Chapter 7 #2
My body stills at the sound of his palm tapping the wooden chair next to him. “You can tell me from over there.”
Henry’s body does the opposite of mine and perks up from my refusal.
He leans forward on his elbows, and I have to stop my eyes from darting to his forearms. Halfway through our session, he rolled up the sleeves of his button down and it’s been pure torture.
I didn’t even know I could be attracted to that part of a male’s anatomy.
“Come on. I don’t bite,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. The way he annunciates the word bite makes me think he does, in fact, do that. My tongue swipes out to wet my bottom lip, contemplating my next move. I immediately regret the small movement when his eyes darken, stilling my body.
Once the initial shock passes, I push my feelings down hard. “Fine.” I swallow, standing up from my own chair. I am an adult. I can sit next to an attractive man for five minutes without melting into a puddle of shame.
His eyes follow every movement as I walk around the table. He effortlessly pulls out the chair with one arm and I produce a manufactured smile.
“Happy?” I ask, plopping down on the poorly cushioned hard surface. I make sure to covertly scoot the chair an extra inch away from his. I was strong, but I wasn’t unbreakable.
“Very,” he taunts. My ears perk up when I hear the familiar friction of chair leg and carpet. Now he was scooting his chair closer. My breath catches in my lungs. “Now look at this.”
He spends the next two minutes suggesting various elements to make my closing paragraph stronger.
He pauses occasionally, glancing over to make sure I’m following.
I nod, but every time his eyes flicker to mine, the words blur together.
I’m hyper-aware of the inches between our shoulders.
I’m even more aware of the warmth radiating off of his body.
“Does that make sense?” he asks, his voice and eyes softening when he turns to look at me. His gaze locks onto mine, waiting for my reply.
“Yes,” I squeak. I had the right idea sitting across from him. At least from over there, I wasn’t half-paralyzed by the scent of vanilla and sandalwood wrapping around my soul. I was tempted to make a late-night store run to find a candle that encapsulated that smell.
His eyes linger on me, as if trying to decipher if that yes is sincere. I’m sure he was used to half-hearted yeses from his college students. Hell, I was starting to doubt I would ever tell this man no.
“Good,” he murmurs, his gaze dropping briefly to my lips before he clears his throat and closes the laptop. The movement sets my heart ablaze, but I’m relieved when he starts packing up his things.
“If you make those changes, you should get a good grade. I think you had the right idea; you just weren’t organizing your thoughts correctly. Most of my students don’t realize how important organization is when it comes to writing. It’s easy to lose your reader in minuscule errors.”
“Right,” I reply, standing up. “Thank you for helping me. I really appreciate you staying late.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies with a grin. “What are you doing this Saturday?”
My heart stutters at the question. Blood rushes to my face, and I curse my light complexion for giving away any semblance I have of remaining cool.
“I want to cash in on your end of the deal.” The deal. I almost forgot.
The realization slows my heart rate and before Henry looks up from his bag, I can feel the temperature of my skin dropping.
“Right,” I acknowledge. “Colt has Milo this weekend so I should be free.”
“Should be?”
“Eh, yes. I mean, yes, I am free.” The words come out of me in a jumbled mess. My fingers fidget with the hem of my shirt as I struggle to sit still. I am starting to forget how I managed to talk to the opposite sex before Henry.
“Good. I thought you made another contractional agreement with some other scorned writer in town.” He raises an eyebrow, his playful smirk in full force.
“Now that I think about it,” I pause, tapping my chin for effect. “I might’ve promised a tortured poet I would be his muse if he helped me with my literature class in the fall.”
Henry chuckles, low and warm. “His muse? I didn’t know that was on the table,” he jokes, but the thought pumps through my heart with unwelcome excitement.
“Deals already made,” I sigh, trying to think of the best way to cut off our impromptu flirting session. “What location do you need to scout?”
“The scene I’m working on right now happens in an abandoned strip mall. It’s kind of hard to explain, but it has a lot to do with the killer’s backstory. Do you have anything like that around here?”
My face lights up with the perfect idea. “Yes. I know just the place.”
“Perfect. I can drive.”
“You have no idea where you’re going and I’m a terrible navigator. I’ll drive.”
“Fine,” he agrees with a smug grin. “I guess I’ll see you Saturday then.”
“Can’t wait,” I respond cooly, watching him make his way toward the entrance. This is the first time since my shared custody agreement with Colt that I’ve been excited for the weekend, and that thought alone makes my heart skip a beat.
For once, the weekend isn’t just empty hours to fill; it’s something to look forward to. And as I watch him disappear through the door, I hate him just a little for making it impossible to ignore these feelings.