by DM Davis
She sets them on the bar overlooking the dining and living rooms, futzing a moment more. “There. Perfect.” Her smile lands on me. “No one’s ever bought me flowers before.” Her eyes glisten as her hand grasps my shoulder. Bracing herself, she rises on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “Thank you,” she whispers.
Leaving me speechless once again, she steps out of the room to collect her bag.
How can I be the first to buy her flowers?
On the way to the party, I ask her how that’s even possible.
“I suppose that’s not entirely true. I’ve gotten flowers when I’ve been in the hospital. But you’re the first guy to buy me flowers that…well, weren’t a get-well gesture.”
Hospital? “The guys you’ve dated are idiots.”
She laughs. “No argument there.”
“So, you’ve been in the hospital then?” I glance over to gage her reaction.
Her eyes stay trained on the road, her posture rigid as if expecting a blow. “A few times.”
The idea of her being sick—or hurt—guts me and feeds my need to protect her. “Maybe you could tell me more about it.” I grab her hand and squeeze. “When you’re ready.”
Her shoulders relax on an exhale. She turns towards me, placing her other hand on my arm. “You said we should talk and get to know each other tonight. Maybe during the party, we could play twenty questions. Discreet, quick conversations about the questions, each of us having to answer the same question we ask the other.”
“That sounds like a great idea.” I pull my hand away to turn the wheel. “When do we start?”
“As soon as we enter the party.”
I TOSS MY KEYS TO THE valet in exchange for a ticket, pocketing it as I sweep around the car to Lauren. Once again, she didn’t wait for me. “I was coming to open the door for you.”
“Oh, well, now you don’t have to.” She fidgets with her coat.
“I don’t do it because I have to. I do it because I want to,” I chastise, taking her hand, leading her to the grand entrance. “Let me be the gentleman my parents raised me to be.”
A quick tug on my arm pulls me to face her heart-melting eyes that inspect my furrowed brow. “I don’t want to be any trouble. It’s easier—faster—if I open my own door, pull out my own chair. It’s not a reflection on you.”
Moving into her space, ignoring the arrival of other guests, my hand skates across her warm cheek before sinking into her hair. “It is a reflection on me. In this day and age, a woman doesn’t need a man to support her. She doesn’t even need a man to have a baby. You don’t need me to take care of you, but I want to. I want to open doors for you. I want to seat you. I want to hold your hand, touch the small of your back, run my fingers across your skin and kiss you lightly on the cheek. I want to do those things because I care for you. I honour you, not just as a woman, but as my woman.”
She takes in a quick breath, her eyes glistening.
Christ, what daft pricks has she known in her life?
“Theo.” It’s only my name, but on her lips, it packs a wallop of meaning.
“Shh.” I kiss her cheek. “None of that.” I pull back, my chest tight with emotion and full of my need for her, for what she represents—a second chance. “Come on, no more dallying. Let’s go inside so I can show you off.”
With a nod, she turns to the door. “Whose house is this, anyway?”
“Dean Hightower’s. Impressive, isn’t it?”
“Yes, quite,” she whispers, taking in the grandeur that is status quo for this particular Highland Park neighbourhood. My house is in a quaint part of Highland Park that hasn’t been overrun by mansions that span three to four lots each.
As we enter, our coats are checked, and we’re directed to the opulent living room. A bit over the top for my tastes, but I’m not a dean, nor have I the need to impress anyone besides the beauty at my side. Before we reach the entryway, I lean down and kiss her temple, whispering into her golden mane, “In case I forget to tell you, I had a great time tonight.”
She looks at me, eyes wide with surprise but quickly softening in understanding—I’ll have a good time with her no matter what we’re doing, no matter where we are, as long as she’s with me.
“Don’t be nervous. You look gorgeous. They’re going to love you.”
I’m going to love you.
Before she can respond, a familiar lanky form with strikingly white hair approaches, his dutiful wife at his side. “Dean Hightower.” I shake his hand. “Mrs. Hightower.” I kiss her cheek.
