Sticky Notes - A clean romance (Ethel King Series Book 1)

by Sherri Schoenborn Murray

“I wanted to remind you, Grandma, that I’m having lunch with Joe.”

  “You’re not seeing Joe again, are you, Katherine?”

  “I’ll be seeing him when I eat lunch.” Grandma had always voiced her aversion to Joe. She simply didn’t understand how a male and a female could be good friends. It was probably a generational thing.

  Behind her, Benton loudly cleared his throat. “Tell Ethel hello for me.”

  She wasn’t about to tell Grandma hello.

  “Did I hear someone in the background, Katherine?”

  “No, no one of importance, Grandma.”

  “Ethel, it’s Quinn Benton,” he said loudly.

  Katherine covered the mouthpiece and closed her eyes. Now Grandma would bombard her with a gazillion questions.

  “Oh, tell Quinn hello.”

  She wasn’t about to tell Quinn hello. Grandma would then ask her to hand him the phone, and when Katherine refused, she’d give her the little “honor thy grandparents” lecture.

  “I’m in his office to apologize”—she lowered her voice—“for my first visit.”

  “And I’d had such a fine morning.” Benton was probably addressing the plant.

  He had an admirer, possibly one of his past blind dates. Maybe no one had told him that yellow meant friendship. In romance, yellow flowers were the kiss of doom.

  “Oh, I’m so proud of you, honey. I need to go, as I’m already running late for the senior luncheon. I’ll get off right now, and say a wee prayer for the two of you.” Grandma hung up on her.

  “Uh, my grandmother says hello.” She returned to the folding chair and sat down. The thick, black curlicue phone cord encased three sides of Benton.

  Instead of untangling himself, he rested his chin on his hand, looking at her. He appeared bored by her charades. She bit the insides of her cheeks to keep from smiling. If he didn’t do something about the cord soon, she’d flub her apology.

  “Miss King, I’m at the point that an apology is no longer necessary. And yes, I am sorry to say that I do not desire your presence at Evans’s get-togethers. He knows full well it has nothing to do with the apology or lack thereof. It has more to do with . . .”

  Was he implying that he didn’t care about her as a person or a student, not that it mattered? Well, yes, it did matter! After last Friday when he’d taken her home, and the silent camaraderie they’d shared in the car, his renewed aversion to her company surprised her.

  She bit her lower lip. It was time for a stellar apology. Evans said something about respect. She needed to show Benton the same respect and regret that she would have shown Evans or Cindy given the same situation.

  “Miss King . . . are you listening?”

  She fished her apology outline out of her front pocket.

  “Charlene Strauss, the department chair, occasionally stops by, randomly, unannounced. I value being employed by the university, and this situation could be misconstrued.” His chest expanded beneath the cord.

  “It’s not like I wrapped it multiple times and knotted in the back and slapped a swath of duct tape across your mouth.” She bit the insides of her cheeks at the picture she’d painted. “Unwind yourself if you’re so inclined.”

  “Unwind yourself, what kind of term is that?” He sighed deeply and glanced toward the door.

  “Professor Benton, I’m sorry that it’s taken me so long to tell you that I am indeed sorry for my behavior in your office.”

  “I think now is a good time to interrupt, Miss King, as I already see the need for an ongoing apology. I think it best that you simply consider the job done.”

  She hadn’t even reached the heart of her sorry speech. “After several days of contemplation, I now understand why I was so abrupt, abrasive”—she glanced up at him—“rude, disrespectful, and alarming.”

  “I forgive you.”

  “I’m sorry, Professor Benton. I’ve been convicted several times now to tell you how poorly I feel for my behavior in your office. And, it comes down to this: I was a poor loser.

  “During my undergraduate years, I played tennis for the U of I.”

  “Evans already informed me. Apology accepted.”

  His tone was pleasant enough that she did not find him altogether convincing. “Though I was usually ranked fifth and finished fifth in the conference, I somewhat got numb to losing in important matches. I had a solid serve, good endurance, but not quite enough speed to be great. Not like Joe—he has fantastic speed and natural explosiveness.”

