Chapter 9 #2
His attempt at banter was starting to seriously piss me off.
My eyes kept drifting across the lounge, searching for an older woman—anyone older, bolder, and more competent than this prick—to spend the rest of my night with.
Mia was practically in Adrian's lap by this point, three rounds deep into the evening, whispering and giggling into his neck.
They looked incredibly sweet together, full of soft smiles and genuine connection, so I tried to suppress my irritation.
But Ali was definitely not the "buffer" I had agreed to. He was a complete roadblock.
I tuned him out entirely, letting the heavy synth of the music wash over me as I subtly scanned the room again. The alcohol was finally working its magic, heating my cheeks and making me feel bolder. I needed to ditch Ali, abandon the booth, and get onto the dance floor.
I’d realised early on that if I wanted to charm an older woman, dancing with her gave me an undeniable edge—especially if she was just curious rather than openly out.
If you can confidently guide a woman around a dance floor, hold her waist with absolute certainty, and flash a cheeky smile, you're almost guaranteed to make her melt. Plus, I could actually stay on beat, and for a short person, I was deceptively strong; I wasn’t above a dramatic little dip to impress someone.
I’d done it a million times in this club, mostly to Mia, and she was practically a gazelle.
If I could dip her, I could handle any woman in this room.
“Drink?” Ali asked, noticing my empty glass. He still had a nearly full cider, and I offered him a strained, overly sweet smile as I slid out of the booth.
“Yeah, I’m going to go chat with Anthony.”
Ali made a move to stand, and I immediately waved him down. “Don’t worry about it, stay and hang out.”
I hoped he was picking up on the glaring subtext that I didn’t want him following me like a lost puppy.
Thankfully, he just nodded and turned back to Adrian, who currently had his tongue halfway down Mia’s ear.
Mia shot me a fleeting, blurred look that asked, You okay?
I countered with a glare that made it clear she owed me a lifetime of free alcohol.
I reached the bar and slid my glass across to Anthony. He gave me a profoundly sympathetic look. "Why are you with that guy?”
I closed my eyes for dramatic effect. “I am not with him. I don't even fucking know him. Mia wanted to come out with her new guy, and I am being a fantastic friend by making sure she isn't outnumbered.”
Anthony smiled softly, raising an eyebrow. "Well, you might want to ditch him—the room is absolutely full of your type tonight.” He chuckled, nodding toward the crowded dance floor.
He wasn’t wrong. Fuck me, the lounge was teeming with beautiful, older women looking to let loose.
I leaned my back against the bar counter, scanning the crowd.
A few of them definitely glanced my way.
One woman in particular caught my attention; she was a little more subdued than her rowdy friends, wearing dark blue jeans and a crisp white blouse with the top few buttons undone.
Her light brown hair fell in soft waves, and as I watched, her eyes drifted over to me.
Our gazes locked for a fraction of a second before she quickly looked away, a slight smirk playing on her lips.
Okay. I thought, my confidence flaring. Maybe I can get this night back on track.
I tousled my hair, turning back to Anthony to grab my drink. “Charge Mia for it when she comes over.”
“I would have,” Anthony said, his eyes dancing with pure entertainment as he crossed his arms against the bar fridges. “But it’s already been covered.”
“It has?” I scrunched my brows, instantly cringing at the thought of Ali buying my drinks from across the room.
Anthony’s smirk widened. “It has.” He nodded subtly toward the far end of the bar. “I think you’ve caught someone’s eye.”
I followed his nod, my expression probably morphing into that of a deer caught in high beams. My brain entirely short-circuited.
Sitting at the isolated corner of the bar, quietly nursing a glass of single malt whiskey, was Dr. Carter.
She paid for my drink? What the actual fuck.
She was here. Sitting entirely on her own, looking like she would rather be anywhere else on earth, yet simultaneously radiating an aura of such absolute command that the air seemed to shift around her.
Damn this woman. She wasn’t looking at me, merely swirling the amber liquid in her glass as if it held the secrets to the universe.
I snapped my head back to Anthony, who was visibly suffocating a laugh at my sheer panic. He leaned over the counter, whispering, “You might want to act a little cooler than that when you go over to say thank you.”
I nervously ran a hand through my hair, letting out a breathless laugh. Phew. Okay. Go say thank you. Go say thank you to the terrifying, confusing lecturer who just bought you a drink and looked... well, like that.
