Chapter 23 - Lila
Lila
As I took an Uber to Brock’s bar, I reflected on how healthy things were with Jace.
At least, if you ignored the forbidden nature of our relationship.
He was open to trying new things with me and showed no judgement.
He left his ego at the door and didn’t take offense where none was intended.
Very few guys would have outright suggested inviting another man to join our sinful fun.
And he respected my Friday tradition of going to the bar and enjoying an end-of-the-week drink. He knew it was important to me and didn’t give it a second thought.
But part of me knew it was more than just the routine taking me to the bar. I wanted to see Brock, and I didn’t want to have him tease me about missing our routine later.
The bar was nearly silent when I walked inside, which was strange since it should have been the busiest time of night. There were only a handful of people nursing their drinks, and a few others were putting on their coats and leaving.
“Kind of dead in here, isn’t it?” I said when I reached the bar.
Brock had been frowning, but a warm smile appeared when he saw me. He was wearing the usual bartender uniform: a tight black T-shirt and jeans, with a drying towel slung over one shoulder.
“Our hot water is out,” he explained. “Which means we have to close early. It’s a health code thing, or so I’m told.”
“Oh, damn. No hot water means there’s no way to properly wash and sanitize dishware. I was an Applebee’s waitress in college. We got a code violation for that once.”
“Yeah, sorry,” he said. “I think everyone’s headed to McCallister’s Bar across the street, or The Green Room two blocks closer to campus.”
Disappointment flooded into me. That’s when I realized I didn’t care about the drink, or the routine, or putting a dent in the stack of exams that needed to be graded in my bag.
First and foremost, I had come here to see him.
“I’ll try the latter. McCallister’s always smells like stale beer. See you next Friday, I guess.”
“Well…”
I stopped in my tracks. Brock was watching another couple leave, then he leaned across the bar to speak softly.
“I’ll make you a drink. But if anyone asks, you have to claim you ordered it before the hot water went out. I was told customers that already had drinks can stay and finish them.”
I hopped onto a barstool and grinned. “I won’t tell anyone. As long as you make it extra good.”
Brock smiled while fixing not just one drink, but two. He placed one in front of me, then took a sip from the other. “Our secret.”
Our secret. That simple phrase filled me with a swirling mix of confusion and excitement.
“Are you allowed to drink on the job?” I asked.
“I’m allowed to make one for myself at the end of the shift. Which is right now, since I’m cleaning up to go home,” he explained.
“Ahh.”
“So, why are you late?” he asked while cleaning up behind the bar.
“I got roped into something after class,” I said. Which wasn’t technically a lie. “Better late than never.”
“True. I wanted to tell you I started watching The Wire like you recommended.”
“Yeah? What do you think?”
His back was to me while he began cleaning up the area behind the bar. “It’s a little dated, but it’s great. And mostly accurate, too.”
“Yes!” I exclaimed. “Unlike a lot of other police dramas, they tried to stay as true to life as possible. How much have you watched?”
“I just started season three.”
I blinked. “You’re really flying through it. I recommended it… what, on Tuesday?”
“Wednesday,” he corrected. “The day you wore the red blouse to class, with the black necklace.”
I was glad he was facing away from me—it meant he couldn’t see my cheeks turn red. “Ah, that’s right.”
We chatted for a little while about the characters on The Wire, and how many of them had gotten their start there before moving on to better things.
Idris Elba was the biggest name, but at least half a dozen other actors were well-known in Hollywood now.
Brock made another round of drinks for both of us, and I didn’t tell him no.
By the time my second drink was finished, the bar was empty and we were all alone. But I wasn’t ready to go home yet. Jace hadn’t texted me, so I assumed he was still out with his Army friend.
“You’re closing up all by yourself?” I asked.
Brock snorted. “Ellie was working tonight, but as soon as she heard we had to close up early, she bounced.”
“I can help!” I offered, more enthusiastic than I intended.
For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe, or something warmer. “You don’t have to.”
