by DM Davis
Yeah, his indifference is really a siren song to women, and probably men, to meet his challenge and climb his icy Mount Everest.
His hand shoots out to stop me, his head shaking in disbelief that I’m running off.
Yeah, I hear your siren song, but my climbing legs are broken.
He must read something in my eyes, or on my face, or my own neon sign above my head that says “out of order” as he lowers his hand and graces me with what I think is a rare, full-on smile. He nods, his eyes gleaming with warmth and sadness. “Goodbye, Lauren. It was a pleasure.”
I arrive at the office on time, wishing I’d picked up a Diet Coke for myself along with Silvy’s coffee…errr…dessert. But then I’d be late, and it’s already going to be a busy day. There’s print work to finalize for our in-flight magazine. I’ve got one more layout change I need to finish, approve, and then it’s off to the printer. Water is my usual drink, at least until the afternoon, but today I need a little more. The run-in with Mr. Dark and Dreamy has left me shaken. But not stirred. Definitely not stirred.
“Lauren,” Silvy calls as I turn the corner to my office.
Glancing over my shoulder, I motion with my head for her to join me and continue to my desk. I plunk down her coffee and pull out my laptop as she walks through my door.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Her perkiness brings a curve to my lips.
Why does she even need coffee?
“Mornin’.” I hold out her drink. “For you.”
“Oh my god, you didn’t?”
“I did.”
She replaces the cup in my hand with a larger Styrofoam version. “I did, too.”
She brought me a Sonic Diet Coke. “I was wishing I’d gotten one on my way in.”
“Great minds think alike.” She plops in a chair, beaming, and takes a sip of her morning sugar fix. “Oh my God! This is so good.”
Chuckling, I imagine the sugar racing through her body making every cell vibrate with excitement. “I don’t know about great minds, but we definitely have each other’s backs when it comes to feeding our addictions.”
“Yes, great minds,” she reiterates with an exaggerated eye roll.
“Thank you.” I sigh in relief, some of the stress leaving my body as I take a long draw.
It’s only a Diet Coke, Lauren. It’s not like she took away all your work and sent you on vacation. Still, it’s the small things that matter sometimes.
“Lauren?”
“Yeah.” I meet her apprehensive gaze.
“Have you thought any more about that class?” She places her hands on my desk, leaning forward. “I know you’re not crazy about trying it, especially not alone. I was thinking I could take the class with you. You know, for moral support. Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to learn a thing or two.” She sits back and shrugs. “Who knows, we may meet some cute guys.”
Her look of hope is hard to deny, but I’m not ready.
Will I ever be?
“Can I think on it?” I know I said that last time. “A week. Give me a week.”
“Sure.” She’s disappointed.
“I promise, I’ll give it serious consideration.” I think I’ve said that before too, darnit.
Avoidance much?
“Okay, no problem.”
I catch her before she disappears through my office door. “Thanks again for the drink.”
“Yeah. Thanks for the coffee.” Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I hate disappointing her. I’m not sure what a week will do to make me ready to take her up on her offer, but I breathe a sigh of relief knowing I have seven days to think it over before she brings it up again.
As I wait for my laptop to boot up, my thoughts return to the coffee shop and the overwhelming need I felt to go back inside as soon as I stepped foot out the door. It was as if I was losing the ability to breathe the farther I got away from him. I stopped on the sidewalk a few feet from the entrance, clutching my chest and breathing to be sure I still could. Nearly as fast as the episode hit me, it was gone.
Mr. Dark and Dreamy delivers a powerful punch. It’s a good thing I escaped as quickly as I did—relatively unscathed.
THEODORE THOMAS KELLEN WADE
Bloody. Fucking. Hell. What was that?
She completely blindsided me. For a man who speaks for a living, I lost the ability to do so when my eyes locked on her smiling face. Quite a remarkable face at that. I don’t think I’ve seen blue eyes such as hers. It wasn’t only the colour. It was the intensity behind them, the need, the desire, the recognition—a feeling of coming home—that was a punch to the gut.
