Chapter 5
SUMMER
Stop looking over at him in the hopes that he’ll be staring back at you.
Sam and I had been at the bar for the better part of an hour before our professor showed up. Sam immediately perked up when he noticed him and had elbowed me so hard that I was pretty sure I’d have a bruise in the morning.
I hate to admit that I was hoping to see him here…
but ever since I had realized he came here just as often as me, possibly more, I found myself hoping to see him whenever I was here.
And, loath as I was to admit it, the possibility of running into him here did affect how much effort I put into my appearance before heading out the door.
I had actually curled my hair for once instead of simply brushing it down my back.
I am also wearing my lucky lipstick again, but that is neither here nor there.
I rack my brain for the last time I got dolled up. It’s been ages. Since before I decided to stop dating during my master’s program.
I know Asher noticed me when he walked in.
I caught him looking my way when he ordered his drink and chatted with the bartender.
I hate that his gaze sends butterflies fluttering throughout my stomach.
I still caught myself wishing that we had met under different circumstances at least once a day.
What I wouldn’t give to feel those large, and I’m sure capable, hands on my body.
“Has he always come to this bar?” Sam asks, drawing me out of my thoughts.
I grumble, “That’s what it’s starting to feel like.”
“How have we never noticed him?” Sam wonders. “The man is a giant, and smoking hot. I just can’t believe that we’ve been coming here for so long and neither of us has attempted to hit that.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not looking to date anyone, and I haven’t been looking for most of the master’s program. I don’t need any distractions.”
He scoffs, “I’m not talking about dating, I’m talking about fucking.”
I scrunch my nose at him. “Not like it matters at this point. He’s strictly off limits.”
“Doesn’t that make it hotter?”
I decide not to give him the satisfaction of answering that and instead opt for popping a fried mushroom into my mouth.
I catch Sam eyeing a man at the bar and bite back a grin, hoping he’ll start chatting about the cute boy instead of our professor.
Sam catches me looking at him as he openly ogles the stranger.
“That guy is cute, right?” he asks. “It’s not just the beer talking?”
“That’s your second beer,” I point out.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
I shrug. “He’s pretty cute.”
Sam sits up a bit straighter and gives the guy a flirty wave as they both check each other out. I drum my fingers on the table as I watch the exchange, making bets with myself on how long it’ll take before Sam makes some sort of excuse to get up and talk to the guy.
A twinge of jealousy settles in my stomach like acid.
Why is it that the first guy that grabs my attention in years has to be my Counseling Theories professor?
A better question is, why couldn’t my professor have been old?
Or fat? Or ugly? Or all of the above? Instead, I’m cursed to spend the entire semester drooling over a chiseled, beautiful, perfect human specimen of a man.
I polish off another apple martini, the tart, fruity flavor washes over my tongue, easing the burn of liquor in the back of my throat.
I can’t help but glance over at Professor Stirling.
He’s drinking what I’m starting to believe is his signature dark beer and reading what appears to be a murder mystery novel.
Sam swirls his lemon drop around in its glass. “I dare you to talk to him.”
“Do you not remember the first day of his class? He has a very strict ‘don’t talk to me in public’ rule.”
“I think the guy could use his feathers getting ruffled,” Sam states as if this is a matter of great importance. He chugs the remainder of his drink and nods at someone over my shoulder. I look behind me and notice the cute blonde nursing a drink at the bar, still making eyes at Sam.
“Are you trying to get rid of me so you can go talk to that guy?”
“What?” Sam scoffs.
“What about Derek?” I ask, curiously.
Sam waves my statement away. “We’re not exclusive… but seriously, I do think it’d be really funny if you go bother Mr. Stick-up-his-ass.”
“One day he’s going to hear how you talk about him, and he’ll fail you,” I snort. “Which is another reason I don’t want to bother him. My GPA hangs in the balance.”
“I will pay for your entire bar tab if you speak a single sentence to him.” I don’t respond, and he nods at the nearly empty martini glass in my hand. “That’s your second tonight, and if you plan on having another, you’re just gonna rack up that bar bill.”
I narrow my eyes at him, hating that I’m considering his offer. “You just wanna see how mad he gets.”
“That is a high possibility.”
“Just go,” I laugh, shooing him away.
