He sighed, though I didn’t look up. I heard him whisper, “Fuck it,” under his breath, not sure if I was supposed to hear it or not. Suddenly he was on his haunches in front of me, his hands stilling mine, sliding under them, so that our palms met.
I stared at our joined hands, until he laced his fingers with my willing ones, then I looked up into his grey gaze. His eyes weren’t the stormy seas, but that of a crisp, cold winter sky.
“Syd, will you be my Valentine?” he whispered.
I gave one tiny nod, which he noticed and let out a held breath. Good, he was as nervous as I was. And double good, he wanted to get back on track to…wherever we had been headed.
“Of course, it depends,” I added.
He looked concerned, but I must have had some kind of teasing tell, because he got a grin on his face, quirked one brow and said, “On what?”
“On what’s in the box,” I said, then smiled at him. A wide, sincere, and oh, so inviting smile.
“Sorry to say, it’s notthatkind of gift. But you have definitely given me some ideas for next time.”
I didn’t comment that there wouldn’t be a next time. Or at least not a next Valentine’s Day. He would be back in New York next year, his year of teaching—and getting his writing mojo back—over.
Whatever we were venturing into, whatever we were stepping up to, would be over in May when the semester was.
Did anybody, ever, lament the end of school as I did?
“Though itissomething you can wear,” he added. “Just…above your clothes, not underneath them.
I had the cover off and slid back the tissue paper to find a beautiful, multi-colored scarf.
It wasn’t like any of the ones I’d seen on the Bribury campus before. And certainly not in Queens. I removed it from the box and spread it open. It was larger than it first appeared, and so incredibly soft that I put it to my cheek. “It’s beautiful,” I truthfully said, even while I was wondering if I should wear it on campus. It was so different. But different in a good way, or different in a “look at that idiot” way?
“I know this isn’t the type you, or your fellow students, are wearing, but I saw it and thought of you.”
I held up the exquisite, and undoubtedly crazy expensive, piece of material. “This made you think of me?”
He shrugged, then settled his hands on the outside of my knees, his long fingers pointing up my thighs. “Yeah. It’s kind of mainstream, because everyone’s wearing scarves. And yet, it’s really different, and isn’t one everybody has. It’s unique.” I watched him as he spoke, his eyes locked on mine. “Even if it doesn’t want to be.”
He knew me well. Maybe too well. And yet, here we were, apologies made, seemingly picking back up with the personal end of things as well as professional.
“Yes, Billy,” I said, not breaking eye contact. “I will be your Valentine.”
He flashed the wide smile that he sported in the picture of him and his sister skiing. The one I’d stared at so many times while in this room.
He leaned forward at the same time I did and we met just over my knees for a sweet, feather-light kiss. His hands tightened on my thighs, more for balance than seduction, but I loved any time his hands were on me, for whatever reason.
It had been a long five weeks since he’d kissed me, and this kiss he was giving me now, while sweet, and so well worth waiting for, wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough.
He opened his eyes and looked at me with those amazing grey orbs. As he pulled back, I could tell he was waiting for me to set the pace, to give the word that it was okay to go on.
And maybe I should have just thanked him for the scarf and then left. We probably shouldn’t start something that, at best, would be frowned upon by the administration, and at worst could have him losing his position and me losing my scholarship.
But we’d thought that all out before and decided that the reward was definitely worth the risk. The time spent apart should have made me come to my senses about it all, but it had only made me miss what might have been even more. Made me more desperate to play out our hands. And mouths. And God, that awesome ass of his.
“I didn’t lock the door when I came in,” I said, lobbing the ball back to his side of the court.
“That’s an easy fix,” he replied, but there was a question in his voice. And he didn’t move. He was hitting it back to me, barely getting the weak shot over the net.
“Billy?” I said, rushing the net for the smash.
“Yes?”
“Lock the door.”
