it.
What he didn’t like was Lila, with her welcoming smile and her horrendous yellow dress with the blue splodges on it, worming her way into his mind and taking attention away from his important things.
The students’ voices faded to a murmur as he watched Lila talk quietly on the phone, the handset propped under her chin as she tapped at her keyboard, a smile on her face. She had a smile for simply everyone.
Even fucking Jason.
Lila replaced the phone and glanced up at him. She nodded towards the students and mouthed ‘pay attention’, before turning back to her computer screen.
Oh right. Great. Like he could concentrate now when all he could think about was the way her lips formed words and all the filthy things that he could use that mouth for.
What thefuckwas wrong with him? Rhys couldn’t be in her office anymore. It was too suffocating. This was not good. Perhaps he was ill. That would explain everything; the lack of concentration, the tightness in his chest, his hands clammy on his papers.
Rhys stood abruptly.
“I think that’s enough for today,” he said, interrupting Other Girl halfway through whatever she was saying.
“Oh, okay,” DeVon said, confused.
He could see Lila frown at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t look at her.
“I’ll see you in the lecture tomorrow and we’ll discuss Arthur of Brittany in more detail next week,” he said, already halfway across the office to the door.
Escaping to the sanctity of his office, he closed the door behind him. It was cool in there, and smelled of nothing. There were no crumbs in here, no cookies, no cushions. Nothing. It was calm and orderly and safe.
He stared at the papers on his desk, ready and waiting for him. He had exactly twenty minutes before his lecture. Alone and safe. But he wasn’t safe from his own fucking traitorousthoughts. Lila’s soft giggle wasnotpart of Henry II’s movements in 1174.
Fuck.
“What’s with you today, man?” Dan asked, offering his hand.
Rhys was panting, staring up at the florescent lights flickering on the ceiling of the kickboxing dojo. Dan had knocked him on his arse with a sweeping leg that Rhys should have seen coming; the same sweeping leg that Dan had been trying on him every single kickboxing lesson for the past two years.
“Whatever it is, I’ll take it.” Dan hauled him up. “I amneverletting you forget this.”
Rhys glared and shook out his arms, bouncing on his toes. When the sun shone on the corrugated iron roof in this unseasonably warm week in late October, it was positively melting.
“I don’t know,” he said, throwing a punch at his friend. “I’m distracted.”
