And there she is. In all her intoxicating glory.
“Hey,” I grunt, sounding exactly like them miserable fuck that I am. “Sorry for the late notice.” My eyes sweep over her blonde hair, which is down but still messy, probably from the wind. I step to the side, and gesture for Dr. Williams to come, and she does.
Albeit with side eying me the entire time.
Her black sweater clings to her as she strips off her coat. I take the coat, and hang it on the rack, while she wraps her arms around herself.
“It smells amazing in here,” she peers up at me, her jaw clenching and unclenching.
She’s nervous, too.
“I’m just making bruschetta pasta,” I tell her. “Nothing special. Just food.”
She lets out a laugh. “You don’t have to play it so coy, Calvin.”
I find myself chuckling, but it’s riddled with anxiety. “Call me Cal. I hate my name.”
She cocks a brow, following me into the kitchen. “Why?”
“It was my father’s,” I admit, my stomach recoiling at the reminder. “You can call me whatever the hell you want, just not my full first name.”
She nods, leaning up against the counter. “Okay, then Cal, it is.”
I eye her as I dump the pasta back into the empty pot and pour the bruschetta mixture over it, folding everything together. She leans over, inspecting my work.
“So,” she says. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
“Not that great,” I say, talking with more ease. “It’s a simple recipe. I learned it from a…friend.”
Jenna picks up on the fumble. “Friend? Or an ex?”
“More like a coworker, who’s now spending the rest of his life in prison.” I don’t know why the hell I’m telling this woman so much truth, but she doesn’t seem surprised, just…nosey.
“What’d he do?”
I pull the garlic bread out of the oven and set the white cutting board on the counter. “He murdered someone.” I place one of the toasted loaves down and start slicing it at an angle, trying to give it an aesthetic edge.
“Why?”
“Because,” I pause, thinking back to my Marine buddy. “He did what we were trained to do, in a situation that he shouldn’t have done it.”
And that’s why I do what I do now.
Jenna drums her fingertips on the counter, and as I glance over at her, I can tell she’s still curious. But she’s also hesitant to keep asking questions. And for some reason, that makes me nervous. I can’t stop moving. I just keep cutting.
I’m torturing myself with this. Or growing from it? Exposure therapy?My gaze jumps back to her, and I can’t help it. My mouth fucking moves.
I stop, setting the knife down. “Why didyougo on a date with the professor? You know, the night we, uh?—”
“It wasn’t a date.” Her brows skyrocket. “It was just a coworker thing. I was trying to fit in. I thought he was just being friendly,” she pauses, and something shifts in her expression, “But it’s never just friendly, is it?”
I search her pretty eyes, wishing I could tell her itcanbe just fucking friendly. But I’ve never thoughtjusta friendly thought about her. Not from the moment I laid eyes on her.
“Sorry,” Jenna mumbles, her eyes dropping to her hands.
“Don’t apologize.” My voice softens for the first time in years with someone that’s not Molly. “Men are animals most of the time.”
Her thick lips curl into a half-smile, her cheeks suddenly ruddy. “Areyouan animal?” She bites down on her lower lip, and it runs straight to my cock.
