Page 25 of Ruthless Temptation
9
Two days later,my phone chimes in the middle of my Language Argument class.
I pick it up absent-mindedly, half expecting to see a notification from the Hemlock House group chat or the SFU App. Instead, it’s from an unsaved number I know by heart.
Professor Holmes.
Change of plans today. We’re going out to dinner. Wear something you know I’ll like taking off you. Meet me in the parking lot at 6. E x
My heart rate picks up, and I have to look away from the text to make sure nobody has seen my reaction. Fortunately, everyone else is caught up in Dr. Merrick’s class. I let the text sit for a few minutes while I compose myself. I text back an affirmative response, trying not to seem too eager.
Language Argument is my last class for the day, which leaves me with three hours to kill before dinner with Professor Holmes. His request caught me off guard because I didn’t think it was part of our…arrangement. When this started a few weeks ago, I thought that all I could ever expect was sex.
But a date? That’s entirely new territory for me.
Sure, I’ve been on a few before. But never with anyone I liked half as much as Professor Holmes. While I shave every inch of myself in the shower, I try to imagine what it will be like. Will he take me to a secluded restaurant, or somewhere that’s bustling with people but far away enough so nobody recognizes us?
My preparation routine includes two showers and a bath, as well as an extensive hair care regimen. When I sashay out of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe with my hair in curlers, Cassidy gives me a curious look. I act like I don’t see her while I busy myself in my closet.
She’s perched on the edge of her bed, drinking a bottle of that horrid green juice to prepare for her evening run. She watches me quietly, and I know she’s hoping I will say something.
I don’t take the bait.
Professor Holmes told me to wear something I know he would enjoy taking off me. Nearly all my dresses fit the bill, but I settle on a black velvet minidress. It’s just short enough that I’ll be able to flash him, and the fabric is thin enough for him to see my nipples through it.
I’m certain it will drive him crazy.
“You’re going out tonight?” Cassidy asks.
I look up from the dress I’ve laid on my bed.
“Why do you ask?” I say as I walk over to my nightstand and spritz myself in one of my sultry scents—it has sweet notes of red berries, white musk and a hint of patchouli.
“You’re getting awfully dolled up. I can’t remember hearing of any parties tonight.”
I stifle a chuckle.
“It’s a private one,” I say, almost haughtily. “A Kingmaker guy invited me to a hangout they are having.” I’m astounded by how quickly I come up with the lie, but it’s worth it to see the blood drain from her face.
I know exactly what’s going through her mind. “Will Alexander be there?”
I shrug noncommittally, turning away from her but watching her cycle through the stages of grief in my vanity mirror. “I’m not sure. I tried to get another invite, but he told me there was only enough room for me in the car.” I start on my makeup. “Sorry,sis.”
Though she’s trying to keep her cool, the knot in her brow tells me she’s pissed. She sips the rest of her drink with a frown.
“It’s fine,” she says, more to herself than to me. “Enjoy it.”
I nod and watch as she angrily ties her laces. She storms out of the room a minute after. I laugh into the back of my hand, happy to have given her a taste of her own medicine. I still can’t shake the feeling that she got dressed up for Professor Holmes’ class because she knew it would psych me out.
If I was a different woman, I would have pursued Alexander just to get back at her for that. But he’s too fucked up even for me; you’d have to be a masochist to want him. This will have to do.
I meet Professor Holmes in the faculty parking lot at five minutes to six.
We get into his blacked-out SUV without a word. At first, I think he’s disappointed with what I chose to wear—he doesn’t even spare me a glance as we pull off campus. Meanwhile, I can barely stop myself from gawking at him.
He looks more refined than usual, which is saying a lot since he often looks like a renaissance man stuck in the wrong time. Professor Holmes’ hair is freshly cut and styled—long on top and short at the sides—and he’s dressed in a charcoal suit complemented by a porpoise-colored shirt and skinny black tie.
I’m so caught up in staring at him I don’t realize he’s pulling us over until he’s already killed the engine. He stops the car a stone’s throw from the wrought iron gates of Saint FredericUniversity. I look around outside, wondering what’s caused him to stop.
