by Tessa Bailey
He went immediately, the shame in her expression impaling him through his midsection. Every word he formulated in his head was wrong. He didn’t even fully understand what he’d done until she reached into her still-open backpack and drew out a small, stapled stack of papers.
“I did the extra-credit assignment. On Lolita.”
Oh, Jesus. This wasn’t happening. He’d forgotten all about the assignment. What had he just done? He’d lost his mind. With shaking hands he wanted to cover with his own, she zipped up her backpack and held it in front of her chest. Like a shield. It made him want to drop back to his knees and beg her not to need a shield from him, but the horror and mortification wouldn’t allow him to move.
Honey moved around him in an exaggerated half circle and trudged down the lecture hall stairs, stopping before she reached the last one. She turned and pierced him with a look. “I have an A in this class. I have an A in every class because I work hard. I don’t need to sleep with my teachers for good grades.” She gave a bitter laugh. “I don’t know what I saw in you, but I’m starting to wonder if I was wrong.”
She turned and headed for the door. Ben went down the stairs after her, not knowing what he’d do when he got to her, but positive he couldn’t just let her walk away. When he reached her, he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but she slapped it away.
“Honey—”
That’s when Peter appeared in the doorway.
Chapter 6
THE THIGH BONE’S connected to the . . . hip bone.
Honey hummed the familiar tune as she studied her human anatomy text book, one leg jiggling beneath the library table. A cleared throat brought her head up in time to receive an irritated look from a guy wearing a faux turtleneck one table over.
Okay. Apparently not everyone enjoyed the classics.
She flipped the book closed and massaged her eyes. What time was it? Without English class to distract her today, she’d spent Tuesday afternoon studying but had continually found her eye drawn toward the literature section. Was it ridiculous that she wanted to pull Lolita from the shelf and see if Ben had checked it out recently? She knew from watching him unload his bag before class that he carried library books.
It was probably best if she headed home for the day before she acted on her wayward impulses. Her hormones had obviously overridden her good sense, because she should be indignant. She should curse the day she walked into Professor Ben Dawson’s classroom. Lord, when she thought about the way he’d accused her of something so sordid, she started conjuring up parting shots she wished she’d delivered. Ones that included the phrase in your dreams and involved throwing a velvet cape over her shoulder as she swept from the classroom.
So, yeah. The situation with Ben had definitely taken an unfavorable turn, but he’d made the mistake of throwing down a gauntlet. Now that she’d had some time to think about what had happened in the classroom yesterday afternoon—oh, and she’d thought about it—it became more and more obvious he’d been calling her bluff. Or what he’d thought was a bluff. While she might have made up her mind to leave seduction to the big girls, she hadn’t expected Ben to come on to her. The way he’d touched her . . . stared at the spot between her legs as if he were famished after three days in the desert . . . she couldn’t shake how that made her feel. Hot, limber. Wanted.
So while she might have gone into class that day with the resolve to let this fascination with Ben go, he’d quite handily solidified it. He’d played a game with her, and to her way of thinking, that meant she could now seduce with impunity. Or tempt, as the case may be.
A yawn overtook her as she shoved her textbook into her backpack. Her grand seduction plans would have to be put on hiatus until tomorrow afternoon. Besides, in a hoodie, leggings, and her ancient, torn-up Converse, she wasn’t even fit to tempt a blind man.
Honey threw her backpack over her shoulder and turned, her progress grinding to a halt when she saw Ben. Tweed jacket thrown over one arm, glasses outlining eyes that looked as weary as she felt, he nonetheless looked mouthwatering. How did he get his hair to look messy and controlled at the same time? Her first instinct was to drop back into her chair, hiding inside her hoodie until he disappeared into the literature section, but she knew she’d be disgusted with herself later if she ducked him.