  “Yes, that’s why they call him Mr. Dynamite.” Benton rolled his eyes. “Now unwind me.”

  She glanced up from her paper. He knew Joe’s nickname. Hmm . . .

  “But in the classroom, I’ve always been able to shine. And, the B was a new emotion for me. It felt like a slam. Bottom line, Benton . . . Professor Benton.” She looked directly into his eyes. “I should have been a graceful loser. I’m sorry that I wasn’t.”

  “Apology accepted. Please untie me.”

  “Untie is the wrong verb, Mr. Benton.” She walked behind him. “It’s simply a matter of lifting it up, which you’ve been reluctant to do.” Holding the receiver to the base, she lifted the cord up from around him. Was he kidding about the department chair?

  “Sit down, Miss King.”

  She didn’t like his tone and dutifully returned to the cold metal chair. He was going to threaten her with a minor lawsuit.

  “Now that I no longer fear dismissal, I can focus on your first loss at Wimbledon.”

  She shook her head. “I am not going to repeat my apology.”

  “My attention was divided between Charlene Strauss popping in, and focusing on your little speech.”

  “I’ve officially apologized. Here, you can put it in your scrapbook.” She placed the speech on his desk. “Who’s the admirer?” She nodded toward the potted daisies. “Or are you going to make us wait until Friday to find out?”

  His mouth twitched. “They’re a gift for a very special lady who I’ll be seeing tonight. I didn’t want the flowers to wilt in the car.”

  “I didn’t know you dated during the middle of the week.”

  “There’s six days you don’t know about.” His dark brows lifted. “Or need to know about, for that matter.”

  “You’re right. It’s just that you’re such an open book on Friday nights that, well, I don’t think the group knows you’re also a mid-weeker.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at the door. Of course, he was hinting. He was ready for her to leave.

  “What town is she from?”

  “Moscow.”

  “Oh, Miss Moscow. I’m surprised, Mr. Benton, you’re finally dating someone closer to home. And who’s the gal in the photo?” Her gaze halted on a brass-framed beauty—an auburn-haired young woman who smiled fondly at the camera.

  “My sister, but don’t tell anyone else that. There have been a couple of young women who like to visit my office on occasion, for tutoring, odd bits of advice, apologies.” He met her gaze.

  “How can you even suggest such a thing?” Maybe Angel was one of his regular visitors. She didn’t doubt it.

  “If you do come Friday night, I will not drive you home again. Evans knows that’s the main reason I’m opposed to your company. Driving students home alone is not good protocol.”

  The shrill of the phone reminded her that she’d overstayed her welcome.

  “Hello. Hi, Evans.” He glanced at Katherine. “Miss King, consider the apology complete. Finished.” He covered the mouthpiece. “Do not ever feel compelled to return to my office ever again. Do you understand?”

  For a moment, there was solid eye contact between them. Awkward, yet if she were honest with herself, mesmerizing. Had he always been so appealingly attractive, or was it the angle? He had one of those fine English noses, straight and smooth.

  She should leave now before he read into the, uh . . . stare.

  “Yes, Professor Benton.” She nodded. “I will never, ever, ever, ever again
visit your office.” She didn’t want him to think she were interested. Or even put her in the same category as Angel and whoever else was visiting him.

  A half smile lit his lips, but not his eyes, before he uncovered the receiver.

  “Yes, Evans, Katherine’s leaving. She’s picking up her backpack and starting for the door.”

  Did he really mean what he’d said? Do not ever feel compelled to return to my office ever again. She set her hand on the knob.

  “Yes, she’s alive. I’m alive too. Yes, she apologized. Yes, it was definitely a valid apology, the finale. Yes, it’s finally the end.”

  He sounded relieved.

  Katherine scanned the dimly lit hallway for surveillance cameras. None appeared to be installed yet. From there, she strolled toward the Wallace Cafeteria, where she’d meet Joe.

  Benton was her professor, and she’d just wrapped the phone cord about him, and she should never have mentioned duct tape. Would he consider her behavior flirty? What an awful thought! He has a score of blind dates lined up, including a Miss Moscow tonight. She couldn’t possibly think about the man—he was unpredictable and flighty.

