Page 38 of A Stealthy Situation

I have no idea if he drinks coffee or not, but I swing by Bean Necessities on the way to class anyway and go for a hot chocolate. They’re usually a safe choice, right? Fucked if I know, though I’d take a wager that he’s not a green tea guy.

I’m at class early and take a seat where I have a prime view of the room. Students trickle in, and a couple of them I know send me waves or smiles, but most of them are complete strangers to me.

Just when I think Benny won’t make it, he steps inside.

I picture him running late again, and the image of him all frazzled makes me soft.

He looks around for a second, hoodie pulled up over his head, and when his gaze lands on me, he upnods and heads my way.

It wasn’t the stupid, cocky smile I was expecting, but hey, it’s still early.

Before he can say anything, I plop the cup down on his desk. “Morning sugar.”

“We’re getting each other drinks now?” He drops his bag and slides into his seat. “What is it?”

“Hot chocolate.”

“Huh. Nice.” He takes an experimental sip, and it mustn’t be hot because he goes back for more. “Cheers, Bowser.”

“It’s the least I can do for?—”

Professor Brooks slams the door and locks it, cutting off our conversation. “Silence. Calm down, please, we have a lot to get through today.”

Don’t we ever? I roll my eyes Benny’s way, but he’s already paying attention, sitting straight, gaze locked on the young professor like he’s worried about missing something. Other than the few times I need him to break something down for me, we don’t talk like last time, which is a bit disappointing, but I get it. It’s a hard class to begin with, let alone if you miss something important, and by the way Professor Brooks talks, you’d assume everything in this class is important.

“Some days, I swear he wants to put us to sleep,” I mutter, getting an immediate laugh from Benny. The sound lights me up. “It’s not the math and science that’s the hard part. It’s resisting his hypnosis.” I glance over at him, but he’s not looking. It … bristles me a little bit. Usually, I catch him looking all the time, so this should be an improvement. Should be but isn’t.

I want to see his eyes. I like his eyes.

He’s smiling softly toward the front of the room. “This is his first semester teaching, right? He’s still green. Give him time.”

“What’d you do last night?” I ask him, even though I know he watched a movie at one point.

Benny’s back to typing intently though. “Sorry, what?”

Okay, okay. I get it. This isn’t the place. Benny is trying to focus, and it’s not fair of me to distract him.

But damn is he distracting me.

I can’t stop watching the way he’s typing. He’s got these long, nimble fingers, but he keeps hitting the wrong keys and is punching them hard, almost hunched over the keyboard he’s concentrating so intently. He’s got a prominent vein running along the back of his hand, a thin wrist, and then the rest is hidden by the hoodie he’s wearing. The weather has cooled off a bit, but not that much.

His dirty-blond hair is flicked over to the side, giving me a good view of his neck, strong jaw, five-o’clock shadow, and those fucking lips. The lips I imagined sinking my teeth into the other night.

That same unexplainable feeling builds in my gut, and for the first time ever, it starts to form into something recognizable. Something that feels a lot like want.

What kind of want, I have no idea, but it’s the type that makes my fingers want to meet his jaw, the type that makes me want to tell him to look at me, the type that very strongly responds to the way his mouth is moving along with the words he’s typing.

I pull my gaze away and try to tune back in to the class.

Even with all that want, there’s still nothing going on between my legs. It doesn’t have me convinced that I’m not so desperate to give things a try that I’m tricking myself into feeling what isn’t there. Surely if I was into the guy, my dick would know.

Maybe it’s slow on the uptake?

Because my gut seems to think I’d like kissing Benny. Even considering that makes me a delicious kind of light-headed.

“You have a free period next, right?” I ask. “Want to do something?”

“Sorry,” he whispers, sending my hope crashing through my ass. “Can’t. I’ve got a class to study for.”

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