Her comment about me giving off a don’t fuck with me vibe is spot on. It’s a persona I’ve perfected over the years. Yet she was completely unaffected by it. She found it humourous, whereas I was flustered by her all-too-seeing eyes.
I managed to pull myself together long enough to spit out two phrases, but I was foolish enough to let her leave without anything more than her first name and a lingering ache in my chest.
Coffee in hand, I rushed to the door hoping to spot her on the street and remedy that misstep. Unfortunately, the vision from a moment ago was nowhere to be seen. Air missing from my lungs, blood pounding in my ears, and a hunger I have never felt before had me struggling to get to my car so I could sit before I fell over.
Never has a woman affected me like this. Never.
The trek to work is mindless as I replay the morning’s encounter over and over. I’m a bloody fool for letting her get away. That connection—damn that connection—was a living entity, a live wire. My fingers burn to touch her. My lips tingle to join with hers. And yet, for all the sexual attraction, it’s deeper than the physical. It’s as if the universe opened up and offered my soulmate on a coffee-laden platter, and now that she’s gone, the awakening induced is painful, remorseful, like I left half of me behind.
Which is ridiculous, considering my heart’s on lockdown. My ex stole my soul, and even the philosopher in me doesn’t believe in soulmates, much less the romantic that died over four years ago.
I bury the fanciful notion, snuff out the light lit by the blue-eyed vision, and get on with my day of educating privileged, overindulged, hormone-riddled new adults who believe the world revolves around them, and that I’m merely here to serve them knowledge in meaningful thought-inducing chunks, earning them a place on the Dean’s List and love from their parents.
My morning coffee exchange has me off-kilter. It’s exam day, and I’m restless. I have assignments to grade, but I need to maintain the appearance of watching their studious faces as they work their way through the test, ensuring no one cheats. Thankfully, this class meets in the lecture hall where there are more seats than students, allowing room to spread out.
Only twenty minutes remain, then I’m done for the day. I’m usually more attentive, but exam days bore me, and LaurenGate isn’t helping. I prefer interacting with my students, keeping them engaged. Lately, though, the distraction carries over to non-exam days too.
I need to work on that.
“Professor Wade?” Speaking of privileged, overindulged, hormone-riddled new adults, the shrill voice rings in my ears like a storm siren.
I look up, not because I want to see her face or acknowledge her presence, but if she knew I recognize her voice, she would take extreme pleasure in that knowledge and believe it means something it does not.
“Ms. James?” I arch a meaningful brow and deaden my eyes. She’ll find no life or hope in my gaze.
She tongues her pen, sucking on the tip coyly as her fingers run up and down her cleavage.
My cock shrivels, urging my eyes to look away. My stomach revolts and wants to show the class what I had for breakfast. I clench my jaw, not willing to give up my LaurenGate coffee—the only good thing this day holds thus far.
“For question six…”
I swear she said sex, not six.
My favourite student’s head whips up so fast I fear she may have whi
plash and glares at Susan James, confirming what I heard was accurate. Sam, Samantha Cavanaugh, is an exception to my harsh opinion of most of my students. She’s hardworking, highly intelligent, and doesn’t attempt to use her feminine wiles to leverage higher grades. She is also deeply in love with one of this town’s hottest bachelors, Joseph McIntyre. Ms. Cavanaugh’s interest in me is professional—educational—and for that she has my esteem and full support in a purely platonic, appropriate manner.
“—are you wanting our essay to be expository or persuasive?” Ms. James drones on.
“Read the instructions,” Ms. Cavanaugh responds with a level of annoyance she can get away with.
A few other students murmur similar responses, no less irritated. I want to high-five them all.
I motion to the class as Susan James glares at Sam before returning her hungry gaze to me—lucky me. “Listen to your peers, Ms. James. All the information you need is provided on the papers in front of you.” If you gave your schoolwork the same attention you give me, you’d be passing with flying colours.