He gets up and gives me a slightly pathetic pat on the shoulder before making his way toward the guy at the bar. They’re already laughing together by the time Dave, the bartender, asks me if I’d like another martini. I nod my head and let my eyes drift back over to Professor Stirling.
Asher, my mind whispers to me. I sigh inwardly. I should never have looked up his profile on the school’s website.
He’s seated at a table closest to the pool table, and I start to wonder if he plays. It could be an innocent way to interact with him…
I chew on my lower lip as I mull over Sam’s dare.
If Sam really does cover my tab for the night, paying for my food and drinks, then I could go thrifting for a TV stand.
Nice excuse. Though I do need a TV stand, I know I’m also looking for any kind of reason to talk to Asher in a more relaxed setting.
Despite The Pour House being a dive bar in Seattle, any cocktails in this area are easily nearly twenty dollars per drink. I could suck it up and drink beer or wine, but I’m a sucker for the sweet-tart taste of an apple martini. Which often leads to a fairly high bar tab on my end.
I catch Dave’s eye and hold up two fingers, requesting two apple martinis. He gives me a mischievous smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling with the motion.
My knee bounces up and down as I wait anxiously for the drinks. The drinks that Sam is going to pay for.
Asher turns a page in his book, and his stunning, forest green eyes dart across the words. His tongue darts out to wet his lower lip, and I can feel any last bit of resolve fade away.
I want to talk to him.
Dave drops off the two drinks, and I take a huge gulp of one before straightening up and practically marching over to Professor Stirling.
He looks up, briefly surprised, before seeing that it’s me and gritting his teeth. I almost take a step back at his expression, but his voice anchors me in place. “I thought I made it very clear that I didn’t want students approaching me in bars on the first day of class, Miss Nyx.”
I take another sip of my drink. For courage.
“See, I don’t think you can reprimand students for saying hi to you outside of class,” I say.
“Is that all you’re doing?”
“What else would I be doing?”
He raises an eyebrow in response.
“You play pool?” I ask, nodding toward the pool table.
“Not with students,” he mumbles, taking a healthy sip of what’s left of his beer before flipping open his book again.
“You’ve never played pool with a single student?” I ask unbelievingly. He doesn’t respond. “I guess that makes sense, you’ve been a professor for what? All of a year?”
He rolls his eyes. “I’m young, but not that young.”
“How old are you?”
“Not important.”
“Sounds like something an old person would say.”
He purses his lips. “Thirty-six.”
“Older than I thought,” I say, but for some reason, it comes out sounding impressed.
He ignores me. I try to push aside the small voice in my head that’s saying thirty-six isn’t that far off from twenty-eight.
“So in the four years that you’ve been a professor, you’ve never played pool with a student? ”
“No,” he says without looking up from his novel, though I see his lip twitch.
“Are you afraid you’re gonna get hustled?” I ask sympathetically. “Old joints and all that?”
He sighs and closes the book, a sparkle in his eye. “Are you going to leave me alone at any point, or is the incessant arguing going to continue?”
“You think this is arguing?” I ask, pointing back and forth between us.
Another smile threatens to crack his hard-ass persona.
A little shot of confidence zips up my spine, straightening my posture at the idea that he could be enjoying himself.
“Man, we must have had way different childhoods growing up.”
“Did you really come over here to ask your Counseling Theories professor to play pool?” he asks, leaning forward on his elbows.
“You want the honest answer?” I ask, and he hesitates before nodding. “My friend bribed me to come over and bother you by offering to pick up my entire bar tab.”
He raises both eyebrows, seemingly impressed, but eyes the two drinks in my hands. “Crazy night?” he questions.
“More like a peace offering,” I respond, setting the untouched drink in front of him. He raises a skeptical eyebrow. “An apple martini felt like the closest I could get to offering my teacher an apple.”
The corners of his eyes crinkle, and his tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek as he resists yet another smile. I raise my glass to my lips, and his darkening eyes track the movement and rove over my throat as I take a sip of the sweet drink.
His green eyes pierce into mine as he reaches for the glass I set in front of him. His Adam’s apple bobs as he takes a drink before he sets the glass down with an audible clink. His tongue darts out to catch a stray drop of liquid, and his eyes flutter shut as he savors the taste.
Suddenly, my mouth feels dry, and I have to clear my throat.