“I know. But I gave you an F on your exam, so I feel like I need to make it up to you.”
His eyes widened and his jaw dropped. “You what…”
“Just kidding!” I quickly added. “You got a B-plus. But come on, it’ll go quicker with help.”
Brock chuckled, then nodded once. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.”
I hopped off the barstool, my boots tapping softly on the hardwood floor. The place looked different when it was empty. Warmer, somehow. More intimate. He’d already dimmed the overhead lights, leaving only the softer amber glow from behind the bar.
Brock grabbed two chairs and flipped them easily onto a table. His muscles flexed under the thin black T-shirt he wore, and I tried not to stare. Tried being the operative word.
I moved to the opposite table and reached for one of the chairs. It wasn’t even that heavy. I’d lifted a million of these before, but the moment I swung it up, it slipped.
“Shit!”
Before it crashed to the floor, a strong hand grabbed its back, steadying it effortlessly. Brock’s chest brushed my shoulder as he leaned in. Neither of us dared move.
His skin was warm, fingers brushing mine as he adjusted his grip. I looked at our hands, stupidly transfixed by the contact, by the heat that shot up my arm as if someone had plugged me into a socket.
When I glanced up, he was watching me, quietly deciding whether he should lean in or not.
“Careful,” he said softly.
My voice didn’t work for a second, then, “Yeah. Sorry.”
His lips tilted in a faint smile, but he didn’t step back or move his hand from the chair.
Instead, he said, “I’m glad you’ve been coming here every Friday.”
“It’s not weird? Seeing me every single week at the bar?”
He shook his head slowly. “Not even close. It’s nice to see my professor outside of class. Or your office hours.”
My heart felt like it would pound clean out of my chest. I should’ve stepped back. I should’ve gone home like any responsible person with common sense would.
But I didn’t do either of those things.
He angled himself toward me slightly, the warmth of him surrounding me. Whether it was in my office, or behind the bar, Brock always took up space with his solid build. But this felt different. It felt like he wasn’t just close because he had to be, but like he was choosing to.
“You okay?” he asked, but I could see it in his eyes before he spoke, the way they darkened with knowing.
“I’m fine.” My laugh came out too soft. “Just, uh, clumsy today.”
“Maybe I shouldn’t have made you that second drink.”
“No!” I blurted out. “I’m not drunk. I’ve always been clumsy. I must’ve broken a hundred glasses when I worked at Applebee’s.”
Brock’s eyes dropped to my lips, and it was as though I could feel his mouth on mine without any touching.
“You’re perfect,” he murmured.
The comment caught me off guard, piercing through all my armor and wrapping around my heart with a squeeze.
“Am I?” was all I could think of saying.
He leaned in another inch, barely brushing my hand with his thumb where it still rested on the chair.
The touch was tiny. Barely anything. Yet it felt like a match had struck in my chest, sparking a bonfire. The silence turned thick and electric. My breath felt too loud in my ears. His hand slid over mine, deliberately this time, slow and certain.
I’d imagined this before, or something like this. Late at night, in the quiet of my room, when no one could see. I’d pictured his hands on me, the way it might feel if he leaned closer, whispered my name. And now, with him here, it was as if every stolen fantasy had come to life.
“Keep looking at me like that, Professor Carrington, and I’m gonna forget you’re the one in charge,” he murmured.
The way he said my name made my stomach twist. “Call me Lila.”
My fingers curled around his without me meaning to. “I’m the worst professor in the history of academia.”
He used his free hand to tilt my chin up just slightly. He was gentle, testing. His touch was warm and careful, but his eyes… his eyes were all heat.
“No you’re not,” he said, and I knew he meant it. “You’re the best. Or at least, the most beautiful.”
I swallowed hard. “Oh?”
“Sometimes it’s hard to pay attention in class, the way… the way you…”
“Yeah?” I badly wanted to hear the rest of that sentence, to know what he thought about me.
And the next second, he kissed me.