Stepping back, I press my hand to the curve of Lauren’s back. “May I introduce you to Lauren Frasier. My girlfriend.”
The Hightowers’ brows raise in interest, looking between Lauren and me. I’ve always come stag to these functions. Never with a woman on my arm—or in my life, for that matter.
Lauren sends a questioning glance my way before laying her full, heartwarming smile on my boss and his wife. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
“The pleasure is all ours, dear,” Mrs. Hightower beams.
They shake hands, give kisses on cheeks, make small talk about what a lovely home they have. Blah, blah, blah. I already want to whisk her away for some me time. My need to explore the buzz that’s been hammering between us since I entered her apartment has only grown with the demand to be friendly and social—my grumpy professor persona locked away. Granted, Lauren’s magnetic pull eases when she is close, and calms when we touch, but it’s a constant effort to remain composed and sufficiently dressed for a public outing.
The group around us grows exponentially. Apparently, news of me, the British Arsehole Professor, bringing a woman—much less my girlfriend—to a work function is of great interest. We’re drawn into separate dialogues, but I keep a keen eye on her, ready to pounce if she needs saving.
As she converses seamlessly with my peers and co-workers, looking my direction occasionally—but not enough for my liking—my uneasiness grows. She seems unfazed by our distance. If she’s feeling the same buzzing in her bones that I am, she is doing a better job of hiding it.
“You okay, man?” Marcus joins our little group.
“Aces.”
He laughs, leaning in. “She’s surviving without you.” His eyes sweep over the group and then back to me. “Is that what’s got your knickers in a twist?” His fake British accent is for shite.
I merely grunt in response.
“Are you going to introduce me, or will I have to do that myself?”
“Professor Wade.” Dean Hightower interrupts my darkening thoughts, stepping between Marcus and me. “Excuse us, Marcus. There’s someone I’d like Theo to meet.”
“Of course.” I glance at Lauren, getting her attention, mouthing I’ll be right back.
Worry flits across her face before she schools it away and smiles, nodding her acceptance. She’s really good at that. Hiding. My gut churns, remembering that stoic façade gliding across her face ten days ago, right before her walls slammed shut and she attempted to end our relationship.
“Keep an eye on my girl.” I pat Marcus on the back and follow Terrance through the throngs of people. My hand presses to my chest, the ache growing with every step I take away from her.
Half-listening to the group of ladies I find myself in the middle of, my mind replays meeting Theo’s boss, Terrance Hightower, and his wife Minnie. They spoke highly of Theo, as if they really knew him beyond the normal boss-employee dynamic. Each person I was introduced to seemed as surprised as the last that I was connected to Theo in any way, shape, or form. He took it in stride, but I could sense his agitation growing.
Maybe he regrets bringing me.
We only just started seeing each other, and here he is having to put a title on our connection. Perhaps he’s not ready to call me girlfriend. He certainly disappeared quick enough after.
One of the wives, whose name I can’t remember for the life of me, nudges my shoulder. “How did you snag Professor Wade? He’s the hott
est bachelor on campus.” She giggles. “Oh, and that accent. Oh my.” She fans her face.
Seriously, lady, aren’t you married? “I’m lucky, I guess.” I smile through my nerves, feeling uncomfortable and judged by the wives.
I’m not worthy of him, and they know it.
“I’d say he’s the lucky one.” A purely male voice comes from behind before slipping into our group, standing at my side, offering his hand. “Marcus Henry, Associate Dean at Meadows School of the Arts at SMU.” He kisses my proffered hand, a devilish smirk on his face. “And a good friend of Theo’s.” His voice is smooth, lyrical. He’s tall with shiny black hair and green eyes that sparkle like emeralds. He’s dashing in his well-tailored black suit, sophisticated—regal—someone well-bred, groomed for this type of social scene. I’m envious of the grace he emanates. I imagine he’s rarely nervous or caught off-guard.
“Hello, Marcus. It is nice to meet you. I’m Lauren Frasier. You’re quite the flirt, aren’t you?” I like him already.
