Chapter 12
Maria
The second my English literature class ends, I snap my laptop shut and glance around. Voices rise instantly. Students gather their things and drift out in clusters, already laughing, already belonging. And for one brief, stupid moment, I feel like I don’t. Like I’m pretending.
Like someone’s going to tap me on the shoulder and say, Ma’am, this is for people who still have their whole lives ahead of them.
My grip tightens on my laptop. Then—because apparently I can’t go five minutes without him invading my brain—Tuck’s voice cuts through the noise.
It’s never too late, Maria.
I huff out a quiet breath, shake my head at myself, and square my shoulders. Right. I’m doing this. I earned my seat just as much as anyone else in this room. And also…Tuck would absolutely give me that disappointed look if I bailed now, and I refuse to be on the receiving end of that.
I stand, slipping my laptop into my bag, when a deep voice sounds behind me.
“I think you might have dropped this.”
I turn—and for a split second, my brain does that annoying thing where it tries to compare every man on earth to Tuck.
Tuck wins every time, although this guy is around my age, tall, with a well-trimmed beard and eyes that land somewhere between kind and quietly amused.
He holds out a pen, and I recognize him immediately—the other “older” student.
We clocked each other on the first day, that silent we don’t quite fit but we’re doing it anyway acknowledgment.
“Oh, thank you.” I take the pen. “I would’ve been very sad without this. It’s my only one that works consistently.”
He smiles. “Happy to save the day.”
“Heroic, honestly.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” he says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “I have a reputation to maintain.”
I laugh before I can stop myself, the tension from earlier loosening a notch. “Are you enjoying the class?”
His expression softens. “I am. Though…sometimes I feel a little out of place.”
I let out a breathy laugh. “I was literally just thinking that.”
“Yeah?” His smile widens, like that’s the best possible answer I could’ve given. “Good. I mean, not good, but…you know what I mean.”
“I do.” I tilt my head. “It’s weird, right? Like we showed up to the wrong party but decided to stay anyway.”
“Exactly.” He huffs a quiet laugh. “Everyone else seems so…sure.”
“Or they’re just better at faking it.”
“Fair point.”
There’s a small pause, and I think about my dating life. If I were looking, I could be interested in this man. Then I remember Rowyn wants to set me up with a writer/professor who goes to this college.
“I’m Carter,” he says, stepping a little closer and holding out his hand.
“Maria.” I take it, and his grip is firm.
“Nice to officially meet you, Maria.”
“You too.”
He studies me for a second, like he’s figuring something out. Then his brows lift. “Wait, you work at The Nook, right?”
I blink, surprised. “I do.”
“That’s where I know you from.” He snaps his fingers lightly. “The cinnamon rolls.”
I grin. “Ah. A man of excellent taste.”
“I try.” He shifts his bag higher on his shoulder. “My office is just around the corner, so I stop in every now and then.”
I narrow my eyes playfully. “Every now and then? I feel like I would remember a cinnamon roll regular.”
“Perhaps I need to come more often.”
He gestures toward the aisle, and we fall into step beside each other.
The classroom empties in front of us, the buzz fading.
Our footsteps echo softly in the hall, and when we reach the main doors, Carter steps ahead, pulling one open for me.
The cool night air greets us instantly, and a breeze blows my hair. I clutch my bag a little closer.
“Wow,” I mutter. “That came out of nowhere.”
“Welcome to evening classes,” he says, amusement in his voice as he steps out behind me. “Where you question your life choices the second you hit the parking lot.”
I laugh, the sound carried off by the wind, and as we start down the steps together.
I scan the parking lot, searching for my car, more specifically, for Lucas.
He dropped me off tonight because he wanted the car to check on Marbles, but judging by the empty curb and lack of familiar headlights, he’s running late.
I sigh, shifting my bag higher on my shoulder as the wind cuts through my jacket, and pull my phone out to check for a message. Nothing. This isn’t really like him. Worry begins to grow in my stomach.
“Do you need a ride?”
Carter’s voice is easy, but when I glance at him, I must look a little thrown off because he immediately lifts both hands, palms out in surrender.
“Not a kidnapper or mass murderer,” he says with a laugh. “Just a guy taking night classes to move up at work, not to pick up beautiful women.”
That startles a laugh out of me. “Well, that’s reassuring,” I tease.
“Glad to hear it.”
I soften, offering him a small smile. “That’s really nice of you, but my son is picking me up. He’s just…apparently on his own schedule tonight.”
“Ah.” He nods, glancing around the lot like Lucas might magically appear if he looks hard enough. “Teenager?”
“Sixteen,” I mutter.
I glance back down at my phone, thumbs already moving to text him when headlights sweep across the pavement, and then a car I know very well pulls up in front of me.
“Oh,” I say, a smile tugging at my lips. “My ride is here.”
Carter follows my gaze, and then does a full double take. “Holy—” He leans forward slightly, squinting like that’ll make it less true. “Is that…Tuck Delray?”
I don’t even try to hide my smile now. “Yes.”
His head snaps toward me, eyes wide, bouncing between me and the driver’s seat. “He’s not your son.” It’s a statement, not a question, and so unintentionally funny that I laugh.
“No,” I say, still grinning. “Definitely not my son. He’s a family friend. My son must’ve gotten tied up.”
“Right,” Carter says slowly, like he’s filing that information away for later analysis. “Family friend.”
