Chapter Twenty-Four
Anna
From the window, the quad is a carpet of green, ringed by copper and gold-tipped trees. Branches sway in the gentle breeze and the golden leaves dance. A pretty picture. Students stroll past on their way to one of the many red brick buildings that line the square. It’s all so silent, this vibrant life teeming just outside the window.
Inside, however, I’m facing the firing squad.
“Anything interesting out there, Miss Jones?” Professor Lambert taps her notepad with the tip of her pen.
I give her a half-guilty smile. “I love the fall. It’s my favorite season.” I’m pretty sure, from now on, I’ll always equate Drew with crisp air and gilded sunshine.
The fine lines around Lambert’s eyes deepen. “I prefer spring. The flowers and new green leaves.” Evidently tired of dancing around her intended mission, she takes a small breath, and her focus tightens. “Tell me, Miss Jones, have you given any thought to what you might do upon graduation this spring?”
I knew the question was coming. It’s why I’m here. Evaluation of my progress thus far and prodding into my future plans. As head of the department, Professor Lambert has met with me for similar discussions throughout my college career.
I lean back and cross one leg over the other. “I’ve given it thought.” When I’m not thinking about Drew, I’m thinking about that. “But it hasn’t gotten me very far.”
Understanding softens her expression. “Don’t let it worry you too much. For most of us, it takes a lifetime to truly figure out who we are and what we want. I’m merely trying to help you take a step in the right direction.”
I had thought college would be that step but, apparently, not so much. It’s only made me an intellectual dilettante.
“Have you considered graduate school?” she asks. “With your grade point average, I imagine plenty of programs would be interested in having you.”
Having a 4.0 opens doors, true. It also kind of makes you think that academia is the only safe place for you.
“No. Honestly, Professor, I have no desire to continue with school right now.” The thought makes me shudder. I study because it’s my current job, but I don’t have any passion for it. I’m freaking burnt-out on school as it is. And even though it scares the hell out of me, I want to be out in the world, a little fish in a big blue sea.
Lambert studies me, her head tilted to the side, as if by looking at me from another angle, she might unlock a clue of who I’m supposed to be. Well good luck to her. I’ve stared in the mirror for hours at this point and still haven’t got a clue.
When she speaks it’s cautious. “I understand you are involved with Mr. Baylor.”
My body turns to lead in my chair while my heart begins to pound. “What makes you say that?”
This time, her smile is soft and wry. “Come now, Miss Jones. You two are in class with me. Give me a little credit, will you?”
I resist the urge to squirm like a child in my seat. Were we that obvious? Likely we were. It takes all my willpower not to look at Drew, not to reach out and touch him when he sits a foot away from me. And Drew has always been less circumspect. Every class, I feel the heat and power of his gaze on me like the rays of the sun.
“I’m not sure how this pertains to our conversation,” I say.
She bites the corner of her lip, and in that moment, she appears much younger than her sixty-odd years. She leans forward, bracing her arms upon her desk, and her silver bobbed hair swings over her ears. “I realize this is none of my business—” an intro that never bodes well “—but it’s easy to become lost in the fervor of love.”
There’s that L-word again.
“Which is understandable,” she goes on. “But when it comes to someone like Mr. Baylor—”
“You fear I’ll waste my potential on a football player,” I finish for her. “And here I thought I knew better than that.”
Her mouth purses at my sarcasm. “Mr. Baylor possesses a powerful personality, one that easily overshadows others. And while most of my fellow faculty members would be urging you to keep him happy, I’m more concerned about your life.”
I lean forward as well. “You’re right. It’s none of your business. However, I can appreciate your concern.”
The corners of her eyes tighten as she peers at me. “All I ask of you is that you consider yourself first. It is all I ask of any student, by the way. Even Mr. Baylor.”
But we both know that Drew doesn’t have to worry about being lost in me. His life is mapped out in glowing pinpoints of light.
A dark chasm opens up beneath me, threatening to suck me down. Because she is right, I have no idea who I am supposed to be, or what the hell I’m going to do once college is over and Drew’s gone on to fame and fortune.
The edgy, disheartened feeling does not abate as I follow Professor Lambert into our class. I just want to go home and crawl under the covers. The room is too cold, and the tips of my icy fingers begin to throb as I take my seat and pull out my laptop. Due to the meeting, I’m early and Drew isn’t here. But he will be soon.
I’d been looking forward to seeing him for days. Missing him and wanting him with a force that ties me in knots and robs me of sleep. Now anxiety roils within my stomach.