He leans in, whispering, “I only flirt with the prettiest woman in the room.” His enjoyment increases as the blush rises on my cheeks.
“Marcus,” another wife interrupts, “with Theo off the market—for now—you’re the top bachelor among the faculty.” She pats his chest, fanning her eyelashes, shamelessly flirting.
The thought of them ranking single men like meat rubs me the wrong way, and the fact that she thinks what Theo and I have is temporary—true or not—sends me into defensive mode. “I imagine Marcus has no need for such Paleolithic competitions. I doubt he or any of the other men on your list are hard up for company or appreciate being thought of in such a manner.”
The women harrumph at my pointed remark.
Shit. I shouldn’t have said that.
Marcus suppresses a laugh, squeezes my arm, and winks before addressing the ladies. “Actually, Theo passed the baton off to me the other day. Happy to relinquish the title. Permanently.”
Well, I guess he doesn’t think Theo and I have an expiration date. I like him even more now.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper while the women talk around me.
“Don’t be. I rather like my honor being defended.” He smiles like he has a secret. I want to know what it is, but I don’t have the guts to ask.
Marcus and I talk quietly until the wives interrupt, insisting he join their conversation and not selfishly keep his attention solely on me. I am temporary, after all—not actually said but inferred.
After listening to their banter for a few minutes, I excuse myself, exiting the room in search of a restroom—any excuse to leave and regroup.
I wander, people-watching, avoiding eye contact or any interaction other than a passing smile or hello. This place is massive with halls leading to other halls and rooms. I feel like a mouse in a maze trying to avoid a trap, my unease growing with each passing turn.
I end up in another endless hall and freeze.
Theo steps into the hallway from the other end. His eyes land on me, and the smile that diminishes his chiseled scowl lights up the walls, awakens the butterflies in my stomach, and soothes my frayed nerves.
“There you are.” His relief is apparent.
“Here I am.” My feet are stuck, pinned by his hungry gaze. All I can do is wait for my gravitational pull to lure him closer.
Closer.
Stopping within inches, his hand captures mine. “I couldn’t find you.”
The emotions in his words reel me into the fantasy that he’s been looking for me longer than just this evening—that he’s been searching for me since we first met in that caffeine-laden cafe. Or maybe even his whole life.
“I haven’t been hiding.” I’ve been looking for him too—tonight and every day since our initial life-altering encounter. Though I’ve fought it, my heart still searched for him—longed for him.
His free hand cups my face, his thumb caressing my cheek. “Are you sure? It seems you’re avoiding the party.”
Truth. He sees right through me.
“I…yes, perhaps I am.” I glance down the hall. “I’m trying to find a less crowded bathroom.” It’s true, only not the only reason.
“Come.” He leads me down a long hall, stopping in front of a door, and knocks. With no response, he opens it, motioning me inside, and then closes it, remaining in the hall.
It’s a small sitting room with a couch, a chair, and a mirror. The adjoining room is a bathroom. I might as well take advantage of the facilities while I’m here. I close and lock the door. After washing my hands, I quickly check my make-up—no adjustment required—and pop a tic-tac.
Theo is waiting for me in the hall, his eyes on the door, lighting up as soon as I appear. He kisses me on the cheek. “Wait here. I’ll be only a moment.”
When he reappears, I’m leaning against the wall, my hands flat on its cool surface, my eyes locked on his.
“Miss me?”
“Yes.” The truth is easier than hiding behind a lie. I’ve ached for him since he left me in the living room among strangers eerily fascinated by his relationship status and my ability to ensnare him.
He smiles and nods. “Me too.” Stalking closer, the flat of his hand presses into the wall above me, caging me in. “I’m sorry I left you alone. It won’t happen again.”
Pressing closer, his other hand caresses my neck, his thumb slowly tracing my chin and the underside of my bottom lip. My heart hammers to get to him. I’m not sure if it’s treacherous or too intuitive for its own good.
