Page 92 of Liminal
“Improved rapidly once you were interested. You didn’t fail. Your teachers failed you.”
“If you say so, boss.” He shoots me a charming but sad pearly white smile. “But what I was trying to say was… I’m sorry, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“It’s not something that can be undone.” I soften my tone. “Now. You’re a sweaty mess, and it’s stinking up the Rotunda. Go take a shower, and I’ll consider forgiving you if you do well with your tutoring.”
I mostly blame the Arcanaeum for his nosiness, anyway. I’m pretty sure if it hadn’t invited him in, he wouldn’t have snooped.
He shoots me a true trademark grin this time. “Yes, boss lady.” He steps away, then pauses, turning back to me. “Just putting it out there…but Ididwin that match.”
Galileo’s words float back to me. Magiball is important to him, but I can’t blow up his already insufferable ego too much.
“You played well.” Better than well. “Leo was concerned that I might damage the projector when that ref?—”
“Fuck! He’s such a douchebag, right?” The last of the tension falls from his wide shoulders. “Well, if you want to join me to celebrate, you know where I’ll be.”
There is far too much cocky swagger in his step as he walks away for my liking. That doesn’t stop the smile haunting my lips.
Why not?that traitorous part of my mind whispers. Why not shower with the golden god who is the first arcanist in centuries to look at me like a person? Why not enjoy what time I have left?
Lambert, despite being an incorrigible flirt, has always respected me. If I told him it would never happen again, he’d accept that. If I told him not to touch me, I believe he’d honour my request.
There’s safety in his simplicity.
I’m already drifting after him without realising it, fiddling with the collar of my shift.
Clothes have changed, and the clothes I died in…aren’t really suited to what I think he wants.
Insecurity hits me as I think back to the night I dressed for that stupid ball. Mistress Ruby—an inept, now long dead—pinned me into this gown. She helped me don the delicate lace partlet and hook it into place.
I’ve seen images of what people wear beneath their clothes nowadays. If Lambert is expecting skimpy undergarments and pieces of pretty string… Well, my plain linen shift might come as a shock.
“I’ll banish his too-firm ass if he looks disappointed,” I mutter to myself.
Perhaps this is a bad idea, but I haven’t stopped floating towards the bathroom. I pause outside, hearing his cheerful whistles that morph into poor renditions of popular songs intermittently, and rest my head on the door.
What if this is a mistake? What if this is opening the way to embarrassment, and hurt, and mockery?—?
The wood swings open without my permission and the safe seclusion of my dark slice of hallway is instantly flooded with the light from within.
Gah! Stupid meddling library!
Lambert looks up, his hair and tattooed muscles glistening beneath the spray, and flashes me an easy smile.
Like he was waiting for me. There’s a smidgen of egocentric satisfaction in his expression, but it’s not the look of a maneyeing a sure thing. More the look of someone who was content to accept rejection but hoped he wouldn’t have to.
“Hey, boss.”
The greeting, so familiar between the two of us, has taken on a deeper husky tone I don’t recognise, and I drop my hands as I struggle valiantly to keep my eyes above his waist.
Magic, what am I doing here? If the university found out I was soliciting a student—even if I’m not technically faculty—it would be a disaster.
“If you say anything about this—about me?—”
The light in his gaze fades, replaced by seriousness. “You think I want to share this experience with anyone?”
The door shuts behind me, and I realise I’ve drifted closer, again.
“Get in here, boss.”
