Kissing Galileo: Dear Professor Book #2

by Penny Reid

  “Yeah.” I sighed.

  Just then, my phone buzzed. Again. Oh, Landon. You are clueless, grasshopper.

  Whipping my phone out, I was prepared to send it to voicemail, but then my heart gave a little leap upon spying Victor’s name. Being rude, I immediately accepted the call.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Emily. It’s me. Sorry, should I have texted?”

  “No! No. Always call. It’s so good to hear your voice.” I grinned, ignoring how Anna and her cousin shared a wide-eyed look. “What’s up?”

  “I know it’s last minute, but I remember you texted that you weren’t working this weekend. I finished up early and I wondered if you wanted to come over and watch a movie. Or we could, uh, go out if you want. I have a friend who can get us tickets to that new play downtown. Like I said, I know it’s last minute, so no problem if you’re busy.”

  I scrunched my face because DARN. IT. We always had a good time when we hung out, the best time, and it had been so long. Three weeks without seeing his face had felt like an eternity. “Umm, tonight?”

  I glanced at Anna, checking to see if there was any wiggle room there. Maybe she’d do me a solid and let me bail. . . But, no, actually. I didn’t want to bail. I hardly got to see her since she had her dear professor. Plus, Abram.

  Victor seemed to hesitate for a moment before asking, “You already have plans?” His voice sounded funny.

  “Who is it?” Anna whispered, frowning at me.

  “It’s Victor,” I mouthed.

  She jumped up on the couch, her eyes huge, her grin even bigger. “INVITE HIM!” she loud-whispered. “You haven’t seen him in weeks.”

  I glanced at Abram. He was nodding. “Do it,” he mouthed.

  “I do h—have plans.” Suddenly, I was hot. Sweaty. This was not unusual when I thought about seeing Victor again, or when I knew we’d be seeing each other soon, or when we were together. It was a sensation that was both delightful and uncomfortable, but I refused to think too much about it.

  We are friends. He is my friend. I am his friend. Friends. F–R–I–E–N–D–S.

  “Oh. I see.” He sounded stiff, a little robotic. “I see.”

  “Anna, her cousin, and—well, we are going to that art exhibit, the Monet thing, at The Central. Do you want to come?”

  “Oh!” Now he sounded happy, maybe even relieved? “Yes. Absolutely. That sounds great. I’d love to. What time?”

  My heart did a little flip thing and I ignored that too. Eventually, I’d just get used to heart flips and body sweats. No biggie. “We’re heading over in an hour. Want to meet us there?”

  “Sure. I’ll get ready. See you then.” He sounded like he was smiling, which made me smile, but I’m sure my smile was much goofier than his.

  “Okay. Great. See you then. Bye.”

  “Bye, Emily.”

  He clicked off and I lowered my phone, still smiling at the screen. What a great day. Everything is coming up Emily!

  I felt two shoes nudge my legs and looked up to find both Anna and Abram giving me meaningful looks.

  “What?” My eyes bounced between the pair.

  Abram fluttered his eyelashes and sighed dramatically. “Oh, Victor.” Given his bushy beard, man bun, and muscly chest, he looked ridiculous. Anna giggled.

  “Shut it.” I crossed my arms, glaring at them both. “I do not sound like that.”

  “You totally do.” Anna wagged her eyebrows, setting down her wineglass to rub her hands together. “And now I’m super excited. This is going to be so good!”

  Abram nodded, an undeniably mischievous glint in his eyes, and he lifted his hand for Anna to give him a high five. “Yep. This’ll be good.”

  My face fell, my heart galloping as I surveyed my friends with growing dread. “You two better be on your best behavior. No funny business!”

  “Us?” Abram pointed to himself, like he was offended. “Now, when have we ever been funny?”

  Anna giggled again. It sounded evil.

  Crap.

  Chapter 17

  *Emily*

  In retrospect, I should’ve done so many things differently that night.

  For example, the kiss on the cheek. It had been a terrible mistake. Over three weeks ago, when Victor and I had hung out at his house, we’d discussed how friends greet each other. A high five, a handshake, an air kiss, hug, some combination. So many options. We’d decided a kiss on the cheek was what we as friends would do moving forward.