  She needed to talk to Joe. Definitely not Grandma. Despite his flaws, Joe often gave good advice.

  Ж

  Quinn had twenty minutes before his next class. He drummed his fingertips on top of his desk and waited a few minutes in the hope that when he went to Evans’s office, he’d find him there alone. What had just happened was a lot to discuss in front of Cindy and Evans at the same time. They’d often collaborate and gang up on him, but one on one, they were, for the most part, excellent listeners.

  One more minute passed. He couldn’t wait any longer. He knocked on Evans’s office door and stepped inside. Good, he was alone. Head bent, Evans flipped through a textbook.

  “We never heard any yelling. Was her admission of guilt convincing?”

  “Remind me again, so we’re on the same page, and I wish you wouldn’t have encouraged her. Now that she’s apologized, she thinks she can continue coming to the professors’ group.”

  Evans grinned. “Sounds like you finally saw the side of Katherine we’ve been telling you about.”

  “I suppose.” Quinn sat down in the solid wood chair.

  Over the top of his wire spectacles, Evans peered at him. “Not only is she a very sagacious and attractive young woman, she’s also amiable . . . gifted—”

  “Would you say she’s good with duct tape?”

  Evans leaned back in his chair and folded his hands in front of his projected tummy. “What are you implying?”

  Quinn waved a hand toward the door. “Your Katherine wound the phone cord around me once, and even mentioned duct tape.”

  Evans chuckled. “You expect me to believe that?”

  “It’s the truth. I was so worried about Charlene Strauss popping in to say hello and being fired on the spot, that I can only recall snippets of her lengthy Wimbledon speech.”

  Evans peered at him for a moment and then, picking up the phone, dialed a four digit extension, probably Cindy’s. “Hi, Cindy, Benton’s here. I wanted your female opinion regarding Katherine’s apology when she was in his office. Yes, uh-huh. Benton said she wound the phone cord around him and mentioned duct tape.” Evans glanced at him. “Yes, I’m absolutely serious. Well, you and I both know the two don’t get along. Uh-huh . . .” He nodded and added a couple more uh-huhs before hanging up.

  “What’d she say?”

  “Cindy’s opinion is . . . Katherine’s either afraid of you or very attracted to you. Which I highly doubt. She thinks the phone cord might be her way of channeling energy. I could do further research if you’re so inclined?”

  “Very attracted to me?” Quinn scratched the side of his neck.

  “Cindy thinks it may be possible that Katherine’s not even aware of it. I think it’s highly unlikely myself given your history. She wouldn’t even tell you where she lived. That is not the typical sign of an infatuated female.”

  “So your interpretation is she’s afraid of me?”

  “If she’s afraid of anything, it’s your grading system, but you’re right: wrapping you in phone cord is not a logical way to improve her grade.” Evans’s stroked his beard.

  Quinn rose to pace the small room. “So you’re saying . . . Katherine is quite possibly interested in me?”

  “Highly unlikely. The two of you don’t get along.”

  How she’d gone about unwrapping the cord from around him had almost been like being at the barber-shop. There’d been an indifference, not intimacy. No, he couldn’t possibly think Katherine was interested in him. Like Evans had said, it didn’t make one iota of sense. There was only one other theory remaining: Katherine King was afraid of him.

  But that didn’t make sense either. Hmm . . . his memory returned to Friday night when he’d driven her home. In an odd sort of way, they’d gotten along.

  Chapter Twelve

  Blond, blue-eyed, and tan, Joe grinned across the small melamine table at her. He was the best-looking older guy in the cafeteria, and many a female eye measured up Katherine—the girl with Joe Hillis. The food hadn’t improved much since her freshman year when she’d lived on the tenth floor of Theophilus Tower.

  “What have you been up to, Joe?” Katherine asked, hoping his update would be short so that she could share her latest.

  “Christy’s in love with a fellow who goes to Montana State. She may transfer there and sit out a year.”

