Lunar Crest University (Forbidden Fruit)

Chapter Twenty

LUCA

MONDAY, OCTOBER 23RD, 2023

I ’m an asshole.

Sandwiched between the girls on the plane, that’s the only thought that flickers through my mind. I’m further reminded when I peek to my right at Finley, who is still staring out of the window with her headphones in. She hasn’t looked at me again for the entire duration of the flight so far, and I can’t say I fucking blame her.

In the midst of finding another guy outside of Finley’s apartment this morning during my usual stakeout, I didn’t think about how it would possibly come across to her seeing me stressed and chaotic earlier. But I couldn’t explain that to her. I couldn’t tell her I’d been watching her apartment, where she works, and even her walks in between classes to make sure she was okay. I couldn’t tell her about the blood on my hands from protecting her.

Two hundred and three.

I was in such a hurry to dispose of the body and clean up before getting to the university this morning, only to realize most of the students who were supposed to attend the trip were out with the flu. Dean Maddon bombarded me in the parking lot on the way in with the information, unsure if he should still okay the trip at all.

Thank God I’m persuasive, because getting the fuck out of Lunar Crest is exactly what needs to happen with the way Javier’s men are trailing her. For a week, she’ll be completely safe. For a week, I can look at her and talk to her and not have the worry in the back of my mind about whether someone is going to pin her in an alley again.

I need to talk to her right now, fix this, but it will have to wait, because Genevieve is just within earshot. And apparently, nosy.

So, instead, I spend the entirety of the ten-hour flight with my head shoved between a neck pillow, sleeping, or watching the short list of available movies the airline offers on their tiny little screen on the back of the seat in front of me. Ten hours feels like ten days when I’m sitting on my repressed feelings, unable to tell her I have never been and never will be just a hit-it-and-quit-it man. I’d never use her like that. She must think I regret our questionable decisions, but I don’t—I crave more bad decisions with her, over and over and over again. I find myself thinking about the way she tastes, the way she sounds when I make her come, nearly all day, and I haven’t even gotten to bury myself inside her yet.

Key word: yet .

Finley doesn’t look at me for the entire ten hours—not when the plane lands and she grips the seat for dear life as I fight the urge to comfort her again, not when we get off the plane, and not even when we wait in the line for customs and baggage claim. Genevieve tries to attempt conversation every so often, but I don’t even have the patience for that. I cannot focus on anything but the raven-haired beauty who has me so wrapped around her finger, I don’t think I even realized it until she ignored me for ten hours straight.

A knife to the gut would’ve sucked less.

It’s an exhausting battle, trying not to look at her every two seconds so Genevieve won’t catch me gawking and trying to pretend I don’t want to drag her away somewhere and show her just how much I don’t regret this.

I hail a Black Cab for the three of us as we finally emerge from the airport, which felt like it added another ten hours to my day, and I load all our luggage into the trunk as the girls slide inside. My disappointment masks itself with a thin-lipped smile when I get into the cab and see Genevieve sitting in the middle, but my lips quirk genuinely when I peek around her for a split second and see the anger flash in Finley’s irises. When she catches me looking, she swiftly turns her head to stare out of the window.

“So, what’s the room situation like?” Genevieve asks, inspecting her cuticles before batting her lashes over at me.

“Everyone has separate rooms on the same floor.”

She purses her lips. “Right next to each other?”

“I’m not sure,” I say as calmly as I can, even though I want to roll my eyes. “We’ll just have to see once we get there.”

And when we arrive at the hotel, we, in fact, do have rooms side-by-side-by-side. Mine rests at the end of the hall, Finley’s is next to mine, with Genevieve’s on the opposite side of hers. This could either be the best or the worst thing to happen thus far, and I lean toward the latter as we go to our rooms to get ready for dinner later—realizing the walls are insanely thin, because I can hear Finley showering next door.

Fuck.

It’s like I’ve reverted to a sixteen-year-old kid going through puberty all over again as my mind travels to places it shouldn’t, thinking about what her naked body looks like covered in soap as it slides down every inch of her skin. I can only picture the parts of her I’ve seen: the curves of her hips, her long, porcelain legs, and the tiny stretch marks that paint the dimples of her ass like a canvas that belongs in a museum.

Fuuuuuck .

I could go over there now, tell her I’m sorry as I fuck her over the bathroom sink.

The shower water turns off, snapping me back to reality and making me come to my senses as I shake my head. We’re supposed to meet in the lobby in half an hour to head to dinner, so I turn on the TV to drown out any more sounds as I rummage through my luggage for an outfit that isn’t insanely wrinkled. I settle on a sweater for the chilly night air, along with a pair of khakis and dress boots. Looking in the full-length mirror next to the bed, I sigh at the messy curls on my head before shoving my glasses on the bridge of my nose.

Rosewood London is a beautiful hotel, with chandeliers and stunning marble stairwells. There’s plush furniture that accents the lobby and a courtyard outside at the entrance that makes for an amazing view. It’s luxurious and elegant in every sense of the word, even though words don’t quite do it justice when you’re looking at it in person.

I’m so busy admiring it all as I wait in the lobby, I don’t even realize Finley has come down from her room until she’s clearing her throat next to me.

“This is the fanciest hotel I’ve ever seen.”

I chuckle faintly. “Impressed?”

She nods.

I look down at her, and my exhale is shaky as I take in the brown, long-sleeved dress and cream-colored, thigh-high boots she wears. Her hair is slicked back into a high ponytail, showing off the entirety of her face, and I’m in awe. Her cheeks are pink, matching the shade of lipstick she’s wearing, and she diverts her eyes as I take her in. She looks elegant dressed up like this—a side I haven’t seen of her, yet. Resisting the urge to reach out and tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at me, I shove my hands in my pockets.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I tell her, my voice low. “What I was trying to say was that it wasn’t my intention to make you feel that way. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I didn’t care. My head was all over the place, and I wasn’t thinking about how that may come across.”

She frowns, her brows crinkling slightly as she peers sheepishly up at me.

“I don’t want to ever make you feel like I’m using you, Finley.”

“Then what are you doing?” she asks in a small voice.

I’m not sure how to answer her question because I don’t think I even know, but like clockwork, Genevieve comes waltzing down the marble stairs before I can try to respond. Her blue eyes give Finley a once-over before falling on me, a smirk resting on her overly glossy lips.

“Dressing up for us, Professor Serrano?”

Give me a fucking break.

Looking down at my attire, I force a smile. “No, Ms. Pierce. These are just my clothes.”

The way Finley’s shoulders slump as her body practically folds in on itself is like a flashing red signal as I glance at her quickly. She doesn’t look nearly as confident as she did when she first came down, and I hate that. I hate that she allows this girl to make her feel less about herself when she’s the prettiest person in this room. In any room.

Genevieve hums happily despite my dull response, jutting her chin to her shoulder with a smile before she saunters past us and toward the front entrance.

I look down to see Finley staring up at me, almost like she’s trying to gauge my facial expression, before she crosses her arms over her chest and stalks past me too. Her ponytail grazes the tip of my nose as it sways with her sassy hip movements, and I catch the faint scent of her perfume as she follows Genevieve. She smells like warm vanilla, and all my dirtiest thoughts of her come to life. Fuck. Me.

This is going to be a long night.