And then he’s here. As always, I sense him before I see him. But when I do, I am breathless.
Drew stops at the entrance to the room and simply looks at me. Then smiles. His entire body seems to light up. Like he’s plugged into me. And that energy bounces back over me, lifting the little hairs along my skin, tripping up the steady beat of my heart. Lost. I know that now. I’ve lost myself to him. Utterly.
His grin grows as he strides forward. He’s so lit up, people stare as he walks by. And my pulse races faster. I’m practically bouncing in my seat with the need to jump up and wrap myself around him. But then I catch Professor Lambert’s knowing gaze and tense. Fucking busybody Professor.
Drew stops before my desk. “Hey.” Oh, that soft, for-me-only voice, it melts me every time.
Before I can say anything back, he leans down and captures my mouth with his. I feel it down to my core. The kiss is possessive, tender, and just enough to have me wanting to chase after him as he pulls away. But we’re in class, so I brace my fists against the desk and keep still.
The glint of affection in his eyes tells me he knows exactly how affected I am. His warm hand cups my cold cheek, and I shiver.
“I missed you,” he whispers before brushing a kiss over the tip of my nose and then slipping into his seat.
I start to give him a sidelong smile but notice the sets of eyes on us. Jesus. Everybody stares. They stop as soon as Drew notices them. But he doesn’t seem to care. He simply moves his desk closer to mine, until our arms brush, sparking off more tingles of feeling over my skin.
When his fingers twine through mine, I lean into him. “Do you really have to give them more to gawk at?”
He snorts softly under his breath. “I’ll never understand why they care what I do.”
“I think it’s more about who you do,” I mutter darkly.
He laughs, his thumb caressing the back of my hand. “Well, I care about that too.”
Another glance from Lambert, and I draw my hand from Drew’s to open my laptop. He does the same, but he remains close to my side, touching me in small ways every chance he gets. And I feel suffocated, as if wrapped up in thick, hot wool. Not by Drew, but by the rest of the world, watching us from the corners of their eyes the whole time.
Notice of us doesn’t let up after class. It follows us as we walk out of the lecture hall and onto the grass. Drew, as usual, is oblivious. He’s more concerned about putting his arm around me and nuzzling my hair.
“God, you smell good,” he says. “What is it that makes you smell so good, Jones?”
I can’t help but laugh. “A liberal application of Moroccan oil to keep my hair from frizzing out of control is the likely culprit.”
“Ah,” he says with a small smile. “The expensive stuff that kicks my dime-store shampoo’s ass, right?”
“You know it, babe.”
I think it’s the “babe” that gets to him, because as soon as I say it, I’m surrounded by Drew. One hand slides to my nape while his arm wraps around me to gather me close.
Part of me wants to melt into him and never leave. The other part feels as exposed as an open nerve. The better half of me wins as he kisses his way down my neck, heading for that spot that makes me his. I shudder, pressing my hand to his taut side.
“Call me babe again,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.
“Why?” I can’t resist running my fingers through his hair.
His teeth graze a particularly sensitive spot. “Because I like hearing it.”
My lips twitch, as warmth floods between my legs. “Babe.”
“Mmm.” He holds me closer. “Again.”
“Goof.” I laugh softly.
“Lay it on me, Jones,” he insists, his own husky laugh lost in my curls.
“Babe. Babe. Baby...” The last one comes out far more tenderly than I intended.
I can feel him grin against my neck. “Come home with me tonight. I have something for you.”
“I bet.”
“That’s my dirty girl,” he teases.
Then I hear them, the voices of two girls who aren’t trying to hide their disdain. “Oh my God, that cannot be who he’s with.”
“Her? Why her?” says the other. “Because I could so rock his world better than that.”
“Look at the size of her ass. Just no.”
The comments come at me like rapid gunfire, ripping through my skin and shredding my insides. I don’t think Drew hears them. He doesn’t tense or even flinch as he nips and nips the curve of my neck, his hands going to my ass to squeeze it. My ass that currently feels five sizes larger than usual.
I jerk back, bracing my hand on his chest to keep him from following.
His eyes are hazy, confused, and he gives a slow blink as if to clear his thoughts. “Does it tickle?” He looks far too pleased at the prospect.
“Not here.” I refuse to look at our audience.
“What about here?” A crooked smile tilts his lush mouth as his warm palm skims up the back of my neck to cup the base of my head.
His lips capture mine, soft, searching, and it’s easy to forget the world. He hums in the back of his throat, an irresistible sound that makes my knees weak. I can’t help but grip the front of his shirt, if only to hold on.