“I was here first, dammit,” Honey muttered, earning her a “shhh” from the table to her left. “Seriously?” she mouthed at Faux-Turtleneck. When she returned her attention to Ben, he’d just turned into a stack. Nineteenth-century literature. Why did his predictability turn her on? This was clearly a slow descent into madness, but she couldn’t help wanting to take the ride. And hey, if she showed him yesterday hadn’t hurt her, pride would be restored and equal footing regained. Right? Right. Honey turned in a quick circle meant to psyche herself up and headed in the direction Ben had gone, entering the aisle adjacent to his.
She ran her finger along the middle row of books, searching for him through the various gaps. When his face came into view, she encountered the urge to retreat. He looked so serious, head bent over a book, eyebrows knitted together as he flipped pages one way and then the other. When he landed on the page he obviously wanted, he rocked back on his heels with a satisfied nod.
And she giggle-snorted.
His head came up, an indignant frown blanketing his features, as if a reprimand for her outburst in the sacred library hovered right on his tongue. Instead, when he saw her, he went still. “Ms. Perribow.”
“Professor Dawson.” She sent a sidelong glance down the aisle to make sure they were alone. The fact that he did the same sent fizzy prickles down her arms. Maybe because it was an acknowledgment that their conversations weren’t innocent enough to be overheard. “What are you reading?”
He seemed surprised by her casual question—but he slowly held up the book so she could see the cover. “Heart of Darkness.”
She pulled out a book halfway and nudged it back in. “Fitting. What’s up next? Moby Dick?”
His right hand came up to scrub over his jawline. “I assume you’re referring to my behavior yesterday. My accusation . . . everything that happened . . . was out of line. I apologize.” He snapped the book shut. “It won’t happen again.”
Somehow, his stubborn obstinacy only made her want to push harder. Definitely a destructive idea, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. This dim, deserted corner was a neutral setting, and they were alone. The silence of the library felt like a cloak around them, the books muffling everything that took place.
A distinctive throb had started at the elastic waistline of her leggings, making her want to squirm. Amazing, when a giant row of books separated their bodies. The opportunity to make him experience the same couldn’t be passed up. “No. It won’t happen again.” She propped her chin on the shelf. “But you’ll wish it would. Won’t you, Professor Dawson?”
YES. YES, I wish it right now. I’ve been wishing it all day.
Unbelievable. He’d come to the library to escape the constant thoughts of her that seemed to inhabit his classroom. Now, here she was, surrounded by books, which were fast becoming his second favorite thing to look at. Replaced by this petite, fresh-faced blonde who refused to be scared off. Why was he so goddamn relieved by that? By the fact that he could drive a wedge between them, the way he’d done yesterday, only to have her kick it free? The last thing he’d expected was to have her approach him—speak to him—and why did she have to look so cute with her hood drawn up over her head?
After the shitty way he’d felt since yesterday, remembering her shamed expression when he’d put the equivalent of two feet in his mouth instead of one, he was forced to admit he wanted to know more about Honey. Not just how hard she could take it before screaming or if she’d pull his hair, although yeah, he wanted that knowledge in his head, badly.
Hell, though. He wanted to know the girl who wrote the papers. The one who made him feel as if his lectures were having an impact somewhere. The girl behind th
e intelligent eyes that could go from inquisitive to seductive in a heartbeat. She fascinated him on more than one level, and while he wouldn’t act on it, he wasn’t blind enough to deny the different levels of attraction toward her, either. He was too curious.
“Why is your hood up indoors?” Great opener.
She tugged on the drawstrings, tightening the opening until only her nose was visible. “It’s like my own little invisibility cloak. I can hide from mean librarians, chatty classmates, and the shushers.”
“The shushers?”
“Mmm hmm.” She loosened the hood so he could see her eyes once more. The humor in them made the bookcase between them feel ten miles high. “The shushers who shush. I can’t even get away with a shoe squeak in here. You think in the noisiest city on the planet, people would cut each other a little slack.” Her lips tilted at the ends. “You’re a shusher, aren’t you?”
