“So what? You have a tight ass. That doesn’t make you the be-all and end-all. I have a pretty nice ass myself. Only you’re too much of a jackass to notice it.”
Caine rubbed at his lip with his thumb. “Is that what you think?”
“That you’re a jackass? Yes.”
He leaned forward. “I meant you think I haven’t noticed your pretty nice ass.”
His voice had grown husky, and I felt the guttural sound of it between my legs. I swallowed and shifted in my seat, staring at him. He took it as license to continue speaking when I kept quiet.
“You have a tiny little waist. When you wear jeans, there’s a gap in the back. When you lean over, I can see your G-string. You like to match it with your shirt. Wednesday you wore a blue shirt and had on a baby blue G-string. The day you taught class and were giving out headphones, you bent over nicely to distribute them to each row. It’s why I got up to help you with the boxes. You didn’t think I was being chivalrous, did you? That day, you had on a thin white blouse and a lacy white thong. I really liked the white lace.”
My mouth was hanging open.
Caine leaned in a little closer. “So you’re wrong if you think I haven’t noticed your pretty nice ass. For two reasons: First, it’s not a pretty nice ass. It’s a fucking spectacular ass. And second, I’ve noticed it. Every damn day since you walked out of that bar bathroom. In fact, I watched it sway from side to side until you were out of sight that night—even though you’d just told me off.”
“I had no idea.”
“Clearly.”
“Why didn’t you say something?”
“What should I have said, Rachel? You’re my teaching assistant, and I’m your thesis advisor. Plus, even if that weren’t the case, I actually like you. You’re not a casual fuck I’d stop calling when I was done with you.”
That was harsh. I didn’t want to think of Caine in that way. But then I remembered the faculty meeting. “Like Professor Pink?”
His brows drew together. “You mean Ginger Ashby? Professor Ashby who was wearing a pink suit today? What about her?”
“You two seemed cozy.”
Caine looked away. “We’re not sleeping together, if that’s what you’re asking.”
If they weren’t currently sleeping together, I knew they had a history. I could tell by the way she touched him, the way she looked up and batted her fake eyelashes.
“But you did sleep with her?”
“It was a long time ago. I don’t make the same mistake twice.”
I wasn’t sure if he was referring to the professor specifically or sleeping with someone at work, in general—not that it mattered.
Ava came back to the table to check on me. “Everything okay, Rach?”
My smile was sad. “Everything’s fine.”
She put my phone on the table. “Your phone was ringing.” Ava looked at Caine. “I put it in my purse so she wouldn’t regret something she said to you. Guess that worked well.” Caine smiled, and she turned her attention back to me. “I’ll be at the bar if you need me.”
The moment Ava walked away, my phone began to ring. Davis’s name flashed on the screen. Caine saw it and looked up at me. “You need to get that?”
It stopped ringing, but when I scrolled, I saw Davis had texted, too. He wanted to make sure I got home safe.
“I’ll just send him a quick text to let him know I’m okay.”
I felt Caine’s eyes on me as I typed.
When I was done, he said, “You want to talk about it?”
I wanted to see if I could get a rise out of the composed professor. “We used to have sex. Then we stopped. Now he wants to start again. Oh, and he wants to take me to dinner, too.”
The clench in Caine’s jaw was clear. “And how do you feel about that?”
“I don’t know. I’m confused, I guess.”
“About what?”
“He’s a great guy. When we broke up, I was upset at first. But then I sort of got over it. At least I think I did. I didn’t sit around and pine for him anyway. I feel like I would have if he was the right guy. You know?”
Caine looked into my eyes. “I think the right person would be difficult to move past, yes.”
“But maybe I haven’t actually moved past him yet. I haven’t…you know…since we broke up.”
“Had sex?”
“Yes.”
Caine’s eyes sparkled. “Hence the re-virginized vagina?”
Even in my drunken-ish state, I couldn’t believe I was having this conversation. “You heard that?”
He nodded with a sly grin. “How long ago did you split up?”
“Close to nine months.”
“So you haven’t had sex in almost nine months?”
I sighed. “Maybe I should just pick someone up in a bar and do it. Then it’ll be easier to decide if it’s Davis I miss or just the sex.”
The pupils in Caine’s eyes dilated to the point where there was more black than brown iris. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why? You’ve never picked someone up and brought them home just to satisfy your needs?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Well, then why is it okay for you to do it, but not me?”
“Because I don’t do it to try to solve a problem.” His voice turned stern. “Fucking someone won’t help you decide if you want to be with another man. Trust me on that one, Rachel.”
“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.”
Caine looked away. “I’m going to grab a beer. You want a soda?”
“I’ll have another Tanqueray and tonic.”
“I think you’ve had enough.”
I huffed. “Fine. I’ll take a Diet Coke.”
We sat around and talked for another hour after Caine returned with our drinks. I had sobered up some, but still felt more daring than usual.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Will it stop you if I say no?”
I smiled. “Probably not.”
“If you weren’t my professor...and I wasn’t looking for my Umberto…” I trailed off, but the rest of the sentence didn’t even need to be said.
Caine brought the beer he’d been nursing to his lips and stared at me over the top while he finished it off. He set the empty bottle on the table and cleared his throat before leaning in. Then he curled one finger, motioning for me to come closer. I leaned in, and our noses were no more than a few inches apart.
“If I weren’t your professor and you weren’t a nice girl, your re-virginized pussy would be sore as hell right now.”
Rachel
I didn’t feel half bad when my alarm went off. My eyes opened, and I braced myself for a pounding headache and nausea, expecting a hangover. Instead, I was tired, but the typical aftereffects didn’t seem to hit me. After drinking a full glass of water without stopping to take a breath, I decided to climb back into bed for another fifteen minutes.
Caine had insisted on driving me home. Half way, he’d stopped and run into a twenty-four-hour convenience store, coming out with a brown paper bag that he’d handed me before leaving me at my apartment door.
“Take everything inside. It doesn’t work unless you finish it all,” he’d said.
The bag had two bottles of water, a banana, and a single packet of Motrin. Since he’d gone to the trouble of picking it all up, I followed his orders.
Unplugging my iPhone from the charger on the nightstand, I keyed in my password and decided to text him.
Rachel: No hangover. Thank you. You’re a miracle worker. Where were you when I was eighteen?
Caine responded right away.
Caine: You’re welcome. Glad you’re feeling better today.
I was feeling better. The brash brushoff Caine had left me with last week had really been bothering me. Seeing him had helped. Don’t get me wrong, I was more confused than ever—especially with what Davis sprung on me last night—but I no longer felt off balance, at least.
Rachel: I owe you one. For everything. For showing up to make sure I was okay, for talking to me about Davis, taking me home and giving me your secret recipe for a hangover-free morning. Actually…maybe I owe you two. LOL