Page 37 of Falling for Mindy

CHAPTER 22

KYLE

A couple of weeks had passed, and I was back into the swing of things. I was back to teaching all of my classes and found that I could address my lectures to the students in the back of the auditorium to keep my focus off of Mindy. The meetings I conducted for the internship were fine. I always saw the two interns together now, and Jeff provided a good, completely clueless buffer in the office with us.

He was perfectly happy to talk about his himself. He was, for a women’s studies major, a great example of a white guy who really enjoyed sharing his opinions and expecting everyone in earshot to be impressed by them. How in the hell he’d reached this level in the department and gotten that internship was beyond me.

Jeff was proudly average, but part of my irritation with him was rooted in the fact that he was the interloper, the third wheel in meetings with Mindy. I knew I couldn’t be alone with her, but that didn’t stop my petty annoyance with Jeff. It was lucky though, that he was so oblivious that he just did most of the talking in the meetings. It meant less effort I had to put forth, which was a relief because most of my energy was consumed by the objective of not looking at Mindy or speaking to her beyond the required questions.

It required a distance, a detachment that used to come so easily to me. Professional distance and detachment had deserted me at this late date in my career. I felt that I’d been humbled by the feelings I had for her, the understanding that my ideals, the lofty standards I set for myself were swept away by the curve of her cheek and the way she expressed so much compassion for her clients in just a handful of words.

So it didn’t matter that I never felt for anyone the way I felt when I was in a room with her. My entire being seemed drawn to her irresistibly, and it was a wearying battle to fight such a powerful impulse. What did it matter if it was tearing me up inside to avoid her, to shut her out? I couldn’t trust myself to be alone with her. I was completely destroyed by this passion I felt for her.

I loved my job, and I placed my trust in the advice Aaron gave me—wait for the semester to end. Then I’d speak to her honestly. I was holding out hope that we might have something real. It wasn’t something I thought about routinely, being in a relationship, but Mindy reminded me that I had wanted things in my life besides a career.

That was worth waiting for, worth biding my time and keeping my distance for a few more weeks. In fact, a chance to be with her was worth everything to me.

Posting my grades to the online portal and shutting down my laptop, I readied to leave my office. A knock at the door was a minor annoyance. I wasn’t in any hurry to get to the gym, to another of Aaron’s punishing training sessions. I was finished with my scheduled appointments for today, but it wasn’t uncommon for one of my students, particularly my freshman advisees, to drop in after their classes were finished for the day.

“Enter,” I said when the knock sounded again.

It was a surprise to find Mindy at my door. I went to the door to meet her there. On closer inspection, she was visibly shaken, her eyes wide and shadowed with dark circles. I tried to hang back and not touch her even though she looked ready to crumple to the floor and all I wanted was to hold her in my arms and promise her that I’d make it okay, whatever it was. My hands flexed into fists at the thought of her being hurt.

“What’s wrong?” I demanded to know.

The overprotective surge of primitive, Neanderthal fury was barely constrained. For a man who considered himself enlightened, feminist, and secure, it was a shock to my system that I was almost overcome by an old, old instinct to possess and guard. I took an intentional step back from her, trying to restrain my almost animalistic instincts.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” she said in a small voice. “Alicia’s been texting me. I know it was wrong to give her my cell number…” she trailed off, looking down.

“Come in. Please,” I said, stepping back to admit her to my office.

For an instant, I debated whether to close the door. If I left it open, it might keep me on my side of the desk in case anyone walked by—it might remind me to stay away from her. But the client she spoke of was a confidential matter, and she deserved privacy for an emotional moment. I closed the door decisively. If my position of authority and her age and vulnerability hadn’t kept me away from her, an open door was useless as an obstacle.

“Something’s happened,” I said, prompting her.

“For the last two weeks, we’ve been messaging off and on. She hasn’t told me where she is or anything, and I haven’t asked. She’s hiding out from her ex, and she’s okay. Mostly we talk about a show we both watch, just surface level stuff to distract her and make her feel better. I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.”

I nodded, trying to keep my expression from being as stern and angry as I felt. It wasn’t anger toward her, but toward whatever had made her so distressed. I knew I must have a foreboding look on my face when she looked away from me quickly.

“I want to know what’s going on,” I said evenly.

It was surprisingly hard to form words, to manage something reasonable to say when all I was thinking had to do with snatching her up and secreting her somewhere safe while I patrolled outside the door growling at anyone who walked by. The strength of the instinct was almost humorous—that I would be brought so low, drop into the fight-or-flight of the primitive brain stem because I saw Mindy this upset.

“Kyle—” she said. She said my name and a surge of a different primitive instinct rose in my blood like flame.

She had dropped into a chair, and I lowered myself beside it so I was on her eye level. A rush of feeling, of affection took me over then. I was so near to her, and the sadness in her face wrenched in my chest just beneath my ribs. I took her face in my hand. Her eyes met mine, bright, nervous, hopeful.

“I’m right here.” She leaned her cheek into my palm, her eyes closed. A slow tear slipped out of the corner of her eye and I brushed it away with my thumb tenderly. “I’ve got you.”

She sniffed and swallowed hard, obviously determined not to cry. Blinking furiously to beat back her tears, she met my eyes bravely. I still held her face, and my mouth was inches from hers.

Instead of kissing her, instead of giving free rein to all the passion I felt, I knelt beside her chair and drew her into my arms. Her head nestled into my shoulder, and I kissed her hair. I held her close, snuggled her to my chest, both my arms closed around her protectively. I felt the little tremor in her breathing, the small sob she wouldn’t allow to escape. I kissed her head, inhaled the vanilla sweetness of her hair and held back a groan. The restraint that bound me like steel, the twist of agony at wanting her so desperately was almost enough to overpower me.

“I’m right here,” I whispered again against her silken hair.

The words seemed to unlock something in her. She turned her beautiful face up to mine, a mix of light and sadness warring in her eyes. Boldly, she pressed her lips to mine. I let her kiss me, using up every ounce of self-control I possessed. I allowed her lips to cling to mine, and my mouth moved over hers, soft and constrained, a sweet kiss. It was meant to comfort her. She moved in my arms, against my chest, hungry for more. She wanted more comfort than a chaste kiss, and I broke the kiss. I pressed her cheek to my collarbone and held her, made my breathing calm down in hope of soothing her. Then I disentangled myself from her and got to my feet.

“Please tell me what’s got you so upset,” I said, trying to sound normal and businesslike and failing.

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