“You didn’t have to do this.” Annie steps back to allow me inside her apartment.
When she texted me early this morning telling me not to wait for her before class, I panicked. The idea of going in alone gave me hives. So I did the only thing I could think of—ransacked the kitchen cabinets for a can of Campbell’s Chicken Noodle and showed up on her doorstep an hour later, fully prepared to play nursemaid.
“You’re sick. I bring soup.” Heading straight for the kitchen, I pour the chicken noodle soup from the container into a soup cup made by the same company, nuke it in the microwave, and return to the living room where I find her curled up in a corner of the couch. “You look like death warmed over,” I say as I hand her the bowl.
She looks at it with a mix of longing and repulsion, and then takes a tiny sip. “Campbell’s, Joe? You shouldn’t have.” The mirth in her eyes gives me a chuckle.
“It’s double noodle, too,” I point out as I take a careful seat across from her. After spending the night with Ransom, it’s a miracle I can even walk. I count my blessings, because that man is unequaled when it comes to his skills in the sack.
After taking a couple more bites, she sighs, sets the bowl on the table, and curls back under the blanket draped around her shoulders.
“So, what’s going on with you? Flu? Bad breakup?” I ask hopefully. I haven’t forgotten about Jason’s inability to show up at the bar last week, and I am holding firm to my conviction that she needs to drop him on his ass, and fast.
Annie rolls her eyes. “You wish.”
“I really do.”
“It’s complicated,” she says softly, then burrows deeper into her blanket.
“What’s complicated about saying ‘Hey, we should see other people’? The guy is a douche. Do you have any idea how many guys at school would kill to go on a date with you?”
I’m not even exaggerating. Annie is the kind of girl that sparks men’s primal instincts. She’s got that whole cute and innocent vibe about her. Hell, most days, even I want to wrap my arms around her and shelter her from the world.
“It just is, Joe, and I don’t really want to talk about it right now. What’s up with you?” she asks, changing the subject. I let her, only because I don’t want to fight when she clearly needs her rest. “Don’t think I didn’t notice you limping in here.”
Shit. I thought I had done a pretty decent job of masking the Quasimodo routine. That’s what I get for letting Ransom use me so hard last night. My only solace comes from knowing that I used him just as hard. With any luck, he’s feeling it too this morning. I scoff, waving her comment off. “I was not limping. I just strained a muscle is all.”
“Mmm hmm. Let me guess, yoga really kicked your ass this morning?”
Not yoga, I think to myself. I can tell by her amused expression that she isn’t buying my excuse. She’s always been able to see right through me, so I don’t even know why I bother trying to lie.
I feel a sudden wave of doubt slam into me. She doesn’t have it together any more than I do, but I still consider asking her for advice. It’s selfish of me, and yet, maybe it will make her feel better to focus on something other than her screwed up love life.
“Annie…” I hesitate. How to form this question? “Assume you know someone who is involved with someone that they probably shouldn’t be.”
Perking up, I now have her full attention. “Is this someone I know?”
“Purely hypothetical.”
She purses her lips. “Okay, I have no idea who these fictional people are, but they’re in a relationship?”
“It’s more sex than a relationship,” I clarify. “But what if one of them wants it to be more than that?”
“I guess it depends on who the other person is and what they want. What are they like?”
“Well, they’re both smart, serious about their career, friendly, and attractive. They have a lot in common, actually.”
“That’s a start. What are they like together?”
I look toward the window framing the back of the couch and choose my words carefully. “They have fun. Sometimes they laugh, but mostly it’s very intense. Recently they’ve been spending some time together outside of their normal routine, and it’s making things…complicated.”
Annie frowns as she studies me. I shift uncomfortably under her close scrutiny, fearing she’ll be able to see right through me. “If these two people have agreed to have a purely sexual relationship, and one of them is changing their mind, then I think that person has a duty to tell the other person how they’re feeling so they can decide how to proceed.”
“What if the other person decides they want to end the relationship?”
“It’s a risk, but in the end, it would protect both of them. Staying too long in a relationship that isn’t working anymore can do more damage than good.”
I raise a brow at her remark and she purses her lips again, receiving the silent message. “Well, what if one of them is getting mixed signals,” I press on. “For example, what if they can’t tell what the other person is feeling because each time they see the other person, they’re different.”
Annie is quiet for a long time as she mulls this over. I wait patiently, because it’s either sit here and do nothing or go to class and face Ransom. When I left his room this morning, he was the same distant and dismissive man he was last week. If I attend his class only to have him look at me with softness and caring again, I’m going to scream. Hiding out in this apartment for a few hours seems like the safest bet at the moment.
“I think if this person has to think so hard about their relationship status, then maybe it’s not worth the trouble,” Annie finally says. “Relationships are supposed to make you feel good. Whether it’s love or purely sex, there shouldn’t be any question about who feels what for whom or what’s going to happen next, and there definitely shouldn’t be any anxiety or fear about talking to the other person about their feelings.”
Again, I raise a pointed brow. Apparently, Annie is good at doling out advice, but not taking it. “So you’re saying that this person should walk away?”
“No, I’m saying that if you feel something for this man, tell him. Men are notoriously aloof. Unless you tell them straight up how you’re feeling, most of them won’t get it.”
