Tenure

23. James

23

James

It takes everything I’ve got to let her get in that elevator. I want to throw her back into my bed, handcuff her in there and fuck her a hundred more times, come on every inch of her skin, watch her pass out again.

I’d woken up maybe an hour after dozing off, surprised to find her on her side and curled into my chest, my arms wrapped around her, and my nose buried in her hair. I’d been afraid to wake her, but I had shit to do. Turns out I didn’t have to worry; I could have played live trumpets into a microphone, and she wouldn’t have moved.

I spent the majority of the day ignoring my hard-on and trying to work, checking on her every half hour or so. Her phone kept buzzing, going off incessantly, but I refused to look at it.

It goes off again in my back pocket, and I pull it out, handing it to her.

She doesn’t take it, narrowing her eyes at me instead.

“You still never said how you got my number.”

“I told you, I didn’t,” I say, annoyed as it’s buzzing non-fucking-stop now. “Can you take this? It’s been going off all day.”

She snatches it from my hand and glances down, visibly paling.

“Oh, shit,” she says under her breath, unlocking the screen and pressing the phone to her ear.

I grimace as an unfamiliar and deeply uncomfortable feeling settles in my gut.

“Is it your boyfriend?” I hear myself ask. Why am I asking her this.

“Shh!” she says.

I grit my teeth and crack my knuckles, incensed at being shushed like a fucking toddler. You’ll pay for that. Later.

“Hey,” she says into the phone. “No—I’m totally fine. I went to a party.” She pauses, cheeks flaming red, and turns away from me as if we aren’t in an enclosed space where I can hear every goddamn word she says. “I’m on my way home now.” She’s quiet for a minute. “Thank you. I owe you.”

She hangs up, and her shoulders relax as she lets out a breath.

“Who do you owe?” I ask, my voice sharp.

“SJ,” she says shortly.

I wait for her to keep talking, but she doesn’t. Exasperation is my new skin colour as I fight to keep from rolling my eyes.

“ Why do you owe SJ?”

“She covered for me.”

She. Okay. I frown. “With who?”

She sighs. “With my parents.”

I nearly swallow my tongue. Right. She still lives at home.

Shit. SHIT.

We’re quiet on the walk to the car. She gets in and looks around, brows knitted together like she’s trying to remember being in it and is drawing a blank. Yeah, honey, you were a goner. I’d had to carry her all the way up to my place.

As we pull out of the garage and into traffic she brings her thumb absently to her mouth and starts to chew on her cuticle. My hand reaches out involuntarily at such a noticeable display of nerves, wrapping around hers and tugging it away from her mouth. Interlacing our fingers, I pull them to my lips, kissing her knuckles before placing our hands on the centre console and giving an extra little squeeze.

“Talk to me,” I say.

She blows out a breath, and I realize how much tension she’s been holding. “You’re not really the easiest man to talk to, you know.”

“I don’t suffer fools well, Kiernan, but you’re a far cry from the idiots I deal with all day. Please. Try me. ”

“I don’t think I’m supposed to ask you the things I want to ask you,” she says slowly. “There are rules about this stuff, aren’t there?”

“Unless it’s a differential equation, there are no rules here. Okay? Just . . . fucking ask.” My tone hardens at the end. A demand. Please, talk to me . . .

“What is this?”

Ooookay. She’s blunt.

I clear my throat. “I don’t know.”

“Did this mean anything to you?”

I pause. She’s really fucking blunt. “Yes,” I say. And I’m surprised by how much I mean it.

“Do you plan to do it again?”

No hesitation. “As much as humanly fucking possible.”

She tips her head back and looks at me.

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

“No.”

“Are you seeing anyone?”

I frown. “Define ‘seeing’.”

“Fucking.”

“Yes.”

“More than one?”

My mouth twitches. “Sometimes.”

She pulls her hand out of mine and places it on her thigh, staring me down.

“How many?”

I sigh. “I don’t know, Kiernan. I’m not bringing home a new woman every night if that’s what you’re asking.”

“How many students are you sleeping with?”

I take my eyes off the road and turn to face her, looking her right in the eye. “One.”

“Have you ever slept with a student before?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you,” she scoffs.

I shrug, annoyed. “Believe me or don’t believe me. I’ve never fucked a student.”

She narrows her eyes. “I find it hard to believe nobody has tried.”

“Just because they try doesn’t mean it works.”

“What’s so special about me, then?”

I take my eyes off the road again and stare her down. “Everything.”