“Shush. Don’t tell anyone.”
Honey laughed into her hoodie sleeve. Ben’s hand turned to a fist to prevent himself from reaching through the gap to tug it away so he could hear the sound. God, was he flirting with her? What an odd turn of events. An unacceptable one that he should cut off immediately, but damn, he wanted a few minutes more. No one was watching. No one would know.
“Are you in this section looking for a specific book? Or are you just hiding from Miss Woodmere?”
Her eyes widened at the mention of Columbia’s notoriously mean librarian. “She’s terrifying.”
“She is,” Ben agreed, taking a step closer to the shelf. Cinnamon. “And she’s rumored to feast on the bones of freshmen, so I’d limit my shoe squeaks if I were you.”
“I appreciate the advice, oh sagest of professors.” Her voice was solemn, but her eyes twinkled. “So do you have a book suggestion? I was thinking I’d pick up something by Austen.” She wet her lips, the twinkle turning heavy. Was she looking at his mouth? “Persuasion, maybe?”
Jesus. Russell was always accusing him of being an epic nerd, and he was beginning to see the truth behind that accusation. Because her clear innuendo was turning him on, but so was the fact that she obviously knew her nineteenth-century literature. If he didn’t reel himself back, he’d be joining her on the other side of the bookcase, and that could not be allowed to happen. All sense of accountability for his actions went out the window when she was within reaching distance. “Persuasion has a happy ending. Not everything does, Ms. Perribow.” Good grief, I just said “happy ending.”
Thankfully, she let it slide, but she didn’t let him off the hook. “I’m young, but I’m not naïve.”
“Everyone says that when they’re young.” He regretted being harsh when she looked away, probably wishing she hadn’t wasted her time talking to him. The loss of her attention dragged his stomach to the floor, and he had to get it back. How? His mind flipped like the pages of a novel. “One time, I got locked in the library after hours. I’d been grading exams and lost track of time.” Hesitant, golden eyes met his once again through the gap, and he immediately felt better. “I went to the front desk, hoping to find someone who could let me out.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I might have seen Miss Woodmere and Dean Mahoney. And she might have been dripping candle wax onto his bald head. While George Michael might have been playing from her computer speakers.”
“No. No way.” Honey shook her head. “You’re a dirty liar.”
He held up both hands, palms out. “His head is pretty shiny. That’s all I’m saying.”
“It’s reflective.” She laughed into her sleeve again. “Why did you tell me that?”
The truth just fell out, tumbling into their dim, secluded corner of the world. “I thought it would be nice if, just once, we didn’t walk away from each other angry or upset.”
He heard her swallow. “I guess I should walk away now before you blow it, huh?”
Ben really didn’t want her to leave. Could have stood there talking to her all damn night. But he’d had his time with her, and he couldn’t be greedy. Not when every moment he spent with her left him wanting more. More. “That’s probably a good idea.”
She stepped back from the shelf. “Goodnight, Ben.”
“Goodnight, Honey.”
He didn’t move again until she’d been gone long minutes.
Chapter 7
A QUARTER MILE from where Honey had grown up in Bloomfield, there was a ramshackle baseball diamond. At least, it had been ramshackle. Every day of her childhood, she rode past it, watching weeds take it over a little more each time, no local kids making use of it as they should. When her parents asked her what she wanted for her seventh birthday, she told them she wanted to fix up the baseball diamond. It took six weeks of hard work. Her friends filtered in and out, helping one day, disappearing the next, but Honey and her parents kept on weeding, laying sod, cleaning up ancient garbage.
When they were finished, it outshined the school baseball diamond. Her father spent hours pitching her the ball while her mother fielded, and she got pretty damn good by the time she turned nine. So good that she signed up for the town Little League. Only to find out it was for boys only.
