Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Lena
Here I am…just clicking my heels together, waiting outside of Professor-Prince Komarov’s office in Nox Hall after Boden dropped me off for my Independent Study that was supposed to start fifteen minutes ago.
I don’t relish seeing Komarov again after this morning’s fiasco, but I’ve decided that I’m going to show everyone, including him, that I’m not Adrik Solis.
I never even met the guy—pretty sure he was executed before I was born. At least that’s what Naomi told me.
The clacking of Komarov’s dress shoes echoes down the marble hallway as he heads toward where I’m leaning against the wall. “Ah, Miss Solis, good of you to show,” Professor-Prince reprimands without looking up from his phone as if I wasn’t standing outside his office waiting on him.
I consider mouthing off, but I take a deep breath instead. “Of course, it’s important for me to excel.” I flash my kindest smile. He grunts in response as he continues walking in my direction without looking up. I think he’s going to stop and unlock his door, but he passes me, strutting on by.
“Um, Professor, aren’t we going to meet?” I run to catch up with his long stride.
“If we must,” he sighs.
I frown up at him. Well, I’m certainly not the one requiring we meet.
I side-eye him as he continues walking and texting.
He’s wearing an impeccably pressed black suit, yet his hair is mussed from a full day of work, like he’s been running his hands through it.
Or someone else has been touching it. My throat feeling dry, I attempt to swallow. Why does that thought bother me?
I gather myself enough to ask, “Where are we going?”
“If I must provide you extra tutelage with no benefit to me, I am, at the very least, going to do it some place where I’ll enjoy myself,” he quips, as we exit the building. I struggle to keep up. His earthy smell surrounds me, warm and grounding like leather and oud.
“And where is the place you enjoy yourself?” I throw on my bartender’s smile, attempting to prevent my voice from straining with my rapidly shortening breath.
He looks at me for the first time. “Don’t try to be cheeky, it’s not becoming of you.”
Woah, dammnnn. Okay, asshat.
I let my bulldozer mouth run with indignation. “I’ve been told my cheeks are very becoming, thank you very much!”
He stops dead in his tracks and slowly turns to face me head on.
With his nostrils flaring, his gaze travels down my body.
His face is expressionless, bored, in the low lights peppered throughout the quad.
The air between us feels heavy and vaguely predaceous.
The tiny hairs at the nape of my neck stand on end, like they’re reacting to a light dusting of static electricity.
I still completely, with the exception of my breathing—my breasts rise and fall with each strained intake of air.
Slowly, his stare travels back up my body. His dark eyes are a flame licking over my skin, leaving a fierce heat in their wake. As they meet mine, he leans in, his lips just inches from mine, and whispers, “Well, some people have poor taste, Miss Solis.”
Immediately, he resumes his speed walking, leaving me to gape after him, my jaw hanging open and cheeks burning. What. The. Fuck?
Look, it’s not that I was being overly flirtatious and it’s not like I think I’m the most desirable girl in the world, but my flirting has literally never not worked to endear me to the subject of my attention. Alright, Lena, maybe it’s best to keep your mouth closed around Professor-Pissy-Prince.
I trail behind him into the Komarov Center (the name of which I’m guessing is not a coincidence), staying a few feet away, not ready to look him in the eye.
We take a large staircase down one flight and walk through a wooden door into what appears to be an underground pub.
In the dim lighting, students and staff mingle around small tables and at a large wooden bar.
Still reeling from what could go down in history books as the world’s most awkward moment, I follow Professor Komarov to a bar table with two stools. “Sit,” he commands, and I do. He slides into the stool across from me while scrolling on his phone.
“So there wasn’t a syllabus for our Independent Study?
” I test the waters of conversation. He holds up a finger, continuing to text, and even chuckling to himself like he’s unaware that we are wading through the stormy seas of contentious interactions.
I stare at him, one eyebrow raised, feeling both annoyed at his waste of time and completely chastised like it’s all my fault.
“If you make it past the first two weeks, I’ll send you a reading list.” Finally, he gazes up at me.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I mumble sarcastically. Then I remember I’m supposed to be a ray of fucking sunshine and I add, “I look forward to learning from you.”
With a face devoid of emotion, he stands up and points to the table, “Stay.” He turns and walks to the bar across the room.
Sit, stay. He’s addressing me like I’m a dog.