I give Sam Cavanaugh a thankful nod and assess the class as they settle back into their test, dismissing the unnecessary interruption.
Students like Ms. James make me doubt my chosen profession.
I’m keen on investments and writing. Perhaps I should seriously consider a change of vocation. I long to shed the curmudgeonly charade before it’s no longer an act.
“This is your ten-minute warning.”
Come on clock, can’t you tick any faster?
I check my phone hoping for a distraction. I’m happy to see a text from Reese.
Reese: Wanna meet for a beer?
Me: Yes. What time? Where?
Reese: 5. Usual place.
Me: Aces.
Perfect. I could use a pint or two, and it gives me time to run my errand before meeting him.
“Five minutes. As you finish, place your exam on the corner of my desk, then you’re dismissed.” That is my final warning. I’m sure many won’t finish. I’m an arsehole and tough.
I eat up the last few minutes responding to emails.
When my alarm chimes, I let out a sigh of relief. “Time’s up. Turn in your exam, complete or not. Ensure you have your name on it if you don’t want a zero.” I shut my laptop and stand by my desk watching as they trudge to the front, some happy and relieved, others like zombies, resigned to their fate.
“See you on Wednesday.” It’s my attempt at encouragement, letting them know tomorrow will come no matter their fate. Life is more than one exam on any given day.
After the last student turns in their paper, I head out, sloughing my unrest with each step that brings me closer to my car.
My errand is complete, quite successfully, I might add. My spirits are higher than they have been in a while, despite Susan James and the intolerable reminder that I’m failing as a professor. Not in quality of content, but in relational student-teacher interactions. My hard arse-demeanor has done nothing for the students who are there to get an education, nor has it protected me from unwanted advances.
I’m buggered, and yet my newly awakened spirit is oblivious. LaurenGate is to blame for the optimism, no doubt.
Inside the pub, I find Reese comfortably situated at our usual table, grasping a pint. He must have felt me coming as a second pint arrives as I hang my coat on the hook at the end of our booth. Perfect timing. I thank the waitress, smile, and shake Reese’s hand. “Hey, mate, what’s up?”
“It’s been a crazy week, and it’s only Monday.”
Tell me about it. He has no idea.
He recounts the details of his day and this bird he fancies at work, which rarely turns out well. He’s not the best at learning from his mistakes or thinking with the head on his shoulders instead of the little man between his thighs. And no, he wouldn’t appreciate my little man reference. I’ll keep that to myself, but my smirk is on full display.
Reese is a good-looking guy—muscular build, blond hair, blue eyes, silver-tongued devil—who does not have the best track record with women. He loves them. He just can’t commit to one. He’s twenty-eight, the same age as me. This really is the time to be wild and get it out of our system, right? At least for him, this works. I’m more of a one-woman kind of man, looking to find what my parents have and what my grandparents had. I desire quality over quantity.
I thought I’d found her a few years back. It ended up not to be the case, at least not for her.
I’ve essentially given up on women.
The vision from this morning pops into my head—Lauren—front and centre. Her warm smile and come-hither eyes packaged in a body that was made for sin, but saints would worship.
“So, how’d it go with Simon? Did you like the place?” Reese draws my attention and saves me from a rock-hard cock while out with my mate—not ideal.
“It’s great. Thanks for the introduction.” Simon is an acquaintance of his who has space for lease in his new dojo. “It’s perfect for my needs, top notch facility.” I smile, thankful for the break. I’ve struggled to find good accommodations. I only hold a few sessions every couple of months, so it’s difficult to find appropriate locations with space for evening classes.
“Glad to hear it. When does your next class start?”
“Next month.” I’ve held off registration since the day and time couldn’t be confirmed without a location. Now that I have it, I’m ready to go.
It’ll be good to get another class started.
I need the distraction.