  “Bummer.” Christy was his best singles player. She’d been seated second in the Big Sky Conference earlier in the year before rolling her ankle.

  “She’s only a sophomore, right?”

  Joe’s nod was followed by a heavy sigh. “Did I tell you I saw Tabitha the other day?”

  Tabitha was one of his old girlfriends. Joe’s narrative went from Tabitha to Sarah, another old flame, who he’d seen from a distance when he’d been running stairs in the Kibbie Dome.

  Katherine eyed the clock. They had fifteen minutes before Joe’s next class, and if she was going to get a word in, it had to be now.

  “I’m having trouble with a particular professor.”

  The vertical line deepened in the middle of Joe’s forehead. She used to call it his thinking line. He wrapped his serving arm around the back of his chair.

  “Is he hitting on you?” Joe’s eyes widened.

  “No.”

  “Then why are you so red?”

  Joe saw right through her.

  “He’s the one who gave me a B.”

  Joe nodded.

  “About a half hour ago, after my last class, I went to his office to apologize for how I complained last week about the B.” Katherine gripped her hands beneath the table.

  “Are you hitting on him?” Joe’s eyes sparkled.

  “No.” She rubbed her eyes with both hands. “Both times that I’ve been to his office, I’ve behaved oddly, Joe.” There, she’d said it.

  “What do you mean, oddly?”

  She shrugged. “Not myself. It’s almost how I used to feel before a match.”

  “Adrenaline.” Wide-eyed, he nodded.

  “I . . . I . . . uh . . .” Flashes of the phone cord around Benton teased her memory. She should have spun his chair, for a final effect, but no, that would probably have unplugged the phone. “Um . . . I wrapped his phone cord around him . . . once. I’d just called Grandma, and the cord encased him, and then I sat down and apologized for the way I behaved my first visit.”

  She sighed deeply and then, slouching her shoulders, waited for Joe’s opinion.

  He tipped his chair back, crossed his arms, and looked around the semi-crowded cafeteria. “How many times have you gone to his office?”

  “This is only the second.” Katherine shook her head. “It’s always because of Evans. Evans inspires me. I get up there, and then I botch it.”

  “Who’s Evans again?”

  “My favorite professor. He and Benton are best frie
nds.”

  “Do you like Benton?”

  Katherine peered down at her salad. “He’s such a dummy.”

  “That’s what you used to say about me.” Joe chuckled. “Is he an older professor?”

  “Younger.”

  “Do you think he’s interested in you?”

  “No. He wouldn’t drive me home the other night when I asked.” She explained how they’d been at Evans’s home for the professors’ group.

  “It doesn’t sound good, Kate.”

  Joe knew she didn’t care for the nickname, but he still called her by it.

  “But then he did take me home last week, and we had a surprisingly good couple of minutes alone in the car. And then I made the mistake of calling him Benton, without the title, and he asked me to keep it intact when I refer to him in the future.”

  “It doesn’t sound good, Kate.”

  “It’s a waste of mental energy. Isn’t it?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m taking a heavy load, Joe. I don’t have time to think about men.”

  “You never do.” He nodded to his right. “I need to get back to work.” They set their food trays on the conveyor belt and headed out the double doors into the bright sunshine.

  “Do you remember your sophomore year, when we first met?” Joe jogged ahead of her on the sidewalk and walked backward so he could see her face.

  “Yes.” She knew exactly where the conversation was heading.

  “You avoided me to the point that on my own, I never would have figured out you were interested in me.”

  Katherine remembered well her desire to run each time she saw Joe Hillis.

  “Then our junior year, Rikki flagged me down and told me.” Rikki was her old roommate. Joe would never have pursued her on his own without Rikki’s insider information. “Do you like this guy, Kate?”

  “Not like that.” She grimaced. “He’s an intelligent dummy.”

  “He sounds perfect for you.”

  “Except he doesn’t like me.”

  “He’d be a fool not to.”

  “He doesn’t. He abhors professor-student relationships. So do I. What am I thinking, Joe? I can’t go wasting mental energy on a professor. Not to mention, I’m taking nine credits in the master’s program, and . . .”