  Great. Fine. Whatever. No big deal.

  I thought I was prepared because I’d been thinking about and anticipating our next greeting, a cheek kiss, since we’d had the conversation. I’d been imagining it, living it over and over in my head, and it always happened the same way (in my head): He’d show up. We’d smile friend-smiles at each other. I’d say something pleasant—or he would—as I gave him a quick, benign peck. He’d do the same. We would move away from each other because it would be easy because we were friends because that’s all that he wanted and that’s all that I wanted and so . . . there you go.

  But that’s not what happened.

  “How tall is he?” Abram craned his neck, his head high above the crowd, and inspected the faces coming through the main entrance.

  We were standing past the large foyer, before the line for entry, next to one of the soaring columns bracketing the wide cement and stone staircase. Our spot gave us a good view of the entire area, and—as long as we were watching carefully—Victor wouldn’t be able to enter without us seeing him.

  I shrugged and glanced at my phone, rereading Victor’s latest message for the fourth time. “I don’t know. He’s pretty tall, but maybe a little shorter than you. He should be here any minute. His last text said he’d found a parking spot close by.”

  “It’s a Monet miracle,” Anna muttered, and we exchanged a quick commiserating look. We’d been forced to park on campus, about three-fourths of a mile away, after circling the lot and street parking for a half hour.

  Usually, the museum wasn’t crowded and finding a spot or a friend among the patrons wouldn’t have been a problem. But the Monet exhibit had drawn an unexpected crowd of impressionist enthusiasts. Or maybe I was just out of touch with what the artsy people found exciting.

  “Do you have a picture of him?”

  “Uh, no.” I shook my head, my heart giving an odd thump. Victor had a picture of us, a selfie taken while we’d been hiking around Walden Pond in the snow, but I’d felt weird about asking him to send it to me.

  “What about his faculty picture?” Anna pulled out her phone.

  “He doesn’t have one up on the website.” I didn’t volunteer how I knew this, which—between you and me—was because I’d been missing him a few weeks ago and convinced myself it was perfectly normal to seek out his photo on the university website.

  “So then, what’s his hair color? Brown? Red? Blond? What’s his skin color? Eye color? Big nose or small nose? What does he look like?”

  “His hair is dark brown, his skin is white, he wears black horn-rimmed glasses, and he looks like—” I sighed, feeling unaccountably flustered as I conjured Victor’s handsome face and sharply intelligent eyes. Stalling, I tucked my phone away in my purse and wiped my sweaty hands on my skirt. It wasn’t hot, but my hands were hot. I blamed the crowd.

  “He looks a little like Captain America, but with darker hair.” This statement earned Anna eyebrow raises from both Abram and me. She looked between us, also putting her phone away. “He does. I mean, he did when I had him for research methods. But”—she gestured to me—“I haven’t seen him since he lost weight. So, I don’t know if that’s true now.”

  Abram glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Your guy looks like Captain America?”

  I shook my head, my neck now hot. But Anna was right. Victor looked almost exactly like Chris Evans, but with darker hair and jade-green eyes. “He’s not my guy. But, okay, maybe, yes. I guess he does kind of look like the actor w
ho plays Captain America.”

  Anna snapped her fingers. “Chris Evans. That’s the actor.”

  “Right. Maybe a little.” A LOT. “Whatever.” I wiped my hands on my skirt again.

  Anna’s cousin moved his attention back to the door, his eyes narrowing. “So, I’m looking for a dark-haired Captain America look-alike.”

  We were all quiet then, and I swallowed for no discernible reason, feeling extremely nervous for no discernible reason, and wishing I’d worn something else—like pants with pockets instead of this black dress with its short circle skirt and long sleeves and square neckline and pockets—for no discernible reason.

  Abram’s spine straightened, the sudden movement catching my attention. “What? What is it?”

  “Wait,” he said, lifting a hand. He leaned to one side, closer to me, and pointed toward the entryway. “Is that him?”

  My heart quickening, I followed my friend’s line of sight and sucked in an abridged breath. My gaze connected with Victor’s. My heart lurched. He smiled. So did I.