FOR THE PAST WEEK, I’VE SCANNED every room, every street, every car. Crowded rooms fill me with hope. My usual coffee shop has me hard as soon as I open the door. Even the smell of the dark brew sets my cock twitching to attention. My surroundings have become a hunting ground, seeking out the one person I can’t forget—I don’t want to forget. A vision of golden hair and blue eyes that haunts me.
Lauren.
My attraction to her confounds me. It only took that one soul-penetrating, eye-locking moment to light a fire that I’ve been fighting to suppress ever since.
My recurring dreams are back full force nearly every night. The woman from the coffee shop is her. I know it’s her. The woman from my dreams. My apparition. The lack of her presence in my life does not diminish its flame in the least.
I cannot explain it.
I cannot deny it.
And I absolutely cannot fathom the idea of never seeing her again.
“Jesus, man. Give it a rest.” Reese shakes his head, scanning the bar, his hands splayed. “The chick is not here. Let it go already and move on to the next fantasy.”
“I’ll find her.” I have to. I don’t tell him she is a fantasy—a dream—come to life. Literally. He wouldn’t believe me. I’m not sure I believe me.
To my right, Marcus chuckles, “Let him have this. It’s been a long time since our boy’s been interested in a woman.” He takes a drink and shakes his head. “Long damn time,” he whispers, piercing me with his stare.
He knows this is different. Marcus is an intuitive fuck. Sometimes I think he knows me better than I know myself. Where Reese is all fun and games, Marcus is deep, cavernous depths. He’s all soul and heart, which fits since he’s a professor and senior associate dean at SMU’s Meadows School of the Arts.
“Is that her?” Marcus nods over my shoulder. “In the back corner.”
I’ve had my eye on the door watching every face that comes and goes. She’s not here. Yet my gut tells me to take a better look.
My body follows my head as I turn, zooming in on the table with a brown-haired woman and two men, one dark and the other light-headed. The blond guy leans over, and that’s when I see her, shining like the sky opened up, rays of light wrapping her in effervescence.
“Fuck me. That is her,” I manage as all the air leaves my body.
She’s here.
“What?” Reese’s tone conveys his disbelief.
“Really?” Marcus’ hopefulne
ss speaks to the die-hard romantic he is. “I was kidding.”
“That’s her.” I grip the bar. A flash of my dream, of that face, that smile, and those golden curls plays before my eyes. I didn’t even remember I’d seen her face in my dream until now. I always remember it more of an essence of the woman and a feeling of complete joy and peace—the same feeling filling me now.
Goddamn, I’m rock hard at the sight of her, at the certainty that she is the woman from my dreams.
“What are you waiting for?” Reese nudges me forward.
Marcus grabs my arm. “Wait. Look. Are you sure she’s not on a date?”
Leave it to Marcus to take the wind right out of my sails. He’s pragmatic—and correct. I need to scope out the scene to see what I’m stepping into.
We move to the end of the bar where she’s in my sightline but I’m not directly in hers. As anxious as I am to be seen by her, I’m not prepared for the sight before me. She’s even more exquisite than I remembered. A siren to my sealed-off heart that’s found a reason to beat again, thumping in overtime, struggling to keep the blood pumping to my brain instead of my cock. If I thought our first encounter was a blow to my gut, this is a sucker punch to my bollocks. I fight to stay upright, hanging on to the bar, catching my breath, and ignoring my mates who, like me, wonder what the bloody hell is going on.
The blond guy sticks close, hovering, protective like a lover, or a man who wants to be—yearns to be.
I can relate.
“Definitely a date. See the way he’s eyeing her?” Reese says between pouring beers from our pitcher.
“I don’t think so. Or she’s not that into him,” Marcus postulates.
Her head falls back on a laugh I can’t hear but imagine it’s a joyous sound. But then her hand covers her mouth, stifling her reaction—censoring herself. She stiffens, averts her eyes before turning back to her friends with a smile that doesn’t seem genuine.
Sad. She’s sad.
