Page 93 of Until We Meet Again

The thought of seeing anyone or doing anything has been the last thing on my mind, but I can't stop Monday morning from arriving. Despite being desperate to see her again, I also know I have to keep my distance.

The classroom is the only place where I still have a tiny part of her and can play a role in her life. It isn't the role I want, but I'll take anything I can. Taking a seat at my desk, I look around the room, gazing around and focusing on where she usually sits, half expecting her to materialize right in front of me. I close my eyes for a moment and take a deep breath, trying my damn hardest to calm these thoughts and get my head back into the role of professor. It isn't easy. My mind keeps going back to the last time I saw her, lying in my bed with her eyes tightly closed,my sheets barely covering her naked body, and me turning and walking away from her like the coward I am.

I was so used to her being here early, where we'd get a few minutes to ourselves, when she'd torture me to the point of almost losing my fucking mind, leaving me desperate to show her exactly what happens when she denies my touch.

I miss those brief moments with her, but when she doesn't show up at all, I'm forced to take my head out of my unprofessional ass and teach as best as I can.

My fingers itch to message her to find out where she is and why she isn't in my class, but I refrain. I have to, even if it goes against everything inside me. However, I understand she might need some space, and I'll try my hardest to respect that.

Chapter 41

Zane

I'm no longer respecting her space.

It's been a week—a whole damn school week—and she hasn't shown up to a single one of my classes. Now, I'm just pissed. In fact, I'm way beyond pissed that she's skipping out on school when she's so close to graduating.

Okay, so there's a tiny but very loud, nagging part of my brain questioning whether she's okay. It took me driving past her house like a fucking psycho, where I managed to catch a glimpse of her blonde locks twisted into a knot on the top of her head to know that she was. When I caught sight of her, I immediately left. I already felt uneasy—borderline creepy—and the last thing I wanted was to look like some stalker. But sometimes anxiety hits me out of nowhere, like a tidal wave crashing against the shore, and no amount of bourbon can stop those intrusive thoughts from taking over my mind. It doesn't seem like it, but I'm trying to deal with my issues. However, this little vanishing act of hers hasn't helped.

I have the afternoon free, so I stroll around campus, making my way around all of Tessa's usual places, hoping to run into her. I'm about ready to give up hope as I head into the library, the last on my list of possible places where I'm likely to find her. I know her schedule, and this isn't a time when she would usually have a shift.

I wander through the library, surrounded by endless rows of bookshelves—shelves that I've had Tessa pressed against more than once. The place is buzzing with students, much more than I anticipated.

Tessa's nowhere to be seen, and just as I resign myself to thinking she isn't here, I see a flash of blonde hair from around the Law and Criminology section. When I step closer, my heart starts to race at the possibility of seeing her. I inch forward, drawing nearer until the back of her head comes into view, and it's confirmation enough. Her long, wavy blonde hair cascades down her back, over her skin that glows beneath the soft light, and over a black, strappy top I once would've had the privilege to peel off.

I stride purposefully toward her, steeling myself to confront her about how she just up and disappeared when my eyes catch a sudden flash of movement. Jet-black hair and a cocky smirk come into view, and I realize she isn't alone.

I recognize him immediately.

He wants her, but then I was already aware of that. I know what it looks like to be infatuated with her, and it emanates from him. But I can't blame him—Tessa's out of this world, beautiful.

Seeing them together triggers a fierce jealousy within me. They're undeniably close, both physically and in their obvious friendship, and Tessa is clearly comfortable with him. There's no fidgeting with her rings; she's entirely at ease, and I hate him because he gets this side of her—something I gave up.

Fuck it.

He notices me first, and as he straightens himself in his seat, she turns to look at me. If she's affected by my being here, she doesn't show it, which only pisses me off more.

"Miss Walsh."

"Can I help you, Professor?"

"A word, now."

Chapter 42

Tessa

I've been ugly crying for a week.

Jen has been an absolute rock for me. She's gone out of her way to find me every flavor of ice cream Ben & Jerry's has ever created. She's been the big spoon for at least two nights now, denying Harry her time so she could stay with me. She's watched every season of Bridgerton for the hundredth time and listened to me compare all of the love stories to the love I lost—the love I never really had.

But she's also put me on a phone ban.

The morning I left Zane, I returned home and spent hours staring at the one picture I had of us, reliving the memory and torturing myself in the process. Zane's face is mostly hidden as he rests his head against the curve of my neck, and his arm covers my modesty by lightly draping over my breasts. Every time I look at it, I can still feel his breath on my neck, his hot skin against mine, and his crushing presence in my heart.

"We have no photos together." I scroll through Instagram and enviously look at other couples living their best lives.

He rests his head on my chest while I gently run my fingers through his hair, both of us lost in our post-orgasmic haze. "You want people to find out I spent the last couple of months fucking you?"

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