  He was wearing a suit. The last time I’d seen him in a suit had been at the Pinkery, when I’d been stage three naked attire. Furthermore, his hair was styled, and his jaw looked remarkably square, chiseled. Why does his jaw look so chiseled? Is it the suit? Is it because I haven’t seen his face in so long? What is it? Bah!

  His eyes never leaving mine, Victor’s lips formed the words Excuse me and Pardon as he stepped around and between people.

  Next to me, Abram said something like, “You were right, Anna. Looks just like him.”

  And Anna said something like, “Even more now, actually. Wow. He’s really pretty.”

  But I wasn’t paying much attention to my friends. My stomach all aflutter, I was unable to keep my feet from taking several steps forward as soon as he broke through the crowd, nor was I able to stem my grin as we both stopped, two feet separating us.

  Victor’s gaze swept over my face. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” I waved. Inanely. Still smiling.

  “You look . . .” He swallowed, cleared his throat, his eyebrows pulling together and then up, causing wrinkles to form on his forehead. “Thank you for inviting me. It’s good to see you.”

  I lost myself for a split second in my admiration for his stunningly intelligent eyes, but then shook myself before my staring veered into creeper territory. “It’s good to see you too. I’m glad you could make it,” I said on a rush, a little too loud. And because I’m a doofus, I also added, “You look very handsome. I like your suit.” I wasn’t just nervous; I was extremely nervous; and I didn’t have the mental wherewithal to question why I was this level of nervous or consider whether complimenting his suit and calling him handsome was prudent.

  Thankfully, his forehead cleared, and he laughed lightly. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said earnestly, and my eyes dropped to his right cheek, reminding myself he would go left. Shifting my weight, it was now time for the cheek kiss.

  Now.

  Now was the time.

  . . . Now.

  I licked my lips, staring at the place where I should kiss him, but was distracted again by the line of his jaw. It was really just super angular tonight, almost sharp-looking. Clearly he’d just shaved because Victor’s omnipresent five-o’ clock shadow was absent. From where I stood, I also detected a faint hint of aftershave, which further supported my shave theory.

  Up close, when I kissed his cheek, the scent would probably be stronger. . . shoooooooooot.

  I couldn’t move. My throat was dry and tight at the thought. Why hadn’t I insisted on a fist bump as our friend greeting? A fist bump was a perfectly fine greeting. I must’ve been out of my mind agreeing to any kind of lip-to-skin contact. I mean, I’d done it before, but tonight for some reason I couldn’t—

  “Emily,” he whispered, my name a quiet, scraping sound.

  My eyes cut to his and I found Victor’s focus on my cheek. Or maybe on my mouth? I couldn’t be sure. Also, he wasn’t smiling anymore. Probably because I was acting so weird. Stop being a lunatic and just kiss him!

  It’s what we’d agreed, right? It’s what we’d decided. There was no reason not to do it. Say something pleasant, give him a quick peck, and then lean away. It’ll be so easy. It’s no big deal.

  Sucking in a deep inhale for courage, I skipped the “say something pleasant” part and stepped forward, laying my hand on his coat at the shoulder, and closed my eyes. Aiming for his cheek, I realized too late that I’d gone slightly off course. I’d ventured too far, stepped too close, and my lips pressed against the hard bone of his jaw, my nose brushing his ear.

  And so I loitered, frozen, debating whether I should give him an additional kiss to correct my error, this time with my eyes open so as to ensure I found the center of his cheek. But in that split second, before I could make up my mind, I felt the warmth of his palms and the firm dig of his fingers on my back just as he placed a soft, lingering kiss on my neck.

  On.

  My.

  Neck.

  My eyes flew open, aware of so, so much and all at once. Like how he’d pulled me against him, my front pressed completely to his. Like how his lips hadn’t moved or lifted, but instead remained on my pulse point. Like how the scent I’d identified as aftershave was actually just shaving cream, and his skin smelled simply delicious. Like how his breath on my neck caused an involuntary reaction in me, raised goose bumps on my arms and chest, and speedily manifested as a twisting ache of desire between my legs.

