15. Chapter 15
Chapter 15
DECLAN
W hen we both speak at the same time, Vivian freezes and her cheeks turn pink. She looks down, apparently embarrassed, but I ignore it. She agreed and I’m not letting her back out of it now. I’ve been looking forward to seeing her all day, and I can’t remember the last time I looked forward to seeing anyone. I reach over and take her bag from her shoulders. She lets it go easily, seemingly frozen in surprise by what I am doing.
Once it is slung over one of my shoulders, she scowls at me. “I can carry my own bag,” she tells me matter-of-factly.
“I know,” I say, and angle my head in the direction of the small coffee hut that is on the fringe of the campus. I love it that she gets fired up; I am hoping to see her feisty side again.
She walks beside me silently, continuing to sneak looks at her bag.
The coffee shop is a small octagonal-shaped building, and all the sign on it says is Hot and Cold Beverages. Bells jingle when we enter, and surprisingly, the place is empty. I lead the way to the table farthest from the counter—to give us privacy to work of course.
I gesture to Vivian, who comes over with her head down and takes a seat. I place her backpack at her feet, and I don’t miss the relief in her face when I do. “What do you want?” I ask, mentally irritated at the rough way it comes out, even though that’s just me.
“Oh, I can get myself—”
“Vivian.”
Her eyes meet mine, and there’s some unspoken argument between us. God, I love her stubbornness, her independence. But I am going to win this one. I think my silent stare eventually gets to her, because she relents. “Hot chocolate, please,” she requests.
I turn without another word and order. I like that she knows that by me just saying her name—not shouting or growling, but just saying it—that I’m not going to take no for an answer. It feels like she understands me, and it makes me throb with attraction.
Once our orders are filled, I come back to the table and set down the hot chocolate in front of Vivian. I watch her eyes light up at the insane amount of whipped cream on the top of her drink. A small smile lifts her normally emotionless face.
“Thank you,” she says, quickly schooling her features, but her eyes still have the light in them. I like being able to lift that mask from her face. I love that I have made her happy, and I love seeing emotions from her. It makes me want to buy her another hot chocolate and see it again.
I watch as she takes a sip of her hot chocolate, her tongue coming out and cleaning the whipped cream that has coated her lips. Blood rushes straight down and I try to refocus my mind, try to distract it from where I would love to see her tongue and mouth. I spit out the first thing that comes to mind. “So, why are you taking business classes?”
Vivian’s so deep in studying her hot chocolate, as if planning her best way to have another sip, that she misses my question. “Sorry, what?”
I hand her a spoon, making her eyes shine, and I groan internally. The spoon is for my benefit, because if I see her licking whipped cream off her lips again, I am probably going to get up and kiss her, and maybe bend her over our table. It is what my hard cock for sure wants, but thankfully my brain still has enough blood flow to reason out that being a bad idea. “I asked why you are taking business classes.”
“Because I want to own a business,” Vivian answers, spooning some of the whipped cream in her mouth and then licking the spoon as she looks at me. She has no idea what she is doing—at least I don’t think she does—but she is going to kill me.
I look down at my own coffee and take a sip as I readjust myself in a way that I hope is covert. “What kind of business?” I ask, my voice sounding a bit higher pitched to my ears.
Vivian shrugs. She’s relaxed now, enjoying her drink, and she’s being more open. “I don’t really know, to be honest. I just know I want to be in charge of my future, and I figure the best way to do that is to have my own business.” As she responds, she digs her spoon into the piled high whipped cream and scoops a big amount into her mouth. “Should we talk about the project?”
I honestly don’t hear what she says, but I need her to keep talking so she doesn’t keep putting the whipped cream in her mouth and licking the spoon. If she keeps doing that I may come in my jeans, something that hasn’t ever happened to me, and I really don’t want tonight to be the first time. So instead of asking her to repeat her question, I ask my own. “What’s in your backpack?”
“A lot of books,” she replies without missing a beat. It must be her go-to response, I muse. “So about the project,” she says, her relaxed presence from seconds earlier gone, broken with my backpack question. “I am thinking that maybe we should look at it from a different perspective.” She then shares her ideas, and I listen intently, sipping my coffee. “What do you think?”
“I like it. I think it will help us show the topic in a way that can be appreciated by all,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. I hadn’t had a lot of time to think about our next step, but I like all she has come up with.
“Great,” she says with a small smile on her lips. “How do you want to divide everything up?”
“Whatever part you want to take, go ahead, and I will do the other half. But it needs to be equal; this is a group project,” I remind her. I get the feeling she is one of those people who likes to just handle it all to make sure it is done right and then slap everyone else’s name on it. I don’t rock that way. If I sign up for something, I take on what I need to. And the fact that people may have taken advantage of her nature in this pisses me off.
My phone starts to light up on the table, and multiple texts start to come through in rapid fire. “Shit,” I say as I pick it up and start reading through everything that is being sent to me.
“Everything okay?” Vivian asks, her face full of concern.
Nope, not even close to okay. I look at her. “I have to go,” I say and without another word get up and walk out the door, leaving Vivian staring behind me.