There’s a beat—one where his curiosity is practically vibrating off him—but he recovers with an easy smile. “Well…have a good night, Maria.”
“You too, Carter. And thanks for the offer.”
I give him a quick wave before stepping off the curb.
I head toward the car, and can feel Tuck’s eyes on me the entire time.
By the time I reach the passenger side and open the door, there’s already a charged kind of energy in the air.
I slide into the seat, pulling the door shut behind me.
The second I click my seatbelt, he speaks.
“Was that professor, Declan Hayes?”
I blink, turning toward him—and yep, there it is. The need, the possessiveness. It does crazy things to me. Things I like, too much. I lean back slightly, crossing my arms, unable to stop the smile that creeps onto my lips. “Wow. You sound jealous.”
“Maybe I am. What did he offer you?”
The way he says it—low, unapologetic—sends a little flicker of heat through me. I raise a brow. “Well, you have nothing to be jealous about. He just recognized me from The Nook. Loves my cinnamon rolls.”
“I bet he does.” Jealousy drips off every word, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch Carter getting in his own car. I turn back to Tuck, about to explain, about to tell him it was just a ride, just kindness, but I don’t get the chance.
His hand comes up, sliding around the back of my neck, pulling me toward him. And then his mouth is on mine. The kiss isn’t gentle. It’s not tentative or questioning.
It’s claiming.
Warm and insistent and just this side of overwhelming—like he’s been holding something back all night and finally decided he’s done with that. When he finally pulls back, my lips feel a little swollen, my breath a little uneven. I blink at him, trying, and failing miserably, to look unaffected.
“What was that for?” I ask.
His thumb brushes just under my jaw, eyes dark, locked on mine.
“That,” he says quietly, “Was me not liking the way he was looking at you.”
My heart stutters.
I tilt my head, studying him. “And how was he looking at me?”
“Like he was going to start coming in for cinnamon rolls a lot more often.”
“That’s your concern?”
Instead of answering, he glances around the parking lot, but Carter is long gone.
“Don’t worry, I wasn’t looking at him with my vagina.” He growls as I follow his gaze, amused. “Carter is in my class, and when Lucas didn’t show up, he offered me a ride home.” I pause, lips twitching. “Don’t worry, he assured me he’s not a kidnapper…or a murderer.”
Tuck snorts. “That’s exactly what a kidnapper or a murderer would say.”
I laugh. “You’ve been hanging around Stella too long.”
“Yeah,” he says, checking over his shoulder before pulling into traffic. “That does sound like something she’d say.”
As he drives, I settle against my seat and set my bag on the floor. A second later, his hand finds my thigh like it belongs there. Like it’s always belonged there. My breath hitches—just slightly—but I don’t move it away.
“How was class?” he asks.
I glance over at him, really look this time. At the way his attention flicks between the road and me, at the genuine curiosity in his expression. The quiet care. And something in my chest tightens. It’s been a long time since anyone’s looked at me like that. Like what I say matters. Like I matter.
I swallow. “It was good. A lot of reading before next class.”
“You’ll have time.”
I frown slightly. “Time?”
“I’m away tomorrow for a couple days,” he says. “The library is all yours.”
That’s when it clicks. I glance out the window, and yeah, we are definitely not heading toward my place.
My brows pull together as I turn back to him. “Wait. Why are you picking me up…and why are we going to your place?”
He shoots me a quick look, his smile almost…sheepish.
“Oh. I just assumed…” He shrugs one shoulder. “With me going away, I figured you guys would stay at the house. When Lucas and Josh came by earlier, they had bags, so…”
“They came with overnight bags?” I cut in.
“Yeah.”
I close my eyes briefly, then shake my head, a disbelieving laugh slipping out. “I feel like the universe is conspiring against me.”
“Is it so bad?” he asks, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against my thigh. “Staying at my place?”
My mind flashes to last night. To his hands. To his mouth. To the way I completely, recklessly, forgot every reason I had for keeping my distance.
I exhale slowly. “No,” I admit, my voice quieter now. “It’s…so good, Tuck.” I turn my head, meeting his eyes. “And so risky.”
He nods once, understanding exactly what I mean. But it makes me wonder…why is it risky for him? What’s at stake?
“Tonight,” he says, a hint of restraint threading through his voice, “I’ll keep my hands to myself. I need a good night’s sleep before we fly to Edmonton.”
“Speaking of your hands…” I start, shifting slightly toward him. “I never did put lotion on them last night. How are your calluses?”
The second the words leave my mouth, my traitorous brain supplies the memory of the rough drag of his skin against mine. Heat curls low in my stomach, and I clear my throat, trying very hard to look unaffected. His grip on my thigh tightens—just a fraction.
“Better,” he says, voice rougher now. “But I could probably use that treatment.”
I glance at him sideways. “Medical necessity?”
“Absolutely.”
“Of course it is.”
“You’re not just trying to get me to play doctor, are you?” I ask.
That pulls a big laugh from him, and then he winks. “No. But now, the whole time I’m away I’m going to be thinking about that.”
“Me too,” I admit, shaking my head. “Me too, Tuck.”
He leans closer, just enough that I feel the heat radiate off him. “Good,” he murmurs. “Because when we get back, and you start looking at me with your vagina…I fully intend to schedule a follow-up exam.”
Girl, you are in so much trouble.