Page 17 of Dream a Little Dream

Aaron arched an eyebrow, but did as he was told and shut it, closing off any potential prying eyes. Dozens of people had seen him come in. It wasn’t unusual for student-professor talks to happen in privacy. Still, it tugged on Kenny’s principles to do it like this.

Aaron turned back, and Kenny drifted his gaze over him. He couldn’t deny his attraction. He hadn’t been able to in the club, either. When he’d danced in solitude among the throng, bold and unapologetic. The colour of his hair was enough to pull his gaze. It wasn’t just pink, but a shade demanding to be noticed. Somewhere between cotton candy softness and the striking vibrance of magenta. Messy, but purposeful, too. A deliberate tousle framing his face in loose strands, falling just enough into striking blue eyes and a faint gloss giving the texture of silk. Yet it had a wild edge, as if he’d just run his hands through it. Or someone else had.

Like Kenny had.

When Aaron had been on his knees.

Kenny could still feel the softness on his fingers.

Pairing that with the tattoo curling up his neck, and the touch-me-end-die vibe, it was clear Aaron hadn’t chosen the pink to be sweet. But edgy.Defiant. An act of rebellion. Daring anyone to underestimate him. And all of that combined grabbed Kenny’s attention as if hypnotised. He couldn’t deny it. Nor could he deny what was still there. Kenny had wanted him then, as much as he did now, more than he’d wanted anything in his life.

But Aaron Jones was like a beaming light shining down a dark alley. An open fire on a mound of dereliction. Beautiful, striking, and could commit harm. Aaron was a spark that, if tested, would rage and flare and destroy everything. And their connection was a living, breathing thing, ready to spread and infect.

Kenny hadn’t had a feeling like that sinceJack.

And they’d nearly killed each other.

“You can sit.” Kenny pointed the end of the pen at the tatty leather sofa pushed up against his bookcase.

Aaron slid his bag off and did as he was told.Obedient. Sitting positions could reveal a lot about a person. The classic hands behind the head pose suggested an assertion of authority, of self-importance. Crossed arms and legs equal closed off, standoffish or uncomfortable. Aaron sat in the figure four lock position. One ankle crossed over his opposite knee, ripped jeans spreading to reveal pale skin beneath, laid back and relaxed, arm gliding along the backrest of the couch. But his fingernails, short and blunt, bitten down to stubs, picking at the worn leather, suggested he wasn’t totally at ease. Kenny couldn’t expect him to be. But he still had an air of confidence. Of sharp buoyancy. A self-reliance seeping from his every pore.

He didn’t hold the expected posture a student summoned to his office on the first day would. Normally, they sat forward, hands on knees. Women might cross their legs. But they’d transfix their gaze on him, wide eyed and open, hanging on his every word by leaning into his space. Aaron remained at a distance. Looking anywhere but at him, he read through the spines on the bookshelf. The sofa wasn’t comfortable, either, meaning to look relaxed in it tookeffort.

“I’ll assume you know why you’re here,” Kenny started with.

With a brief glance his way, Aaron winked. “Round two?”

His cocky brashness masked his distrust. He didn’t believe that. But there was an apprehension in his delivery that maybe that was why he was here, and he was contemplating what that meant for him. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in this position.

Kenny’s chest tightened. Would he go through with round two if asked?

Kennywouldn’tfind out.

“I asked for access to your file.”

Thatgot a far more interesting reaction. Miniscule, but enough of a blink out of synch for Kenny to cling onto.

“From who?” Aaron pursed his lips, prevented himself from adding themfor the correctwhom. Like how he’d simplified his personal statement. He didn’t want people to think he was as smart or as well-spoken as he was under the surface. Sure, he had rough edges, but a soft undertone. His early years might have significantly differed from his later years. Because Kenny detected a hint of home counties in his accent. It wasn’t the full-bodied, inner city multi-cultural London where his file had said he was from and Aaron played up to.

“Admissions.”

Aaron noticeably relaxed. Well, noticeable enough for Kenny. A hint that his secrets were still safe if he wanted them to be.

“And they told you to jump a rope?” Aaron chuckled, turning his face away to rub his eyebrow with a finger.

“There are certain parts in your file I don’t have access to. But I’ve been here long enough to know the reasons that might be.”

Aaron turned back to him. A challenge. Kenny waited. Aaron remained tight-lipped. So Kenny tried a different line of questioning.

“Did you know who I was?” he asked. Carefully. Cautiously. Side stepping over the potential maelstrom.

“I know who you are, yes.”

“Did you know who Iwas?”

Aaron waited a beat, then he let himself answer. “You didn’t tell me your name.”

“But you’d applied to be onmycourse.”

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