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And she insisted that if I ever wanted to heal, this was the place to start. Sort of like encouraging someone in Alcoholics Anonymous to get a plant, I suppose. Baby steps. She didn’t say I had to open up to Gwen, but she also didn’t say I ought tofuckGwen. Thanks to that poorly planned moment, we’ve reached a point where I don’t think I have a choice. Part of me wants to, but most of me is fucking terrified of scaring her away.
Now that Lance is apparently in the picture and unlikely to leave unless by force—probably not even then, the way he looks at her—I’ll need to step up the intimacy to keep her close. Because I don’t know what I’d do if she pulls away, decides she no longer needs a bodyguard, or worst of all, decides she’d rather have someone else watch her back.
Until we figure out who attacked her, I doubt she’ll want me gone completely, but I don’t want to put any more distance between us than I already have by refusing to open up to her the other night. I didn’t lie when I said I’d tell her everything tonight. I just need to find the balls to do it.
I’m still on the fence about trusting Lance, but every instinct tells me he’s worth taking a chance on, especially since Saturday night when he trusted me enough to suck him off, and then Tuesday when I found him being beaten by a trio of degenerate trust-fund assholes. The more I learn about the kid, the more I like him, and there’s no disputing he’s smitten with Gwen.
I have to admit my attraction to him is part of it, but I’d be irresponsible if I let myself get too close. It was getting too close to someone like him that nearly ruined my life before I came back to New York.
I remain lost in my own broody thoughts while I browse through the branded gear section of the bookstore, looking for the most obnoxious T-shirt I can find. It’s my duty to keep Lance humble, at the very least. Part of me, however, wants to test him whenever I can. He hesitated when Gwen suggested I suck his dick on Saturday, but obviously enjoyed it once I got busy. I’ll convert him to the dark side eventually, but I know it wouldn’t be possible if he didn’t already have it in him.
Finally I find the shirt I want. It’s a white T-shirt with a giant rainbow-striped “PRIDE” emblazoned across the chest, the Columbia lion just beneath it. I grin. I can’t wait to see what he thinks of it.
The rear stairwell of the building takes me right to the hallway outside Gwen’s office on the second floor. When I push open the door, Dr. MacArthur is standing right outside, head cocked and clearly eavesdropping. He doesn’t hear me, so I clear my throat.
“Can I help you?”
He jerks and turns, eyes wide for a second before pasting on an arrogant smile. “Oh, Percy. I thought you were with Ms. Brennan.”
“It’sDoctorBrennan. And she’s with a student; I stepped out to run an errand for her. Do you need something?”
Dr. MacArthur is one of the tenured sociology professors in our department. He’s an attractive man in his mid-40s with a too-slick look that always gives me hives. I especially can’t stand the way he looks at Gwen.
“Of course. My mistake. It isn’t important. I just wanted to make sure she received the invitation for the department mixer next month.”
“She did, and it’s on her calendar. Now if you don’t mind.” I nod at the door that he’s still blocking as if he owns the place. I heard voices from inside when I found him, but they’ve gone silent now. I hope to fuck the pair weren’t discussing anything illicit.
He narrows his eyes, glancing back at the door. “Does Dr. Brennan normally lock her door when she’s with a student? That seems highly irregular.”
“It depends on the student. When it’s one who was recently assaulted by three male classmates, yes. Her office is a safe space for victims.” I step closer, squaring my shoulders and daring him to challenge me again. I hope he reads the subtext. As the man in charge of doling out offices to the staff, he’s the reason she’s stuck in this corner despite what happened, and I’m sure he knows it.
He’s only a little shorter, but his ego is about ten times the size of mine, so it takes him a minute to get the hint. Finally he gives me a fake smile and edges past, the faint scent of wintergreen hitting my nose from whatever mint he was sucking on. It does nothing to cover up the undertone of bourbon on his breath.
I wait for him to head back down the hall, but instead he heads for the stairwell door. His office is on the first floor at the other end of the building. Why would he bother coming up here when he could have just called?
My unease over the visit lingers when I knock.
“It’s Percy,” I say in a low voice. A moment later, the lock clicks and Gwen opens the door to let me in. She steps back to her desk, and I close and lock the door again, then toss the bag from the bookstore to Lance.
“Who were you talking to?” Gwen asks.
“MacArthur. He was lurking right outside when I got back. Eavesdropping. What were you two talking about?”
“The fuck?” Lance’s eyebrows draw together. “Does he usually pull shit like that?”
“Not that I know of,” Gwen says. “He was probably just coming to nag me about the mixer. I don’t even know if I’m going to go.”
“That was his excuse, but he was definitely listening in. I have no idea how long he was out there, so I hope your conversation was above-board.”
Gwen shakes her head. “We were talking about Lance’s class schedule. Did you know he’s pre-law? With a 21-credit course load, and on the swim team on top of it.”
I’m impressed, but after watching him go down on her twice, it’s clear the fucker’s an overachiever. I can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy when she smiles at him.
“How the fuck did you have time to sneak into the club Saturday night?” I ask.
He smirks and offers a half-shrug. “Hey, I need to blow off steam once in a while too. But she left out the part of the conversation where I shared that my older brother’s a cop. I want to see if he can help track down the asshole who assaulted her.”
ChapterTwelve
