Page 72 of Drown Like Heaven
Not that it was an especially difficult confusion to come to.
More footsteps caught my attention and I glanced up at the wide entrance to the room—at the exact second that Dr. Killshaw stepped in.
His eyes instantly snapped to mine and he froze.
Yeah, I’m the only one up here.
The feeling of making eye contact with him was a shot of pure heat in my veins, a tug low in my stomach. Neither of us said anything, both clearly shocked.
Were you ignoring me on purpose? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?
Or did you want me to notice? To hate myself because I couldn’t stop thinking about you?
He shifted like he was going to turn and leave, but I opened my mouth before he got a chance.
“Dr. Killshaw,” I said.Loud and fucking clear.
I held my breath, waiting to see if he’d blatantly ignore me again. There was no way to make it subtle now. A slight tint of frustration lined his face.
“Masters.”
His tone was collected, steady.
It affected me, as everything about him affected me. I liked when he called me that.Masters. Like I was special.
“Do you have a second?” My heart was starting to beat harder as my confidence waned, my palms sweating. I didn’t haveanything to ask him, didn’t need any help, but I wasn’t about to let him leave.
“Sure. What do you need?”
I turned my laptop in his direction, pointing at the screen. “I’m working on my polymers report. I have a few questions.”
He was staring at me with an intensity that almost felt inappropriate, and blood rushed to my cheeks. I hoped it was too dark for him to notice.
“Alright.” He started across the room towards me, then sat in an armchair near mine, resting his forearms on his spread thighs as he leaned forward. “What’s up?”
Up close, I could see how his hair was a little more mussed than usual, like he’d been running his hand through it. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, showing a cotton undershirt, his sleeves pushed sloppily up his arms instead of neatly rolled. The hint of a shadow lined his jaw.
Everything about him was messier.
He’s here late, too.
I turned my laptop towards him on the low table.
“Statistical analysis?” he questioned, his blue-gray eyes scanning my screen while he thought.
“I just want to make sure I did the right tests on JMP.” I was bullshitting so hard, but I didn’t know what else to say.
His gaze flicked up for a second, landing on my face, then returned to my laptop. He ran a hand over his jaw.
“You don’t have to do any specific tests. Just use your best discretion, then explain why you did what you did. What the results mean in the context of the experiment. How they’re significant.”
“Okay.” I nodded, trying to sound grateful, or relieved. “Do you think I went in the right direction, though?”
“You tell me.”
I was paralyzed now that his stare was locked back onto mine. I fought the urge to squirm.
“Tell you what?”
