“A good lawyer?” I joked.
The corner of his lips lifted in a small smile, but then it disappeared. “He needs an ironclad focus.”
I nodded again. “That’s me. I’m one hundred percent focused.”
He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Are you, though?”
How could he think I was anything but focused? In addition to serving as my advisor, he was also prepping me for an upcoming debate tournament. The Elite was one of the most prestigious debate competitions for pre-law students. Delaney and I had been working together as debate partners. “Absolutely, sir. I’m already practicing for the Elite with Delaney. My LSATs are done, and I should hear from law schools any day. And I’ve mapped out my plans post-law school, too.”
“With Ms. Stewart?”
Ever formal, he never called Delaney by her first name only. At the time I thought it was politeness. Looking back, I see he was putting distance already between her and me.
“Yes,” I said, feeling oddly defensive, like I needed to justify our plans. “We definitely want to be together.” Delaney and I had planned to go to schools near each other then find work in the same city. But to his ears, I’m sure I sounded weak.
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?” I pressed.
He leaned forward, set his hands on his thighs, and leveled me with his stare. “You want to be successful in law, yes?”
“Of course I do, sir.”
“And you know I only have your best interests at heart?”
“Absolutely,” I said, as my stomach churned with nerves.
“Then, you need to remember that, at your young age, the key to success lies in the elimination of distractions. If you want to be the best, you can’t let anything or anyone slow you down.” He paused, taking a beat to let that sink in. “You get my meaning?”
Ms. Stewart.
Distraction.
Elimination.
He didn’t have to make a closing argument. His meaning was crystal clear—being in love was ill-advised. Making plans together was a no-go. Commitment at my age was a mistake.
Slowly, I nodded. “I do, sir,” I said, my tone heavy. “I do understand your meaning.”
He handed me the paper I’d worked on for his graduate-level seminar, and across the top he’d scrawled a D in bright red ink. I flinched. I’d never received that kind of grade before.
He tapped the paper. “I don’t like to see this sort of score from my top student. See what you can do to improve it.”
I’d been dismissed. A wave of embarrassment flooded me, followed by self-loathing. How the hell could I have slipped like that? As I left his office, I scratched my head, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong with the assignment.
I didn’t break up with Delaney that day, or the next, or the next.
But over the days that followed, an insidious doubt crept through me, making me question whether I could have the career I’d always wanted and the girl, too.
Could I balance a serious relationship and law school? Was it possible to have that kind of love and that kind of devotion to the law?
I didn’t have the answer, and I was cold and distant with her. Her father had even phoned her, something he rarely did, but I was so focused on myself that I barely pressed her to find out about the call. Instead, I asked myself a whole slew of questions. What if I couldn’t manage both? What kind of lawyer would I be? Would I even become an attorney?
I wanted my career more than anything in the world.
I’d wanted it my whole life.
I couldn’t take the risk, so I jettisoned the girl.
Now, she’s here with me enjoying a glass of wine, and I’m struck with the realization that Clay was right. I didn’t just want to see her again because I was curious what she was up to.
There’s something else driving me, too.
11
Delaney
* * *
I can’t stop thinking about our kiss.
Yes, I kissed him to get rid of his hiccups because I know how much he hates them and how much they embarrass him.
Funny, in a way, that this fearless, cocky, confident man is brought to his knees by something so . . . pedestrian and annoying. But we all have our Achilles’ heel. I didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable. I care about him, and I had to do everything I could to help.
But let’s be honest here, too.
I wasn’t merely a do-gooder. I didn’t exactly throw myself in front of the bus. I wanted to kiss him. Hell, I’ve been dying to touch him since he juggled his way back into my life. Desire for this man has camped out in me for far too long.
And now I know there’s a damn good reason he’s been the starring act in countless late night fantasies.
Because he kisses me like it’s the only thing on earth he wants to do. Like I’m the best thing he’s ever touched. He makes me believe that no man has ever kissed a woman with such intensity, such passion, such desire.
It makes me woozy.
It makes me heady.
It makes me giddy.
Maybe all these floaty, blissful feelings are simply the illusion of chemistry.
Or maybe it’s the power of chemistry. But how can chemistry grow even more intense over time when it was already mind-blowing back then?
If I were a scientist, I’d apply for a grant and study the subject. For now, my only conclusion is that with some people, chemistry never fades. Perhaps for some, it intensifies.
The real question, though, is whether it extends beyond the physical.