“You seemed agitated when I first found you. Did something happen?” His gaze flicks to my mouth before returning to mine.
“I met Marcus.”
He frowns. “He upset you?”
“No.” A smile breaks free. “I quite like him, actually.”
His face lights up. “I’m glad. He’s a good bloke, one of my best mates.”
“That’s nice. I left him talking to a bunch of the wives. They were rather curious about you and me.”
“Yes.” His hand draws down my arm coming to rest on my waist. “What else?” His brow rises, punctuating his question.
“Imayhavesaidsomethingthatoffendedthem,” I rush out.
His chuckle relaxes my shoulders and eases my worry. “I doubt that.” His hand on the wall lowers to play with a curl at my nape. Leaning in, he presses it to his nose. “I love how you smell.” His mouth, whisper-close to mine, has me swallowing a moan. “I can’t imagine you offending anyone.” He eases back. “What happened?”
I fill him in on the most-eligible-bachelor debacle. His eyes glow with amusement the entire time. When I finish, he simply says, “Well done.”
“You’re not upset?”
“No, not in the least. It’s a sexist discussion I’ve encountered since my arrival four years ago. I doubt they even realize how inappropriate it is.”
“I’m quite sure they would have a thing or two to say about it if the men on the faculty were ranking the wives in such a manor,” I huff.
“I couldn’t agree more. I’ve endured it, not wanting to make waves.”
“And here I am rocking the boat.”
“A boat that needed to be rocked.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. What else?”
“Nothing else.”
“There’s more. You gave me a look when I introduced you to the dean and his wife.”
“Oh…uh...” I glance down the hall, not really sure how to proceed.
“Hey.” He squeezes my waist and tips my face to his. “Don’t hide from me.”
“I was surprised at how you introduced me, and then you seemed agitated when all your co-workers came up to greet us.” I shrug, desperately wanting to look away, but I keep his gaze, his brown eyes so open and giving—not a wall in place. “I thought maybe you regretted what you said.”
“You’re talking around it. What did I say?”
“You know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“
You called me your girlfriend.” I bite my trembling lip, hating my damn sensitivity. Can’t I have one serious conversation without it resulting in tears—and why always mine? Doesn’t anyone else ever cry?
“Baby.” His arms wrap me in a hug. “I should have asked you, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to introduce you as a friend or only as my date. You mean more to me than what either of those two terms represent. I just got you back, but I want you to be my girlfriend. Exclusively. Only us.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Exclusive?” I tilt back to see his face. “You’re giving up sex for me?” I cringe as the words leave my mouth. I should own them, but I feel guilty as hell asking him to give up something that I’m quite sure he’s amazing at.
His forehead meets mine. “I’d be celibate for eternity if it means I’m celibate with you.”
“Theo, I can’t ask—”
“You can. I’m hoping celibacy isn’t quite what you’re asking for, but I’ll take you any way I can get you. Just don’t shut me out again.”
The plea in his voice matches the ache in my chest. “I won’t, and I’m not asking for celibacy. I mean…you know—”
“We’ve already broken that barrier,” he offers.
“Yes, I’m okay with doing stuff. I only want to wait for—”
“Intercourse. Relations. Insertion. Shagging.” His teasing smile is adorable and only grows with each word.
“Ugh, yes, all of those.” I roll my eyes. “Until marriage.”
“Deal.” He holds out his hand to seal the deal. “On one condition.”
My gaze flits between his hand and his glorious face that is lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “And what’s that?”
“Say yes to being my girlfriend.”
“Didn’t I already?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well then, yes.”
He leans in, his handshake forgotten. “Aces.” His lips graze my cheek. “In the vein of this being our mulligan date, I’d like to jump ahead to our first kiss and seal the deal.”
“Please.”
My heart races in response, or maybe in anticipation. He kisses the nape of my neck, his lips moving tenderly up to my ear as his hard body reduces the air between us. His arousal, firm against my stomach, has me shuddering with need. I clasp his waist under his jacket, anchoring me to him—or him to me. Either way I’m not letting go.