Our gazes meet and an understanding passes between us. She knows we’re talking about me, and I know that she will have questions for me later. When that happens, I plan to use her advice against her, and she knows that, too.
“I need to get moving. I have class today.” With practiced ease, I stand and walk to the door. Annie follows and leans against the jamb as I step into the hall.
“So who is this mystery man?”
I feel a smile inch across my face at the nickname I had used for Ransom before I learned his real name. “I’m afraid I have to plead the fifth.”
Her brows arch into her hairline. “Is he a secret agent? FBI? CIA? ”
“If only he were so cool,” I chuckle as I begin walking away.
“For what it’s worth,” she says, sticking her head out the door. “I hope it works out for you two. Just remember what I said—talk to him. Tell him how you feel. If it’s meant to be, it will be.”
“You sound like a Disney movie.”
“I am a princess.” She smiles and waves before ducking back into her apartment.
As I walk to my car, her words repeat in my head. She has a point. I need to tell Ransom what’s going on in my head. If knowing that I am developing deeper feelings for him scares him away, then I’m better off without him.
I really hope he chooses to stick around, though. There’s still so much about Ransom Scott that I aim to explore.
***
Ransom doesn’t ask why I was absent yesterday, and as predicted, he doesn’t bring up the club or the hotel. The mask he wears is impossible to read. With his dark hair combed back from his forehead and dressed in another pair of khakis and sweater-vest, he’s just an unassuming professor—a real nice guy. If I hadn’t been there to experience it for myself, I would never guess that little more than thirty-two hours ago we’d had some of the wildest, kinkiest sex I’ve ever had.
The way he tied me to the bed frame and tore my body asunder makes me shiver just thinking about it. I have a difficult time putting the two images of this man together. He’s a prime example of how different people can be in the light of day.
Today, the weather is so nice, Ransom has us working outside. We’re gathered on the lawn outside the Art building and he’s discussing art history, which is as interesting as it is boring. I think he feels the same way. Twenty minutes ago, he got animated over the Impressionist Movement, and now he’s discussing Modernism. He sounds like he’s just repeating the words by rote. It’s funny what you can pick up about a person just by observing.
“What I want you to take away from today is that art is everywhere and in countless forms. It’s different foreveryone,” he says as he begins to wrap up his lecture. “When you and I look out over this campus, we see different things. For instance, I see baroque influenced by Roman and Greek design. Maybe you see a series of lines and angles or Victorian landscapes. Think about this as you put together your final exam. How do you plan to use your environment to influence others’ visions?”
My mind scrambles. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I am ready to skedaddle. I have a ton of homework ahead of me, and I still have no clue what I’m going to do for my final assignment for this class. He dismisses us and I hurry to finish my notes, and then tuck my books into the crook of my elbow. As I turn to leave, I hear Ransom’s throaty timber call me back.
Waiting for the rest of the students to clear out, I take my time approaching him. “I hope this isn’t becoming a habit,” I say in false warning to help ease the tension I feel inside. “People might start talking.”
The corner of Ransom’s mouth quirks up. “You weren’t in class yesterday.”
“I was taking care of a sick friend. Should I have brought a note?”
His smile grows deeper with my sarcasm. “Does this have anything to do with Miss Guerra’s absence?”
I nod.
His eyes hold mine for a moment longer than is comfortable. His voice is quiet and filled with concern when he says, “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, and that, uh…” He clears his throat, and the sudden nervous energy he gives off has me curious. “The kiss. I wanted to make sure it didn’t… scare you.”
I study him for a moment, the tightness around his eyes and the firm line of his lips. I remember that kiss fondly. How gentle he was, how sweet it felt. But it makes no sense to ask me this, considering all we did to one another after that. Unless he’s still worried about how this will affect our personal and professional lives.
I consider this. “No,” I whisper, my voice growing deeper as the memories of that kiss plays through my mind on repeat. “Are you?”
His gaze glued to my mouth, he shakes his head slowly. “At first. I have a lot to lose, but I haven’t stopped thinking about it for a second. Your mouth…”
He trails off, and when I glance down, I see the evidence of how much that memory affects him. His words are like the first move on a chess board, and it gives me the confidence to make the second move.
Maintaining a careful and respectful distance, I take a step closer, lowering my voice so no one else can hear. “If I thought I could get away with it, I’d drop to my knees right now and show you exactly what this mouth can do, Mr. Scott.”
He sucks air in sharply through his teeth and draws back. The flames of desire in his eyes blazes back at me. In a single, hard blink, he banks it. Shaking his head, Ransom takes a step back. “You should go now, Miss Hart, before something bad happens.”
I smirk because I knew he’d be the one to draw the line. I wonder if he realizes how transparent he is. Carefully Controlled Mr. Scott by day is nothing like Uninhibited Mr. Scott by night. “Afraid someone will catch us?”
His chest is pressed against mine in an instant, heat rolling off him in waves. With his lips against my ear, he growls, “The only thing I’m afraid of is that I’ll lose control and shove my cock so far down your throat, you’ll choke on it.”
Holy shit. The smile falls from my face at the mental image, replaced with a near-crippling desire to drop before him and taste his hard flesh between my lips. As it turns out, it’s me who draws the line.
“I should go,” I say thickly, because someone has to be the voice of reason, before we both end up in trouble.
He watches me as I back away with a mocking smile. “Yes, you certainly should.”