He’s certain he’ll hear that sound again and again when he’s alone in bed tonight.
Eventually her breathing slows, but she keeps her face buried, almost as though she isn’t ready to look at him yet. And that’s okay. He’ll let her take her time, even if he wishes he could have watched her.
When she finally lifts her head, she looks absolutely devastating. Her cheeks are flushed deep red, and her shy, satisfied smile aims a kick at his heart.
She tugs him forward to kiss him hard on the mouth, her hand dropping to the front of his jeans. He groans at the contact.
“Ramona,” he manages, distantly aware it’s the first time he’s called her by her first name.
And then there’s a knock on the door.
Nick springs away from the desk like he’s about to get caught—well, with a student half-undressed in his office.
Ramona snaps her legs together, lowers herself to the floor. “Oh—shit,” she says, rushing to button her shirt.
The door isn’t even locked—the realization hits him like a fifty-ton anvil.
Oh shitisn’t enough to convey the gravity of the situation. At lightning speed, he works to tidy his desk, pushing papers back into place, picking up the three-hole punch and then immediately dropping it, his hands are so shaky. Ramona’s in the corner fixing her hair.
“Just a second!” he calls out. “Just—finishing an email!”
Right. Those very important emails that require total privacy and frantic shouting.
“No worries, I’ll try you again later,” a voice calls back, cheery and completely unassuming.
And even as the footsteps fade, as the two of them exhale and attempt to relax, the reality of it all sinks in.
What they just did.
What someone could have seen.
What it would mean for his job.
“I should go,” Ramona says, picking up her giant tote bag.
“You don’t have to—” he tries, because despite the massive reality check, he doesn’t want it to end like this. Doesn’t want her to feel like she did anything wrong.
“I do.” Her gaze flicks around the office, as though to confirm that everything is back in order. Even her hair looks somehow purposeful in its state of gorgeous disarray. “This was…” Not finding a word for it, she lets the sentence hang there, unfinished.
He wants to rewind to five minutes ago. When she was breathless on his desk and nothing else seemed to matter.
“Enjoy my paper,” she says. “I really think it’s my best work.”
And with that, she’s out the door.
It’s only later, once he’s packing up his books for the day, that his fingers touch delicate lace.
She tucked her panties in his messenger bag.
13
TheVarietynews alert hitsher phone like a missile halfway through her marine biology class.
Thirty minutes later, Ramona’s on her way to Petra’s office.
“Petra’s in a meeting right now,” says the receptionist, a well-groomed young guy whose entire forehead does not move.
“Could you let her know I’m waiting?” Ramona fingers the strap of her tote bag. Shifts her weight. Being here makes her itchy, a discomfort threaded beneath her skin. She knows she isn’t at the top of anyone’s list, and she’s still not used to feeling that way.
