Page 107 of Stranger to Love

I shut up instantly. We had reached my house, and she pulled the car to the path, cutting the engine. She turned in her seat, resting one arm on the steering wheel.

"First," she said, her gaze pinning me to the spot, "stop overthinking. It doesn't suit you." She reached across the centre console, her hand sliding behind my neck to pull me gently toward her. "The reason I don't 'linger' at the university is because if I touched you in those hallways the way I want to, neither of us would make it to our next seminar. It’s called discretion, darling. Not shame."

I held my breath. She traced my jaw with her thumb.

"As for a date," she continued, a playful, dangerous little smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, "I think it’s a wonderful idea. I know a very quiet, very exclusive place where the only thing people will be looking at is how lucky I am to have you on my arm. But let's be clear about one thing, Alex. If you’re taking me out, you’re going to have to work very hard to keep my attention. I’m a very demanding woman to court."

I let out a breath, my forehead dropping against hers. "I think I can handle 'demanding,' Dr. Carter. But also," I added, my cheeks flushing, "I want to plan it. I want to be the one to organise it. I... I can't really afford to take you to the kind of places you’re used to. But I want to do this for us. Properly."

Carrie’s expression melted into something profoundly tender. She reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. "Alex," she whispered, her voice thick with affection. "I’m sure whatever you plan will be perfect. I’m not interested in the menu, darling. I’m interested in the company."

Then, she leaned in, and the boring adult week of abstinence went up in flames. It had been over a week since Carlos—over a week of polite nods in hallways. I was starving for her.

I groaned into her mouth, my hands flying up to lace through her dark hair, pulling her closer, deeper. The sudden, sharp tension of my hold elicited a low, throat-deep moan from Carrie—a sound of pure surrender that sent a bolt of lightning straight to my core.

The centre console felt like a canyon I was desperate to cross. I pushed myself up, my knees digging into the leather of the passenger seat as I practically crawled toward her. Carrie caught me halfway, her hands hooking under my arms to haul me into her space.

I shifted my grip, sliding my hand from the silk of her hair down to the hem of that devastating grey dress. My palm hit the warmth of her bare thigh, and I slid my hand upward, skin-on-skin.

Carrie let out a sharp, choked gasp, her spine arching back. I buried my face in the crook of her neck, nipping at the soft skin there and dragging my tongue over her thundering pulse point.

Screeeech.

A sudden explosion of noise at the end of the road fractured the moment. Harsh voices and a violently slammed door pierced through the fog in my head, dragging us both abruptly out of the haze.

The spell disintegrated. We both froze.

I slumped back into my seat, dropping my forehead against the dashboard with a muffled groan. "I hate this place," I muttered.

Carrie took a long, shuddering breath, manually rebooting her brain. She sat up straight, her hands returning to the steering wheel, adjusting the collar of her dress with quick efficiency.

"I'll pick you up after work tomorrow, darling," she said, her voice regaining its steady clip, though her eyes were still dark with lingering heat.

"Can we do that date next week?" I asked, turning to her.

Carrie tilted her head, a small smirk tugging at her mouth. "I can do Monday. And I don don’t need to be in the office until nine a.m. on Tuesday."

"That's perfect," I said. Internally, my brain went into a full-blown tailspin. Monday. That was only a few days away. I had forty-eight hours to plan something that wouldn’t make me look like a total amateur in front of a woman who probably drank wine older than I was.

Carrie got out of the car, moving around to open my door and offering me her hand. Standing on the cracked pavement, we looked like a total mismatch—her in her elegant dress and me in my beer-scented work clothes. She leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to my lips.

"Goodnight, Alex," she whispered.

"Night, Carrie."

I watched her drive away, then leaned my back against the locked front door, sliding down until I was sitting on the floor.

"Monday," I breathed out, clutching my head in my hands. "Fuck. What am I going to do for Monday?"

​* * *

The adrenaline from the bus ride was still humming in my veins as I practically sprinted through the front door. I had exactly two hours to transform from a frantic student into someone worthy of a "real" date with Carrie. I dumped my bag in the hallway, already mentally ticking through my wardrobe, when the sound stopped me cold.

A cough. Thin, wet, and weak. It was coming from the lounge.

My heart sank. I dropped the frantic energy instantly and walked into the room. My mum was swallowed up by the cushions of the old sofa, her skin a worrying shade of grey-pale.

"Mum?" I knelt beside her, taking her hand—it felt like parchment. "You look rough. Have you had your meds?"