K. Bromberg: Sweet Ache

He leans his hips back on the table behind him and mirrors my posture. “Hey, blondie, what’s your name?”

“Trixie,” I tell him off the cuff. My mind immediately went to the name Layla and I use in a club when we’re being hit on by someone we have no interest in.

“Trixie, huh?”

“Says so on my birth certificate. Is there something you needed?”

“Yeah,” he says pushing his way off the table and walking toward me. My god, even his swagger across the short distance is sexy. He stops right in front of me and just stares. Chemistry I don’t want to feel ignites between us.

You keep telling yourself that you don’t want to feel that, Quinlan .

I look away, breaking whatever draw he continues to have over me. The one I don’t want to feel. I just need to get out of here before those eyes of his and that cocky grin wear me down until I’m lying on my back with him above me. And thankfully he speaks because his words help all of those thoughts from finding purchase inside my mind.

“So was the lecture bad or something?” He angles his head and for some reason his body language does not reflect the simple question he asks. I won’t walk right into his verbal trap of sarcasm again so I look back to him, eyebrows arched, fingers drumming on my bicep, waiting for him to continue. “Are you too cool to take notes?”

“Lecture about something noteworthy, and I’d be glad to take some,” I fire back. And yes it’s an unfair response because I barely listened to his lecture at all, more focused on ignoring him than anything, but he deserves it for his comment.

“Ooh,” he says, bringing his hand to his heart like I’ve wounded him before flashing a lightning-fast grin. “I’ve got a soft spot for a woman who’s beautiful and quick with her tongue.”

I snort in exasperation. “Well, I’m sure you have the soft part down pat but I thought a guy like you’d prefer a woman without a brain or better yet, no teeth.”

Hawkin’s friend whistles to the side of us, but I ignore him, not needing any more of a distraction than what is in front of me. I rise from my seat and start throwing my stuff in my bag knowing that me and my smart mouth need to get up and leave before they get me in more trouble than normal.

“You think you have me pegged, huh?” His voice murmurs too close for comfort behind me. My body reacts instantly: goose-bumped skin, hitched breath, and my every nerve attuned to the proximity of his body.

Then again, trouble can be so much fun.

I can tell he’s used to women begging to be played and hell if that’s an option here. Chemistry or no chemistry, I’m smart enough to know he’s one of those guys I need to steer clear of.

And I plan on doing just that. Marching up these steps and back to the department office to tell Carla that assisting this seminar is just too much for my class load. That even with the extension of time she’ll give me on my thesis, it’s still not enough. I’m sure she’ll see right through the lie, know something is up, but will never question me on it.

But before I go …

“I know I have you pegged,” I say with a small laugh as I throw my bag over my shoulder carelessly, silently hoping he is close enough to me that he gets hit by it. “And you sure as hell are proving me right.”

“Oh, I can be all kinds of right, Trixie,” he says as I turn around to find him still way too close. It’s just a moment really but with our bodies so close and our eyes burning into each other’s the pang of desire between my thighs turns into a full-blown ache.

I sidestep away from him immediately, hating the jump in my pulse and the lust coursing through me. I need to get out of here, away from him and his arrogant smirk and his come fuck me eyes.

“You were late,” he states matter-of-factly as I begin to walk toward the stairs. “Don’t let it happen again.”

His taunting dare causes my foot to falter on the first step, my quick temper getting the best of me. I turn around and stride back toward him, stopping only when I’m well within his personal space. “No worries there. Must be nice, though…. Stroll in here, act like a wannabe teacher for a few lectures, and that power trip you seem to be needing gets an unwarranted boost for that ginormous ego of yours.”

I see the surprise flicker through his eyes with temerity following closely behind it. He takes a step closer, our bodies a whisper away from each other, and I have to tilt my head up to hold his gaze.

“Since you were late, did you miss who I am? Wannabe is something I surpassed a long time ago.” He grates the words out, that velvet voice packed with grit and coated in an unhealthy dose of conceit.

“Well, excuse me Professor Play ,” I say, voice laced with saccharine, as his breath feathers over my lips from our less than professional proximity. “So what? You’re just an asshole on a power trip then?”

A sliver of a laugh falls from his lips but there is anything but humor in it. I know I’ve hit a nerve and hell if I care because he needs to get knocked down a peg.

“So much hostility from such a pretty girl.”

Girl? Guess he’s not noticing my tits or curves. And why does that bug me?

“I’ve got a lot more where that came from,” I reply, taking a step back from his cologne that’s clouding my thoughts and the dark gray flecks in his eyes that mine keep focusing on.

“Thanks for the warning,” he says with a nod of his head, “but I’m not quite sure what I’ve done to deserve it.”

“Nothing.” I snort. “Your type just rubs me the wrong way.”

“I’ll rub you any way you like if you want.” His smile widens and eyes wander down my body and slowly back up in obvious appraisal.

And as much as I’m glad he’s finally taking notice, I hope he likes what he sees because it will be the last time he gets a good look at it. “Like I said, you’re an asshole.”

“I can think of worse things to be.” He shrugs, smarmy look in place that tells me he’s enjoying this. “I hate to break it to you but uh, I’m not going anywhere.” He lifts his chin toward the podium. “I happen to be a wannabe professor.” He licks his bottom lip and steps closer to me. “So we can play this two ways.”

“Two ways?” I don’t think I like where this conversation is going considering that fuck-all smirk of his just widened so big that tiny little dimples appeared. I hear his friend shift and sigh but don’t look.

“Yeah. You know your hostility is obviously masking your true feelings.”

“True feelings?” And there I go again, repeating what he says. How has he reduced me—a woman always confident and quick with my wit—to two-word sentences? I don’t have much time to think about it because he steps closer, causing me to retreat so that the backs of my legs hit the seat behind me. I have nowhere to go now.

“Mm-hm. That you’re hot for teacher.”

I cough out a laugh, choking on my own words with the knowledge of hierarchy of student to professor. I tone down my response before I respond. “I’m sure you’d love to think that, except not everyone is mesmerized by your dazzling charm. Besides, there’s a school policy against fraternization between students and wannabe professors.” I purse my lips and wait for his response.

He glances over to his friend and gives him a look I can’t quite see before running a hand through his hair and focusing back on me. “For some reason I don’t think you care if you follow any rules or not.”

Well, at least he’s got that right because I’m probably breaking several right now with the way I’m speaking to him and I couldn’t care in the least. “You said we could play it two ways,” I say, suddenly remembering the comment from moments before that his cocksure comeback distracted me from. “What’s the second?”