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“Like … farming?”
“No, that’s agriculture.”
“Oh.” Emma snorts in amusement. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. But I do work with plants. I specialize in grafting plants together. Mostly I follow a way to teach people the importance of grafting, especially when it comes to helping stop certain species from dying out. Or if we find something with exceptional properties but it’s being killed by the weather or humans, we can graft and hope that seedlings will take on traits that enable that plant to survive for longer. It gets extra interesting when we consider how many species we’ve lost to deforestation or?—”
I catch myself and chuckle.
“Why did you stop?” Emma looks up at me with wide eyes, and such a warm curiosity that a strange heat flutters through my chest.
“I was rambling.”
“I enjoyed it,” Emma says. “Listening to you talk, it’s nice.”
“It’s just as well we spend our time on different sides of campus,” I muse quietly. “I would never get any work done if you were down the hall.”
“What?” Emma laughs. “Why?”
“Because I’d be doing everything I could to see you, just so that you could look at me with those eyes while I ramble about bringing back extinct plants.”
“Everyone has a passion,” Emma says. “I like listening to passionate people.”
“Now you’re trying to get into my pants.”
She shrugs, draining her cup. “Maybe.”
Tossing it into a nearby trash can, we approach her car and the sight of it brings me to a halt.
“What?” Emma stands between me and her car. “What’s wrong?”
“Is tarp over the window a stylistic choice?”
“Oh.” She huffs out a laugh. “My car was broken into a few weeks ago and my father, as part of teaching me a lesson about finances, only repaired the major things. I have to pay him back and find a way to pay off the rest but it’s not as bad as it looks, I promise.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, just cracks on that window and I still need to get one of the seats reupholstered, but it’s whatever. A work in progress, right?”
Her smile is so bright, I can’t decide if she’s trying to persuade me or herself. Regardless, it’s sincere enough that I reach for her hand, and thankfully, she doesn’t pull away.
“Have you considered getting real clients?”
“I have clients.”
“Ones that don’t apply through a studio that takes 35% commission.”
“You think I’m good enough for that?” Emma wanders closer to me as we reach her car, and I nod.
“I know you are.”
“You must really want in my pants, huh?” Her soft smile melts into a smirk and she slides one hand up my chest to rest against my clavicle.
“Maybe I do.”
Out in public like this, it’s a risk, but the parking lot is somewhat secluded, and it’s late enough in the afternoon that no one should bother us. So, when she tilts her head up and slowly licks her lower lip, I take the bait and lean in to kiss her.
Her lips are pillowy soft, just like I remember. A hint of coffee and caramel lingers on them, and as I kiss her deeper, her lips part, and she invites me in. I clutch at her waist and press her up against her car, crowding her in with my body as if I can hide her from all wandering eyes. Her arms loop around my neck. She pulls me down as I press in and taste every sweet inch of her mouth. Her body is a warm, soft line against my own and each breath drags her breasts slightly against my chest. I press closer, shoving one leg between her thighs in order to steady myself. She moans softly. One hand slides up into my hair and tugs while the fingers of her other hand tease along the nape of my neck.
