Page 39 of Professor

“I didn’t have a quarter.”

Following her through the store, she finally started walking toward the check-out queues. We checked out together and left the store with me carrying her new kettle, toaster, my groceries, and most of hers.

“It’s nice of you to carry those for me.”

“I don’t remember offering,” I chuckled, meeting her eyes.

She smiled at me as we crossed the road and walked onto the bike path.

“Is this how you flirt?” she asked. “Making fun of me?”

“You think I’m flirting with you, Whitney?” I laughed, despite the sudden tightening in my chest.

“I hope not. It would be totally inappropriate if you were.” She beamed at me, and I noticed the shift in her. Something was different now. She was lighter, happier, those lines of stress fading completely from around her eyes.

“Very inappropriate,” I agreed, my voice dropping an octave as I held her gaze. For the first time in weeks, I felt truly alone with her. Hardly anyone was on campus. There were no prying eyes, no one to see us standing as close together as we were.

“Whitney.”

She dropped her grocery bags and lunged for me, her arms closing around my neck and pulling me down to meet her as she kissed me.

Everything I was holding fell to the ground, her precious, single apples rolling down the bike trail and out of sight as I pulled her closer and tangled my fingers in her hair and deepened the kiss.

My tongue slid over hers, tasting, exploring, losing myself entirely.

“Whitney—” I rasped. Shit, we couldn’t do this, but nothing I’d ever done felt more right than this.

She pulled away suddenly and stepped back, panting, looking ruffled and wild. Her lips were swollen, and her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. “I—I’m sorry.”

“Whitney—”

She hurriedly gathered her groceries. “We can’t—I shouldn’t have—”

“Stop, please—”

I picked up the toaster, ignoring my own groceries as she started grabbing at everything she’d dropped on the ground. When I reached for her, she stood up, stepping away from me.

Her eyes were shining with sudden tears.

“I am so sorry I did that.”

“I’m not.”

We stared at each other, the distance between us now feeling heavy and charged.

“I’m not sorry,” I repeated more firmly.

She took several steps back, then turned and cut through the trees, leaving me with her toaster and kettle and most of her spilled groceries.

Chapter 17

Whitney

MY NEW APARTMENT WAS on the third floor of the graduate dorms—a very old four-story building that overlooked the backside of campus. From my windows, I had a full view of the commons and Hollis Hall. The library rose on a small hill in the distance, tucked in a grove of snow-covered sycamore trees.

Faculty housing with its main dorm and scattered cottages was just visible through the trees, as was the very spot on the bike trail where I’d gone absolutely feral and kissed Rhys.

I absently licked my lips, tasting him on my tongue.

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