The way he uttered my name, all deep and husky-like, shouldn’t have had me instantly excited.
I dragged the chair out, the feet scraping along the floor, causing me to cringe at how awkwardly loud it was. I sat and gazed at the spread.
The table was set for two, with a bowl of fresh fruit in the center, a carafe of orange juice beside it, an empty coffee mug in front of me, a full one at the other place setting, and a dazzling silver fork put on a clean white linen napkin to my left.
This all seemed so… homey.
“Professor Baldwin, I want to apologize. This is incredibly embarrassing for me.”
“Call me Seth.” He turned from the stove and strolled up to me, carrying a frying pan in one hand and a wooden spatula in the other. He scooped out the omelet and laid it on the dish in front of me. I watched as he moved back to the stove and created another one.
For several minutes I just sat there, not sure how to act.
I swallowed, my throat so dry, my stomach twisting. I actually wasn’t hungry. However, when I looked up at him, going to remark so, the expression he gave me had me keeping that idea to myself.
He looked severe, as if he challenged me to tell him I wasn’t eating.
Once he had his omelet plated and the pan back on the heat, he grabbed a glass from the cupboard. He filled it with water, came back to the table, and set the glass in front of me.
My throat felt so dry.
I offered him an appreciative smile before reaching out and taking it, downing half of it before coming up for breath.
He didn’t say anything as he reclined back in the chair and reached for his coffee mug. I could see steam rising over it, and I stared at him as he took a long sip while he watched me.
He laid the mug down but stayed silent for a second. “You should eat something. You’ll feel better.”
I looked down at the plate. “Everything looks delicious, but my hangover is making my appetite next to none.” He stood after a second and went over the cupboard, reaching in for a bottle of what I thought was aspirin.
He came back over and opened it, poured out a couple of tablets onto his palm, and passing them over to me.
“Thank you,” I whispered softly and took the pills, popping them in my mouth and rinsing them down with the rest of the water.
When he sat back down across from me, his gaze was centered on me, his stare making me feel vulnerable in all the right ways.
“Just try and eat something.” He picked up his fork and started eating his omelet. The clank of the silverware on the plates encouraged me to take up mine and start eating as well.
Although I really wasn’t hungry, I knew that putting food in my stomach might go a long way in helping me.
He poured me a glass of orange juice, and we sat and finished our breakfast in silence. It was odd. I felt a bit uncomfortable considering the fact he was my professor, but I reasoned he’d seen me at my worst, so from this point on it could only get better, right?
When I was finished eating as much as I could, I pushed my plate away slightly, went for my glass of orange juice and finished it off. I felt him watching at me and peeked up from behind my lashes.
God, it should be illegal for a man to look that wonderful, especially this early in the morning. He leaned back in the chair, one arm braced across it, the other resting on the table. He had his fingers curled around his coffee mug, the digits going up and down slowly over the ceramic.
It shouldn’t have been as sexy as it was.
“You didn’t ask me many questions last night,” he finally remarked, his voice this baritone timbre that had me clamping my thighs together.
I’d never been this close to him before, the situation so personal that it nearly felt as if we were a… couple. I’d slept in his bed, and he’d served me breakfast. It all seemed very personal.
I nodded once although I didn’t know what I was consenting to. I did remember last night, but it was a little bit hazy.
“I probably shouldn’t be admitting this, but I got drunk off one drink.” I felt my cheeks flush and chanced a full look up at him. “Although in my defense it was a pretty strong drink, maybe even a couple in one.”
God, this was mortifying.
I cleared my throat and looked around, knowing that what I needed to do was get out of here. I needed to go home, finish sleeping off this hangover, and then maybe move to another town, register in a different school. I could’ve snorted at my thoughts. I have to face this head-on. I couldn’t flee from my troubles or disgrace.
