“I’m sure I’ll laugh one day.”
He inclines his head, studying me. “Still not quite over it.”
I give him a look. “I was with him for four years. He was my first love my first…everything.”
“But you’re better off now, you know that.”
I shrug. “Depends who you talk to.”
The waitress comes by just then giving us our food, a beet, hazelnut and goat cheese salad for myself, a meat pie for him. I’m thankful for having something to do other than spill the beans and after a few bites of the salad, my mind is distracted by my taste buds. By the time we’re done eating, it’s like we’ve both forgotten I opened up.
That is until he’s dropping me at my house.
“Thanks for keeping me company,” he says, large hands resting on the gear shift. “For the talk.”
I feel my body grow hot as I meet his eyes. Man, I must be tipsy as hell.
“Thanks for getting work done,” I tell him, keeping my voice level.
He gives me a tentative smile. “Well, what else am I here for?”
Our eyes lock and something deeper, wilder, passes between us. It causes my heart to pound so hard in my chest I think the only release is to open the car door and run, run, run into the darkness.
But somehow I compose myself, step outside and head down the driveway to my home, the night air cool and damp. I glance over my shoulder just before I go through the gate and he’s still parked at the curb, watching and waiting.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Blake
I don’t know how we do it.
But we do it.
The ironic affairs of Forrest Cosway in The Heart Thief are finished and handed into Professor Dumas on time. Actually we had it ready to go a week before but Amanda wanted to keep on tweaking it and while I would normally not fuss with a project this much, this one was special and I understood her need to make it all that it could be. Hell, I still think it could use another round of editing but if there’s anything I’ve learned from this class is that you have to learn to let it go.
Now the manuscript has been handed over (as well as emailed) and there’s a heavy sense of loss and confusion in the air, like the day after your birthday. For me it’s double since this was my last assignment of my entire degree and I have no idea what’s next.
No idea at all.
I try not to think about it.
“So,” Amanda says as we leave the classroom, casually hanging her thumbs through the belt loop of her skinny jeans. With the April weather warm but temperamental, I’m seeing more of her skin lately and right now my eyes rest on the dusting of faint freckles on her shoulder, showcased by her emerald green tank top. The freckles even lead down to the swell of her breasts and I have an urge to find out where else they might lead.
“So,” I say and when she catches my eyes on her skin, I’m in no hurry to move them away. “What next?”
“I guess this is it,” she says, stopping by the foot of the stairs. She shrugs. “I mean, class is over, year is over.”
We’re over, is what she wants to say next.
I knew this was coming. When the project was over, we would cease to be partners and cease to work together every other day. I didn’t expect to feel this curious pang in my chest but it’s as unwelcome as a hemorrhoid so I swallow it down, push it aside, and ignore it.
“Hopefully Dumbass will take it easy on us,” I tell her, trying to find something to say.
She rolls her eyes but smiles easily. “I can’t believe I never thought about such an obvious nickname…even though Professor Dumas is not a dumbass.”
“You were too busy trying to be the teacher’s pet,” I remind her.
“This is university. There are no teacher’s pets,” she snipes at me.
I rock back on my heels. “Hey, I said you were trying to become one. You didn’t succeed.” I pause, suddenly feeling awkward. “I’m sure we’ll do great. I don’t mean to get all cocky –” She lets out a derisive snort and I continue, “but we wrote the fuck out of it. And I’m not sure if you know this but I’m kind of a big deal.”
“Right, right.” She sighs and looks around her, her body language telling me she wants to get going. “Well I guess I’ll see you...”
“Come into Crawford’s Books for a friends and family discount,” I tell her with a wink. Bloody hell, that was lame. What’s wrong with me?
“I promise,” she says yet I have a feeling she’ll be avoiding the bookstore for the rest of her life.
She waves goodbye and heads down the stairs. It’s exactly where I was going but I don’t want to do that weird thing where you say goodbye and then end up walking in the same direction, so I wait a while at the top of the stairs until I hear my name being called from behind me.
“Mr. Crawford,” Professor Dumas says, waving her arms at me, the fringe on her shawl swinging. Her eyes are bright, a warm smile on her face. I love how she calls me Mr. Crawford, as if I’m distinguished somehow.
“Glad you’re still here,” she says as I walk over to her.
“Don’t tell me you’ve read it already,” I say.
“No, no,” she says. “Just the first few chapters. You learn to speedread in this job.”
I bite my lip, waiting for her to go on, praying it’s not rubbish.
“It’s wonderful, really,” she says. “Complex. Layered. Not without its faults, of course.”