I smile at both of them. “I’m looking for Dr. Crowne,” I say, stepping into the main office.
“Let’s see,” she says as she looks at her computer. “She has a lecture right now, but it should be finishing up any minute. Did you have an appointment?”
Shaking my head, I give them both a tight-lipped smile. “I’ll wait for her by her office,” I say, pointing toward the hall I just came in from. “If you point me in the right direction.”
“Take a right out of here. Her office is at the end of the hall past the lecture rooms,” pink glasses says as she stands. “Are you a friend, or?—”
“Or,” I answer her over my shoulder as I move down the hall, not elaborating any more. I’m not interested in trying to define who Wyn is to me. I’m still trying to figure that out myself. But she’s more than a friend, that’s for fucking sure.
The smooth rasp of her voice has me stopping in my tracks. When I step back and peek inside, the stadium-style hall is nearly full. Students with open laptops and others with notebooks abandoned listen to the beautiful professor with rapt attention.
“Let's talk about whiskey,” she says as I quietly step inside. I take a seat in the last row, getting a death glare for distracting the guy three seats down. When I look down and toward the podium at the base of the room, there she is, looking like a fucking wet dream. In this librarian-meets-1920s-archaeologist attire, with glasses perched on her nose and her hair pulled back halfway as wavy pieces escape, there isn’t a single revealing thing about it. But it’s a sexy look—smart and put together. Not perfect, and I like that even more.
I run my thumb along my lower lip, remembering the woman who laid naked and needy in front of me just a few nights ago. I’m feeling enamored all over again, seeing her command a room filled with people.
“There are numerous ways to make it, but the incredible parts happen when we don’t touch it. When it’s left to its own devices. Let’s look at the fermentation of glucose—who can tell me what it turns into?”
While a few students answer, she nods and stands behind the podium, listing out the formulas of the reaction. All of it looks like chaotic combinations of shapes connected with letters and numbers.
“I want to see the chemical equation including the Lewis structures in your exams, so please make sure you’re understanding the reactant as well as the conditions.”
It doesn’t take any of that to be impressed. Watching someone own a room like this is impressive, and I’m taken back by how beautifully complicated she is. How I don’t know so much about her and who she was before I met her, but I want to know every detail she’d share with me. Outside of finding her intensely beautiful, she’s intelligent and articulate. Talking with her makes it feel like something’s clicked for me, something that never has before, not with anyone else.
There isn’t a bell, but a buzzer next to her goes off, like her time is up. She glances at the clock behind her, and in tandem, every single person peppered throughout the room stands and collects their things, some already rushing up the stairs and past me.
“Please check your syllabus for the deliverables for next class,” she calls out.
Two students linger and talk with her about something that has her smiling and nodding. She hands them each a piece of paper, and then stares at the steps after them as they hustle up toward the door. When the sound of it closes, Wyn blows out a breath. She hasn’t noticed me back here yet, and I’m not sure why I haven’t made her aware that I’m here.
Bracing her hands on the podium, she looks down at it for a beat. She pulls the pen out of her hair, and with it, her hair falls forward draping around her face. She doesn’t look happy. If anything, it’s like whatever mask she wore while in front of her students has fallen away, and now, she looks stressed. A huffed laugh leaves her, and with a defeated tone, she says to herself, “That was absolutely awful.”
“I don’t know,” I call out from my seat.
She jumps slightly, her hand splayed on her chest. “Julian,” she exhales.
“I thought it made perfect sense to me.” I stand and walk down the first couple of steps.
Shaking her head, she asks, “What are you doing here?”
Walking down a few more until I’m across from her, I look at the equation projected behind her. “Apparently, learning about the chemistry of whiskey.”
She glances around to check if anyone else is in the room. “You realize you need to pay to take classes here?”
“What’s the currency, Dr. Crowne?”
Her eyes meet mine, and she tries to stifle the smile that question pulls from her.
“Wanted to see you,” I tell her honestly. “I spent some time with your sisters today?—”
Her brow furrows. “What? Why?” she asks, crossing and then uncrossing her arms.
“I was looking for Birdie, and they ended up convincing me to help move Jo into her new studio space.”
She rubs along her forehead and closes her eyes. “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”
I take two more steps down, trying to erase the space between us. I know this is complicated; everything about this woman and her family is the biggest red flag, but I like color. My life has felt too black and white for far too long.
“You went quiet on me when I asked to see you later.” I rub at the back of my neck. “I don’t really care how that sounds. When I want something, I ask for it. And the only games I want to play with you, Crowne, are the ones that’ll have you coming like you did the other night.”