I distract myself from my irritation by reviewing my class schedule and syllabi for the rest of my classes on my phone.
Komarov was the only professor who assigned a reading before the first day of class.
But now I’ve learned that lesson: Read the syllabus prior to the start of class.
Tomorrow I have a full day of combat class, which seems about as pleasant as a sandpaper Slip ’N Slide.
I love to move my body—I’ve been known to destroy the dance floor—but the idea of combat turns my stomach.
Speaking of, what is taking that man so long?
Komarov’s back is toward me as he leans against the bar, one polished black shoe propped up on the footrail.
I take my time studying him. At first glance, he seems carefree as he chats with the woman next to him.
Upon further inspection, the muscles in his back seem strained.
Although positioned casually over the bar, his body holds tension.
There’s an amber-colored drink in his hand, and it’s half empty.
Is he seriously just up there drinking? I scowl at the woman he’s speaking to; every now and then, she brushes her fingers against his wrist, and the side of Komarov’s face is turned up into a flirtatious smirk.
He’s up there picking up women when he’s supposed to be teaching me.
He’s been downgraded from asshat to complete and total asshole!
Fine. Whatever. I’m at least going to get a drink.
I saunter up to the only open space at the bar, which happens to be on the other side of Professor-Prince, and I order an old-fashioned.
“Put that on my tab,” a deep gravelly voice asserts on the other side of me.
“Oh, you don’t have….” I stop mid-sentence when I turn and am met with the face of a gorgeous blonde man. I really think someone should investigate my theory about sexy vitamins in the water on campus.
His wide, bright smile is somehow both affronting and comforting. “You’re Lena?” He tucks a strand of his long golden hair that’d escaped its bun behind his ear.
“Yeah…” I confirm cautiously. I force my jaw not to fall open when I catch a glimpse of his tan muscular chest peeking through his button-down shirt.
Laughing and his light brown eyes crinkling, he says, “No need to be nervous.”
I huff out a breath of relief. “Recently, the responses that have followed my answer to that question haven’t gone so well.”
“Ah, well, some people are a bit closed-minded.” He watches me over his pint of beer while I observe him out of the corner of my eye.
“I’m Michi.” His hand extends, and I take it for a brief shake, keeping my body straight toward the bar.
I’ve almost exclusively met jerks this week and won’t be won over by a drink and a nice smile.
“How’s your first week going?” he asks. “I imagine it’s been quite an adjustment.”
“Quite. I’ve been adjusting about as well as a broken belt buckle.” I offer a coy smile, taking a sip of my drink.
“That bad, huh?” Michi implores, with a pout.
“Yeah, I may or may not have gotten pushed in the lake,” I mumble into my old-fashioned.
“I heard something about that.” His laugh is soft, soothing like my whiskey. “I’m sorry that happened,” he adds gently.
“You weren’t there?” I thought the entire student body was.
His brows pinch together. “No, I wasn’t, and if I had been, it’s not my style to stand by while someone half drowns.”
That sounded genuine—he may actually be a nice guy. I turn to face him fully. “That’s kind of you.”
“No, it’s just magica decency,” he confidently proclaims with a shake of his head.
“Gatti, get lost,” Komarov interrupts, having settled comfortably into his stool, spreading his knees so one gently brushes my thigh. “Miss Solis is in Independent Study.”
“Really? It looks to me like she is sitting at a bar alone.” Michi stares the professor down for what feels like entirely too long.
I watch the exchange with rapt attention.
The heaviness from earlier returns, like the air has turned sodden and cold.
Michi blinks away. “Sure thing, Professor.” As he gets up to leave, he gives me a quick wink. “I’ll see you around, Lena.”
I whip around to face Komarov, hissing, “What gives?” That conversation with Michi was one of the most pleasant I’ve had all week. Professor-Prince just had to interrupt, even though he’s ignoring me.
“You’re in Independent Study, Miss Solis,” he reprimands impassively. “Not cruising for a hookup.”
He turns back to the woman he’s been flirting with. I mumble under my breath too quietly for him to hear, “Really? That’s not what it seems like.” Maybe it’s the magic that thrives here or whatever, but I swear I can sense him stiffen and the air pulls taut and heavy around me.
Not one to waste an opportunity, I flag down the bartender. “Any chance you’re hiring?” I implore, with a wide grin.
“We can be. You’ve bartended before?”