After her parents asked around and Honey talked to the kids in her class, it became obvious that she wasn’t the only one who hadn’t made the cut. Not just girls, but boys who weren’t friends with the coach’s son or couldn’t afford the uniform fee. So she started her own little league, running it on Saturdays in the diamond near her house. She didn’t charge or turn a single person away, and they had fun. Local vendors started donating items, such as uniform shirts and postgame snacks. It became so popular that kids from the first Little League began dropping out and joining Honey’s. In the end, the original league acquiesced and combined the two, with the promise to run the league in the spirit that should have been intended. They actually called a meeting with Honey at the town diner, two grown men sitting across from a ten-year-old Honey as she sipped a chocolate milk shake and listened to their terms.
Bottom line: Honey didn’t slink off into a corner when things didn’t go her way. And she could be stubborn as hell. Never in her life had she gone after a member of the opposite sex, mostly because she’d always been with Elmer. And after yesterday, when Ben had implied she was naïve, she shouldn’t give him another thought. Unfortunately, their conversation in the library had elevated the too-sexy professor from infatuation to . . . guy she wanted to spend time with. Talk to. Learn more about. In addition to messing up the sheets with him. Sheet messing was definitely still on the agenda.
Honey didn’t know what made her so certain Ben would attend the poetry reading tonight, but she somehow knew he’d be there. Monday after class, he’d obviously been irritated when Winker had said he’d see her at the reading. Even shoving the flyer into his pocket rather than returning it to her. Before they’d parted ways yesterday in the library, she’d been so tempted to ask if he’d be there tonight, but she’d known that if she vocalized the hope, he’d stay away. Which would throw a serious wrench into her seduction plans.
Honey stepped back and looked at herself in the mirror. She’d once again raided Roxy’s closet, and she’d come out with a vintage halter dress in a dusky rose color. It was modest on top, showing no cleavage, but it more than made up for that lack of boob action once you traveled downstairs. The hem brushed the middle of her thighs like a tease, making her legs tingle all the way down to her heeled sandals. She’d opted to pile her hair on top of her head because it kept getting tangled in the dress’s tie at the back of her neck, which kind of made it look like she was dressed for a Homecoming dance, but hey, this was her first seduction, so she would give herself a pass.
Half an hour later, she’d taken the train uptown and walked to the English building on campus. She’d made sure to show up twenty minutes late so she could slide into an empty seat in the back row and not stand around pretending to be fascinated with the snack table. Since starting at Columbia, she’d tried to attend as many of these events as
possible. In the back of her mind, it justified her being here, all the money her parents were spending and loans she’d be paying off for years to come. This experience wouldn’t be wasted because she wasn’t adept at small talk.
When Honey walked into the event hall located on the second floor, she was disappointed to see the poetry reading hadn’t started yet. She didn’t recognize anyone right away, so she paced around the perimeter of the room, resisting the urge to grab her phone and text Abby something meaningless, just to have something to do with her hands. As she always did when attending these events, she wondered how the attendees formed groups so quickly. Did they arrive together, or did they just walk up and mingle with each other? Maybe someday she’d arrive early enough to find out.
“Hey, you.”
Honey turned to find Winker sauntering toward her from the men’s bathroom. “Oh, hey. Before you say anything else, can you tell me your name?”
When he looked at her curiously, she started to ramble. “If we say too much, it won’t be appropriate for me to ask your name. Really, I should know it already, since we’ve been in class together for a month. But I don’t. And there’s a brief window where it won’t be embarrassing for me to ask. Your name.”
“Todd?”
He’d said it like a question. “Are you asking me if that’s your name?”
“Do you want some lemonade?”
“Sure.”
Honey wanted to knock her head against the wall as Todd headed for the snack table. She’d never thought talking to new people would be this hard. Growing up in a small town as she had, everyone she’d spoken to on a daily basis had known her since she was in diapers. Every new person she met here was a fresh start. A blank slate that would start to fill as soon as she opened her mouth. No one else seemed concerned about that, and she wished that were the case for herself. This is why she’d chosen medicine as an eventual career.
