Page 27 of Revere
There’s something dangerously addictive about this man’s attention.
Professor Gray’s gaze falls to the book in my hands. “The essay that accompanied your program application pales in comparison to what you’re capable of.”
“Is that an insult?”
He tilts his head, eyes snapping to mine. “It’s an observation.”
“Well, it sounds like an insult.” I clutch the book closer to my chest. “I’ve never been a great writer, especially under pressure.”
“I never said you weren’t a good writer.”
“It’s what you implied.” I shrug. “Don’t worry. I’m not offended.”
The tick of his eyebrow proves he sees straight through that comment, so I barrel ahead before he can respond.
“I’m better at voicing my thoughts than writing them down. By the time I start typing, it’s easy to forget where I was going. I’d rather do oral presentations.”
“I can appreciate that.”
His smile has my stomach flipping over because I didn’t mean it to sound so scandalous, but that’s how every word sounds when I’m looking at Professor Gray. Thankfully, he breezes past it.
“Your input in class is always enlightening.”
It’s such a simple comment, but it has my chest tightening because he doesn’t sound like he’s being patronizing.
I’m used to being chastised for speaking up in class. I’ve been called names by fellow students and had professors roll their eyes when I’ve interrupted their lecture time and time again.
But the way Professor Gray is looking at me doesn’t hint that he’s annoyed at all. In fact, he seems to appreciate my input. Nothing intimidates him, and I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.
After a long pause, I turn to face the stacks because if I keep looking at him with these thoughts in my head, I’m going to listen to Mila and Violet’s encouragement and do something wholly inappropriate.
“You’re wandering the library awfully late.” I breeze my fingers over a few spines. “Do you live on campus, or do you actually leave this place at some point in the day?”
“I have an apartment nearby.” From the corner of my eye, I catch his smirk. “Every so often, they let me escape.”
His tone is playful, and something about that makes my heart race.
It figures I finally feel something for a man, and he’s almost twice my age. My professor, at that.
“Well, I’ve got my book now.” I wet my lips, cautiously glancing at him. “So feel free toescapeif you need to.”
“And what if you find yourself in need of more assistance?”
Why does it sound like he isn’t talking about books?
I ignore that, steadying my breath. “I’ll make sure I choose only books from the lower shelves if that will make you feel better about leaving me.”
My chest is on fire, and when Professor Gray steps closer, narrowly breaching the line of what’s appropriate, I can’t hear or think past the hammering in my ears.
I’m used to people avoiding me.
My walls are high, covered in sharp thorns. The barbs on my tongue bleed people dry before they get the chance to see the real me. And yet, he steps closer. He presses himself to the tip and dares me to cut him.
I look up into his green eyes, barely able to breathe when the gap between us is razor thin, and his apple spice cologne is tempting as sin.
“What are you doing?” It’s nearly a whisper.
“Thinking.”