A muffled, evil giggle, breaks through my fog. “Slumming much, Baylor?”
“Maybe he lost a bet.”
I can’t stand it any longer. I tear free.
“No,” I say to Drew. “Not here.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the two girls, now joined by a third, watching. And it’s humiliating.
“Anna,” Drew says, oblivious and confused. “What are you talking about?”
He makes a furtive gesture to touch my cheek but pauses when I tense, he glances in the direction of my fleeting gaze. Dark color floods his cheeks and his brows snap together. “Are you kidding me?”
His voice carries across the quad, and I stiffen further. My gaze darts around. A few people are slowing down. Watching. I can see it in their expressions: What’s Baylor doing with that girl?
“Keep your voice down,” I say. I hate scenes. Hate them. My face burns in mortification.
Drew looks like he wants to punch something. “Why? Because someone might know that we’re together?”
“That’s not—”
“Right,” he snaps, cutting me off. “We’re just fucking.” He’s really yelling now. “How could I forget?”
I want to die on the spot. More people have drifted to a stop. Drew sees me looking, and scowls over his shoulder at the girls watching with wide eyes.
On a curse, he grabs my elbow. His grip is firm but doesn’t hurt as he marches me over to a stand of trees at the edge of the quad. It gives us a bit of privacy, but we’re still exposed. I’m still exposed. I have to stop this, to explain. But I can’t seem to say a word. I don’t have to. Drew’s going at me again.
Hurt and anger color his words as he leans over me. “So I can put my dick in you. You can suck me off—” I wince. “I can go down on you until you scream my name,” he adds with a sneer. “But the very idea that I might try to kiss you in public is so horrific to you that you actually fucking flinch away.”
My lip trembles, and I bite it. God, I’ve hurt him. I’m hurting him now. I need to fix this, but my mind and body are shutting down. “I just...”
“Just what?” he presses. “Just don’t want people to know that you’re...” His mouth works, but no words come, and his jaw bunches, his eyes going bright with frustration.
“I’m what?” I can’t help but ask. A coward? Yeah, I know that. I know it well.
But he doesn’t say that. He says something much more painful.
“Mine!” he shouts. “That you are mine!”
The ground beneath me sways, tilts back. My head hits the trunk of the tree. His. I can’t even fathom a world in which I belong to someone. It’s never happened to me. No one has ever wanted me that completely. He’ll see that. Eventually he’ll see what the others see.
“We. I.” I take a breath. “We were never supposed to...”
“Yeah, I got that.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “You made it quite clear what we are and what we aren’t.” The corners of his eyes are creased. Pain there. Disappointment.
I’m not worth it. I want to shout it to him. I’m not worth his pain. He has the world in his palm. He doesn’t need the burden of me. But I can’t move. I’m frozen.
It’s his turn to look away, his fist going to his hips, his head ducking as he presses his lips together. A lock of hair drops over his forehead.
His voice turns low and bitter. “I mean, God forbid that perfect, classy Anna Jones be seen with Drew the man-whore, right?”
What? He’s got it all wrong.
He shakes his head on a snort. “You don’t even know how fucking ironic that is.” His gaze catches mine then, and his is burning. “You haven’t got a fucking clue.”
I can’t stop myself then. “Drew. I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
“Says the girl who doesn’t have any feelings.”
I blink rapidly, wanting to cave in on myself. I don’t even know what I can say. I knew this would end sooner, rather than later. I wasn’t meant to be his. Even as I think the words, I know I’m fucking up in the worst possible way.
Helpless, I reach out. My fingers graze his forearm. And he explodes like I’ve sliced into him.
His arm flies up and he takes a huge step back.
“No!” He grips his hair at the back of his head as if he might pull it out. “I tried to give you space, give you time. I thought that you were just scared, shy—Fuck, I don’t know what, something.”
God, he knows me so well, I want to cry. But he’s not done. “But I was just fucking kidding myself. You just didn’t want me the way I wanted you.”
“No, Drew, it was—”
“Tell me I’m wrong then,” he insists, his voice raw. “Tell me that this whole hooking up bullshit hasn’t been about who I am.”
My throat hurts so badly that the words feel like broken glass. “It was.”
His expression goes blank, his gaze going right through me. And my heart plummets. I’ve done this. I’ve made him look at me like I’m a stranger.
“You know what? I don’t need this.” He’s backing away. “I don’t need any of this.” Even though I know what’s coming, it still plunges in like a knife when he finally says it. “I’m done. We’re done.”
And then he walks away.