“We’re practically the same age. It wouldn’t be weird.”
“Whyareyou a Freshman at age twenty-seven?” I asked, hoping the change in subject would throw him off. “Did you screw around too much after high school?”
“You could say that. I was an MP in the Army. Military Police. Now that I’m out, I want to use the GI Bill to become a federal investigator. Maybe join the FBI.”
I gave a start. “It’s not easy. I originally wanted to take an analyst position in the FBI, but switched to teaching when I heard how tough it is. A lot of people burn out.”
He spread his hands. Hislargehands. “Look how much we have in common. We should discuss it some more. Over dinner.”
I glance at my watch. “I think you’ve used up enough of my office hours. If you don’t have anything related to my Criminology 101 class, then I suggest you go home and get a head start on the reading material.”
Jace studied my face for a few heartbeats. He seemed to be making a decision about something.
“As you wish.” He stood, then leaned across my desk to grab the unsigned exception form. But he lingered there, both palms on the desk, his face only a foot away from mine. “But just know that when you’re giving your lectures three times a week? I’m probably sitting in class, thinking a lot ofverynaughty things about you.”
He slowly walked to the door, opened it, and strolled out without another glance back. The scent from his cologne lingered in the air, pungent and intoxicating.
Most of the students here were boys.
But Jace?
Jace was very much aman.
7
Lila
I stared at the open door to my office long after Jace had left. His comment, telling me he would be thinking dirty things about me during class, was textbook harassment. And as someone who taught Criminology, I should know. I could have gotten him written up for it.
But that would only invite a whole bunch of scrutiny into our relationship.
No. It was better to let his comment slide… for now. If he continued bothering me, I could always make a formal complaint later.
And deep down, if I was being completely honest with myself? I kind oflikedthe attention. I was only a woman, after all, and Jace and I had undeniable chemistry. Even now, minutes after he had left, there was a warmth and lightness in my chest from our conversation. I felt almostgiddyafter what he’d said.
Even if nothing could ever happen between us.
“Professor Carrington?” a student suddenly appeared in my doorway, causing me to jump. “You’re holding office hours, right? I have some questions about the reading material.”
“Yes, of course. Please, come in.”
I helped him with his questions, and then another student stopped by right after that. It was nice to have a fewnormalstudent interactions to cleanse my emotional palate and remind myself that I was lucky to have this position at the University.
When the second student was gone, I pulled up Tinder and sent the message that Ishouldhave sent yesterday.
Me: Hi Jace. Obviously, now that I know you’re a student in my Criminology 101 class, we can’t take this any further. Thank you for understanding.
And then, for good measure, I blocked him on Tinder. For some reason, that gave me a pang of sadness. Like I was closing the door on something thatmighthave been special.
“It doesn’t matter,” I said out loud. “I fought too hard to get this position to lose it over something stupid.”
But Jace didn’tfeellike something stupid. He felt like the kind of guy I’d been searching for on dating apps for years. The kind of man who could sweep me into his arms and carry me off into the sunset.
The universe was cruel to put us together like this.
I struggled to sleep that night. I tossed and turned while images of Jace ran through my head. The knowing smile he gave me in my office. The way his muscles bulged out from his shirt. The hint of tattoos peeking out from his sleeve.
Eventually, I got up to pee. And when I crawled back into bed, I remembered that I didn’t have toimagineJace, because I had a photo of him.
