Every once in a while he looked up at me, and I almost got caught checking him out. I really needed to distract myself, so I went into the car and grabbed my phone to look up the nearest tire shop.
The sun was setting as he loaded the jack back into the trunk and slammed it shut. Even though it had cooled off a bit, it was still so humid. Caine was sweaty, and his T-shirt was definitely ruined.
“I think I owe you a T-shirt,” I said, eyeing the grease all over it.
He looked down. “As long as it’s ruined, might as well make good use of it.” Caine wiped both his greasy hands on his chest, streaking lines across the remaining white of his shirt. He then proceeded to reach back and tug the dirty T-shirt over his head.
Getting the full view of his incredible body, I think my jaw nearly reached the ground. I had no idea if he noticed my staring, because I was unable to lift my eyes from feasting on the sight. He used the shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and then cleaned off his hands some more. I was beginning to sweat myself, even though I hadn’t exerted an ounce of physical energy.
“Do you know where the nearest tire shop is?”
“Umm…it’s only about three blocks from here.”
“Give me a minute to throw my shirt back on and I’ll follow you.”
What a shame. “Okay. Thank you.”
I sat inside my car for a minute, glad for a chance to collect my thoughts before I had to drive. How long had it been since I’d had sex? Eight months? God, I probably should’ve done the deed with Mason last night just to satisfy my libido. A little show of abs and muscle, and my panties were wet. I felt like a horny seventeen year old.
By the time we dropped the car at Tire Express, it was almost seven-thirty, and they told me I’d have to pick it up in the morning. Caine stayed by my side the entire time and even dealt with picking out a tire that was affordable when the salesperson tried to sell me one that cost more than I earned in tips in a week at O’Leary’s.
“I feel like a broken record,” I said once we were settled inside Caine’s car. “I’m either apologizing or thanking you.”
“No problem. You still feel up to going over the curriculum and working on a game plan for the semester?” He looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. I can drop you at home if you’re tired.”
“I’m a night owl. Mornings are my issue.”
He nodded. “Okay, then.”
Just before he started the car, my stomach let out the most horrific growl. It was a loud, rumbling, gurgly sound that echoed through the quiet car. There was no trying to pretend it didn’t happen.
Caine grinned. “How about we work on our planning over something to eat?”
I was clearly starving. I’d planned to eat something before I left work, but then we got busy, and I didn’t want to stop somewhere and chance being late. Today was just filled with great planning.
“I’d love that.”
He started the car. “What are you in the mood for?”
“I’m easy. Whatever you want is fine with me.”
“How about a burger? Do you eat meat?”
Thankfully it was dark enough to hide my blush. “Umm…yes. I eat meat.” And apparently that’s exactly what my body and brain were in the mood for.
Rachel
“For the record, I wasn’t feeding you a line the first time I saw you. You do look familiar.” Caine sipped his beer.
The fact that he’d ordered a beer struck me as odd. I’d have taken him for something fancier—expensive wine or aged scotch, perhaps. Seeing him relaxed with a beer in his hand had me viewing the uptight professor in a whole different light. Or perhaps it was his abs that had adjusted my thinking.
“We’ve probably seen each other around campus,” I said. Although I was pretty sure I hadn’t seen him before. I’d remember a man who looked like him.
“Maybe.”
“Do you go to O’Leary’s often?” I asked.
“The other night was the first time I was ever there. Stopped on the way home from a friend’s who just moved in a few blocks away.”
“Well, basically, I’m either at O’Leary’s, on campus, or home sleeping, or studying. Not much time for anything else these days.” I pointed a mozzarella stick at him and smirked. “And that’s not due to change. According to People magazine, this is going to be a year of all work and no play.”
“Oh yeah? People magazine? Sounds like a solid source to set your expectations for the future.”
“I think so. I did answer five questions to get that prophecy, so it’s pretty reliable. One wrong answer and I could have been doomed for a year of adventure or soothing self discovery.”
Caine chuckled. “Well, try to squeeze in a little playtime. You know the old saying—too much work and no play can make life dull.”
“I’m good with dull. I’ve retired from being exciting.”
“Retired from excitement? How old are you? Twenty-two, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-five.” I shrugged. “I got my adventure quota in during my teen years, which were out of control. I’m playing catch-up with my adult life. Busy is good. Adulting is good.”
Caine scratched his chin. “Out of control, huh? Like what?”
“No way, Professor. I’ve made enough bad impressions on you to last a while. I’ll save some of those stories for after I’ve shown you how smart and talented I am.”
Caine smiled. It was the first unrestrained smile he’d let slip past his guard. Leaning back into his seat, he slung one arm casually over the back of the booth. “Alright. Then tell me about you and music. I’ll get to hear a little bit about your smarts and talent, and it’ll help me plan which lessons you should teach.”
“What would you like to know?”
“Why music?”
“You mean, why did I pick music for a major?”
“No. You obviously picked the major because you love music. But why do you love music?”
“That’s a really broad question and kind of hard to capture in a few sentences.”
“Give it a shot. There’s no wrong or right answer.”
“Okay.” I thought for a few long moments. “Because music expresses all the things people can’t say, but are impossible to keep quiet.”
He didn’t immediately respond. “Sing or play an instrument?” he asked after letting it sink in.
I smiled. Having been a music major for undergraduate, I knew my answer always confused people. “Neither. I can hold a tune, but I don’t sing exceptionally well, and there isn’t a particular instrument I excel at, like most music majors.”
Basically, eighty-five percent of all music majors either sang or played guitar or piano. The remaining fifteen percent were the random drummers or saxophonists.
“Can’t say I hear that often.”
“I know. I learned to play a few instruments decently during my undergraduate work, but I don’t want to be a musician or a rock star. My master’s degree will be in musical therapy.”
The waitress came and delivered plates with giant burgers. I’d hoped it would transition some of the attention away from me, but Caine must have been busy piecing the little bits I’d already shared together.
“I’m guessing whatever music helped you express that couldn’t be said might be the same thing that caused you to have those out-of-control years.”