Page 30 of Betting on the Bad Boy
“Looks like the trip down might take a little while.” He tipped his head toward the panel, and I noticed most of the buttons were lit up.
“Oh, crap. I’m sorry. My hand must have hit the panel.”
“It’s okay.” He reached around me and bumped the stop button. The elevator shuddered, then began to move. “Your tattoo. I like it. What kind of flower is it?”
Before I could respond, the door opened, and a group of underclassmen entered the elevator. Dante stepped to one side while I stepped to the other to make room. I slipped my arms into my jacket and slung my backpack onto my shoulder.
The elevator stopped at the next floor, and another group got on.
“Jeez, who pushed all the buttons?” one of the underclassmen asked.
Dante’s gaze met mine through the crowd of knit hats, ponytails, and baseball caps. Amazed that no one else seemed to notice the intense band of energy pulsing between us, I blushed and looked away.
As the elevator reached the ground floor and everyone filed out, Dante’s fingers brushed against mine.
I looked up at him. “They’re daisies.”
His lips quirked up into a slight grin. “Why daisies?”
“Daisies symbolize loyal love, they?—”
“You and your flowers.” He lowered his head and swept his tongue over his upper lip. “You know I’m going to run my tongue all over that ink next time.”
I raised my eyes, and his look dared me to deny him. A chill ran through me. “Is that a promise or a threat?”
“Both.”
I didn’t doubt he meant it. With a final glance at his teasing smirk, I turned and slowly walked away. The whole encounter had lasted less than ten minutes. But somehow, I felt as if my whole world had just shifted off balance. And I was a little freaked out about that.
Because I kind of liked it.
I struggledto keep my eyes open for the last five minutes of the Religion in Contemporary Literature class. Professor Wickstrom had asked me to sit in today, but his voice droned on and on. If only he could infuse his lectures with a little more enthusiasm. I patted my face with my hands, trying to increase the blood flow to my brain. Four more minutes.
“Before we wrap up for the afternoon, I have an exciting announcement to make. I want you all to mark your calendars. We’ll have a special guest lecturer next month. Go on, write it down,” he said, gesturing to a student in the front row with his pen. “Claire Kepner will be joining us to talk about her experience as a contemporary Christian author.”
I let out an audible gasp. Professor Wickstrom must have mistaken my shock for excitement. “Glad to see at least someone is excited about this. It’s not every day you’re treated to a best-selling author’s firsthand experiences. Faith, please prepare an introduction. You can introduce Mrs. Kepner that day.”
“Oh no, Professor Wickstrom, I couldn’t.”
“You can, and if you want to stay in my good graces, you will.”
I knew better than to argue with him. I’d let it go, for now. I snapped the cover of my laptop down and shoved it, along with the rest of my things, into my bag.
“You may want to wipe your nose there.” Murph sidled up to me, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“What are you talking about?”
“You had your nose stuck so far up Wickstrom’s ass, I think you got something on it.” He laughed at his own joke.
I let out an exasperated sigh. “Very funny.” I slung my backpack over one shoulder and headed for the door. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Wickstrom asked me to sit in.” Murph caught up to me easily, taking one step to every two of mine. “So have you seen much of Dante lately?”
“Dante? Um, no. Why do you care?”
“I don’t. I was just wondering. You two seemed chummy.”
I reached up and adjusted my turtleneck, praying the fabric sufficiently covered evidence of my recent tryst with Dante. The thought of his body pressing against mine flitted through myhead, and heat flushed my cheeks. “No. We’re not chummy, not at all.”