My heart was hammering against my ribs. Her hair was down tonight—thick, long, and dark, the kind of hair you could completely lose yourself in.
She wore a silk black blouse with far more buttons undone than I would have ever expected from her, her sleeves rolled up to the elbows in her signature fashion.
I noticed she was wearing more jewellery than usual: a few heavy silver rings and a delicate pendant resting against her collarbone. Fuck me.
I looked at Anthony, feeling a sudden wave of vertigo. He looked me over approvingly. "You look hot tonight, Alex. Go for it.”
I nodded numbly. Jesus fuck, why did this woman have such a psychological hold on my nervous system? I reached for my fresh rum, then looked back at Anthony like I’d completely forgotten how to use my legs. “Vodka,” I choked out.
He let out a genuine laugh, quickly pouring a shot of vodka for me and one for himself. We clinked the glasses together. I downed the spirit, letting the harsh, familiar burn ignite my confidence. I slammed the shot glass down, shook out my shoulders, and walked away. Right. Let’s go.
I threaded my way through the crowded bar, passing a group of students heading toward the floor.
Dr. Carter didn’t look up as I slid onto the empty stool beside her.
Up close, the sight of her was almost overwhelming.
Her features looked like they had been meticulously carved from stone—perfect, aristocratic, but carrying a heavy, deeply buried undercurrent of pain.
It was a terrifyingly beautiful sight, and it was profoundly distracting.
I could now see she wore tailored black trousers and towering stiletto heels. She looked incredible in all black.
“How many times do I have to tell you, Alex? It is rude to stare.”
She set her whiskey glass down with a soft click, finally turning her dark eyes toward me. A faint, knowing smirk touched her lips.
My heart was beating so violently I was paranoid she could hear it over the booming bass of the power ballad playing through the speakers. I forced a smirk of my own. “Thank you for the drink.”
She looked away immediately, treating the gesture as if it were a minor inconvenience. “You're welcome.”
I desperately wanted to ask her why she had bought it, but I knew if I pushed too hard, she’d shut down and freeze me out. I had to play it cool.
“Single malt?” I asked, gesturing to her glass.
“Correct,” she answered dryly, taking a slow sip.
I smiled. Fucking knew it.
We sat in silence for a minute, both of us sipping our respective drinks.
My eyes involuntarily drifted back toward the dance floor queue; the woman in the white blouse was still there with her friends.
As I watched, she looked over again, her eyes meeting mine.
She smirked. I really needed to make a move soon.
Suddenly, I nearly jumped out of my skin as Dr. Carter reached out, her fingers wrapping firmly around my forearm, squeezing just enough to anchor my attention. I looked at her, startled.
She raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Are you having a good time, Alex?”
It was a remarkably simple question. It shouldn’t have made my stomach completely cave in, but it did.
The sheer weight of her gaze was intoxicating.
Why did she look so irritated? Her hand remained wrapped around my arm, steady and unyielding.
There was no fucking way I was going to pull away from that grip.
I knew she had the physical strength to snap my wrist if she wanted to; fuck, I’d probably let her.
My eyes darted briefly back toward the woman in the white blouse, noticing she now looked incredibly small under Dr. Carter’s peripheral glare, quickly turning away from us entirely.
Shit. I took a steadying sip of my drink, my head spinning with a dangerous mix of vodka and adrenaline, and met Dr. Carter’s eyes.
“This is probably the best part of my night so far.”
She raised an eyebrow, slowly retracting her hand to pick up her whiskey. “You must have been having a terrible time on your date.”
I nearly choked on my rum. A date. She thought I was here with Ali. She thought I actually dated men. I spluttered, “I’m not on a fucking date.”
She stared at me, her expression instantly hardening as if I’d slapped her. I immediately froze, remembering where I was. “Shit—sorry. I didn’t mean to swear at you.” I bit my lip, mortified. "I didn’t mean to say shit, either.”
She narrowed her eyes, taking a slow sip of her whiskey and looking back toward the main bar.
Deciding my survival instincts were entirely nonexistent, I decided to poke the bear. "Technically, I wasn't swearing at you. Just swearing in general.”
She rolled her eyes elegantly. “Profanity is the refuge of the unintelligent, Alex.”