11. Sofia
11
SOFIA
O h. My. God. I have to be ovulating or something with the way men have been reacting to me lately.
Or the way I’ve been reacting to them.
Usually, I’d say my hormones were fogging up my perception, but now, I have the option to play things back. And going back through the footage feels voyeuristic.
It makes me feel a bit more validated that when I left Professor Trevino’s office the other day with an absolute mess puddled in my panties from the tension between us, or the tingles I got from when Braxton tucked my son in the backseat of my dad’s car…
What would have happened if Dad hadn’t been there? If he weren’t Dad’s best friend? Or if Trevino weren’t my advisor? If I had the freedom to take something, would they let me?
But why do the men I seem to be responding to all have Off-Limits branded on them? Why does that make me want them all the more?
Sighing, I rub at my eyes with the butts of my palms. With the glasses, the camera catches more than I do. And it’s cringey to watch myself blunder, to assume one thing about a person and be shown other nuances that I missed the first time.
Like when Professor Trevino called me out on why I didn’t include more about Professor Knight in my rough edit. Sure, I didn’t like it. He is annoying, but Trevino caught the same thing I’d been trying to downplay, like how intently Knight watched me at the café.
And what it means that he keeps trying to get me to call him Orion. Which is not happening. I need that barrier in place even if it seems to drive him crazy, push him harder to find a way to connect with me.
I can’t apologize for not being one of his fan girlies who fawns all over him. That’s not me.
Yet, Braxton, which is what I’ve always called him, has also mentioned that I can call him Brax. Like my taking care of his daughter means we’re on more even footing.
Maybe we are.
There’s something to be said about watching your life back.
Because Braxton—Brax… God, that makes me a little bit warmer inside—is the obvious safe choice. Right? Maybe?
Aside from the fact that he’s Dad’s friend. That I’m the babysitter. None of that seems to put a weird lean on the tension between us. It’s not like I’m sixteen.
Even if he’s old enough to be my dad, he’s not. I’m an adult. And God, I bet he would be fun.
I shake myself out of it, close my computer, and pack up my stuff to go set up the Film Club’s movie night.
Collecting the movie from the library is easy, but when I’m back in the department, Professor Knight is hovering. The grin he gives me when he spots me doesn’t get by my notice this time. I’m far, far too aware of him now.
“Are you here to help?” My brow raises, already on defense.
“I am.” There is no need for the husk in his voice, especially here.
I roll my eyes. “You know how to set up the projector?”
His laugh is soft as he steps closer. “I do. Will it upset you if I take that on?”
My confusion must be written across my features because his smile is triumphant.
“It’s hard to know how much of my help you want.”
I blow out a breath and roll my eyes. “I’ll take your help with the projector, or I wouldn't have asked.”
“No? I thought you might want to rub it in my face if I didn’t.” Knight isn't offended by this in the least. Not with the way he leans against the counter that leads into the small kitchenette for the department.
“Oh, I definitely would have. But now, I simply get to put you to work.” I hand him the movie, smile, and step around him to the fridge. I stashed a few bottles of soda and juice inside, a bag of ice in the freezer. The cooler is in the supplies closet.
I also pop a few bags of popcorn to go with the chips to create a small spread. If they want anything more, they’ll need to bring it with them.
Outside at the back of the building, Knight has the projector in place, a square of white light blaring against the smooth, bare face of the building. I catch him following my movements as I put the goods I’m carrying down on the grass.
A fold out table is waiting for me, so I set it up, put out the spread, and turn back to Knight. This time, his attention is on the building—on what he’s doing.
Good .
I head back to the department and another closet full of blankets and chairs. I’m nice enough to grab two chairs so that Knight will have someplace to sit, too. He is actually being helpful, after all.
The spark of heat in his eyes when I bit my lip or fussed with my hair flashes through my mind. A reminder of the professional distance I need to maintain between us.
Back outside, Knight is chatting with a few of the students who have arrived. The early birds will pop up slowly, then they’ll all be here at once. It’s the way it always goes at these events. Especially since it’s open to the entire campus.
A great recruitment tool, as I’ve discovered.
I drag my goods up by the projector at the top of the small hill and set myself a little cocoon in my foldout chair with the bulky blanket I brought from the closet.
Professor Knight spots me and slowly makes his way back to our spot. His smile is sweet and playful. “Is that for me?”
He points to the folding chair on the opposite side of the projector. I nod. When he grabs the chair and moves it beside me, he plops down, and the chair’s arm bumps against mine.
At seven thirty sharp, we start the movie, calling for quiet as the beginning credits roll. I enjoyed this movie the first time I saw it. Interstellar.
It opens like a documentary before it devolves into deep-space action. The theories, which I am not equipped to unravel as truth or fiction, are an interesting push forward for the plot and characters.
I settle in a bit further, pulling the blanket higher over my shoulders even though it’s still warm. The chill will set in before too long, and it’ll get cold by the time the movie is over.
Besides, I’m hoarding my sour gummies in my lap. I brought them for me, and everyone else can bug off.
“Are you going to share?” Knight prods softly, and I turn to glare at his tugging at the blanket.
“Come on. You can share the blanket. There’s enough of it.” Those blue eyes are so dark and so near.
“You know, I put your chair over there for a reason.” I break open my gummy bag to accentuate my point.
Knight just grins at me and tugs at the blanket again. “Yeah, I know, because you don’t care if I freeze to death.”
I have to fight my smile with a frown, but he can tell. Just like Noah always can.
“How did you not already know it was going to get cold?”
“Why are you trying to be so stingy with that giant blanket?”
Finally, I relinquish some of the blanket to him and munch on a gummy, savoring it. If I eat too many, I’ll make myself sick, so I have to limit myself. And I want to make them last.
After eying my small treat, he squirms for a minute before slipping out from under the blanket to dash over to the snack table. Professor Knight returns with a half-bag of popcorn, a container of juice, and peanut m&m’s.
This time, I let him see my full smile. Of course, it only makes him lean in and steal one of the few gummies I have left. It’s in his mouth before I can even protest, but my mouth falls open.
“No, sir. You did not.”
He chews and looks pleased with himself, offering me the cherry juice. How does this glare not faze the man? He must have been a burden on his mother if he’s so immune.
I take the bottle and turn back to the movie. It’s easy to ignore him, even as we swap snacks back and forth. A few times, he leans in to whisper something about the way a scene is portrayed or shot, or how a plot device is used.
Part of me wants to elbow him to get him to shut up, but I like the small snippets of discussion. I always get in trouble for commenting too much on things at home. I get it. All of the analysis can ruin a movie for most viewers.
After the water planet, I’m growing more and more aware of Knight beside me. How his shoulder is pressed into mine. In fact, the contact spans down my entire arm. Tension is creeping in, a slow build that spreads across my chest, up my neck, and into my cheeks. Like boiling a frog, I’m submersed in heat when his pinky brushes over mine.
When I don’t pull away, Knight links his fingers with mine under the blanket. His palm is rougher than I expected, but his squeeze has strength and comfort in it.
After a minute, I turn to peer at him. It doesn’t take long for him to tilt into me. “Watch the movie, Sofia.”
Resettling myself, I do watch the movie, aware of his hand and how he strokes the back of my thumb with his. It’s somehow both silly and sweet.
I like this side of him.
But fear gets the better of me when the credits start rolling. I pull away, which earns me a small wounded look. It’s a good thing, though, because here comes Leann, marching straight for Professor Knight to slay him with her giggles.