“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what who I’m talking about,” he says, popping in the guard. He brings a knee up, connecting with my ribs. “You ran me off for a reason.”
I dodge to the left as his fist comes at my face. “You know I can’t go there.”
“Which explains all this pent up, high-velocity angst.”
I pummel him with another barrage of uppercuts and send him to the floor with a kick to his side. Because the prick is right. I’m frustration personified, blindly annihilating anything in my path. Unfortunately for him, he’s in my path at the moment. So I picture his face when he was getting ready to make his move on Blaire, then duck and punch, sidestep and kick.
Because one second I’ve got myself convinced that I can follow through—that we only have to keep it hidden for four months. And the second after that I’m asking myself: What the fuck am I doing?
So far the only answer I’ve come up with is “fucking my future straight to hell.”
But, Christ. This girl stood on stage a week ago and blew my mind. I can’t stop thinking about the power of her poem. She owned it—her love of sex and her hate of the double standard. She put it all right out there without reservation.
She’s got to be the bravest fucking woman I’ve ever met.
And she wants to get dirty.
I shake the thought out of my head as Jones comes at me with a right hook. She’s going to have to get dirty with someone other than me, because we can’t happen.
Part of me was satisfied that she’d gotten my message when she didn’t come to the library after class on Wednesday. A bigger part of me was in agony, wanting to run to the lit building to catch at least a glimpse of her walking to her car. But that part can’t have what it wants. Too much is at risk.
When Jones lifts his hands an hour later and breathes, “No más,” I shower and head over to the lit building. The elevator takes a day to come after I punch the button, so I finally give up and climb the stairs to the third floor two at a time. I try Dr. Duncan’s office, but it’s locked. Probably at lunch. I turn up the hall toward the bank of faculty mailboxes to check if he left anything in my box that needs handling. There’s nothing but a note from him reminding me the next chapter of my dissertation is due a week from today.
Fuck. I haven’t even started pulling my thoughts together yet.
Usually after a workout I feel more focused, but right now, everything inside me is a mass of chaos—a thousand pin balls ricocheting off every surface. Instead of dissipating, all that kinetic energy is escalating to critical mass.
I’m going to fucking blow apart at the seams.
“You look more wound up than I am. And that’s saying something.”
I turn at the familiar voice and find Hannah standing behind me. Her long blond hair is up in a high ponytail and she’s dressed professionally, in a teal silk blouse and a black pencil skirt. Her heels bring her to my six foot one. “You look good. Presentation this morning?”
She nods and lifts a hand to rub her shoulder under the strap of her bag. “Just finished my proposal meeting with the dissertation board.”
“Great. How’d it go?”
“They signed off on it this time, so thank fucking God.”
I shove Dr. Duncan’s note in my pocket and hike my messenger bag higher on my shoulder. “I was heading over to the library for my shift, but I’ve got a few minutes if you want to get some lunch or whatever.”
A smile tugs at her mouth and one blond eyebrow arches. “I’m too jacked up to eat right now, but I’d be definitely be up for ‘whatever.’”
My eyes take a long drink of her body. This might be exactly what I need. “Yeah. I could do that.”
She turns up the hall and I follow her to her faculty advisor’s office. She slips the key in the lock and opens the door. “Dr. Garret’s in class until two.”
She leaves the light off as I step in behind her and she locks the door. She unbuttons her blouse. It falls to the floor in a teal puddle at her feet as she reaches behind her for the clasp of her bra.
It takes me a minute to catch up. I tug off my shirt and toss it on the arm of the wingchair next to Dr. Garret’s desk. I toe off my Vans and socks, and by the time I’m shucking my jeans down my legs, she’s already down to a nude lace thong and her heels. She reaches into her bag for a condom, then takes my hand and tows me to Dr. Garret’s side of the desk. She slips her panties down her legs and slides her ass onto the desk, then pulls me between her knees and tugs my boxer briefs over my erection. I watch as she sheathes my cock in latex.
Then I ram it into her.
She leans back onto her hands and rolls her neck in a circle, unwinding some of the tension there. “I needed this so bad.”