  Like how my brain wasn’t working because my imagination had taken over, debuting a deluge of un-friend-like thoughts.

  A suit? Was that all it took? A suit and the smell of shaving cream? I struggled to find the surface of my confused haze, break through to the other side where I didn't have these kinds of feelings for Victor anymore. Ha ha, Emily. You nut. This is your friend, not a man. Clearly, you need to get laid.

  NOT BY HIM!

  Oh God.

  My stupid imagination, imagining all the stupid things, making me feel foolish and flustered. And yet, now, here, in this museum, surrounded by an unexpected crowd of impressionist enthusiasts, something was really happening.

  Victor’s lips and nose trailed lightly up my neck to my jaw, placing another lazy kiss there, and then another in the center of my cheek, all the while I stood perfectly still and my heart beat like a frightened rabbit because something was most definitely happening.

  What is happening?

  And then, someone cleared their throat loudly behind me—a man . . . No. Not a man. An Abram—and I felt Victor stiffen, his fingers at my back applying more pressure as he lifted his head.

  “You must be Dr. Hanover,” Abram’s voice said just as Victor straightened fully, his attention skipping over my face and moving behind me. I watched Victor’s eyes with rapt fascination as they narrowed slightly, presumably finding Anna’s cousin.

  “I’m Abram.” My childhood friend was now suddenly standing next to us, and I glanced at him. Abram had extended his hand for a shake toward my . . . my . . . my not childhood friend.

  I looked back to Victor and watched as he stood straighter, his hands falling away from me, a small frown settling between his eyebrows.

  “Anna’s cousin, Em’s friend,” Abram added. I didn’t like how he’d said friend and I didn’t like how his voice sounded funny, deeper, or how the massive, dazzling smile on his mouth twinkled in his eyes. “Nice to meet you.”

  What is happening? What is Abram doing?

  Wait, wait, wait. Is he trying to make Victor jealous?

  I knew Abram had a history of trying to make his friend Kaitlyn’s boyfriend jealous, because he hated that guy. Also, he sometimes flirted with other girls in front of their boyfriends, because he liked to flirt, and girls with boyfriends were safe flirt repositories because they were already taken. But I’d never thought he’d do something like that with me.

  So, what is he doing?

 
Victor stepped back, away from me, and seemed to hesitate for just a split second, the intensity of his frown increasing. But then his features cleared of all expression and he accepted Abram’s hand, his mouth curved into not quite a smile.

  “Nice to meet you.” My former professor was formal and polite, and the unmistakable edge of aloofness sent something cold and hard to the base of my throat.

  Theirs was a quick handshake—grasp, down, up, release—but it looked like it might’ve been a little painful. I noticed both men flex their fingers afterward, my unease making me breathless.

  As Abram stepped back, still smiling, I shot him a warning glare. It did nothing to disarm the mischievous death ray in his eyes. In fact—the fiend!—he winked at me.

  Oh no!

  I looked over just in time to catch Victor’s brief glance, and my heart plummeted. If I’d been a scholar of anything over the last few months, it had been as a student of the many expressions of Victor Hanover. The brilliance in his eyes had dimmed and the subtle unhappiness in the line of his jaw was unmistakable. But before I could say anything—not that I knew what to say or why I needed to say anything at all—he turned to Anna and gave her a temperate smile.

  “Anna. Good to see you.” Victor extended his hand to her.

  She took it and returned his welcome, their shake much more leisurely than the previous one with Abram.

  “Professor Hanover. I’m so glad you could join us.”

  “Please, call me Victor.” His smile warmed and he released her hand, stuffing both of his in his pants pockets.

  “Oh! Can I call you Vic?” Her smile was really big. Really. Big.

  He seemed genuinely charmed and laughed, shrugging. “Only if I can call you Na.”

  And that made her laugh, and so I laughed. But then I stopped laughing almost immediately and swallowed because, even to my own ears, the laugh sounded a little frantic.

  CALM DOWN RIGHT NOW! But I couldn’t. I was too agitated. I couldn’t quite think. Something had happened between us! Or, rather, something had almost happened. Or maybe nothing had happened.