Page 41 of I Want to Know What Love Is

Sitting at my desk, I check my watch. Another ten minutes. I shouldn’t have come in a half hour early to wait for Dylan to arrive, foolishly thinking that I could do some work while I wait. Tuesdays are probably a better night for us to meet except for the random department faculty meetings. Abandoning my laptop, I stand and pace the room. There’s not much in here except for the family Christmas photo from when we were kids and the photo of me and Brook dressed up for the prom—minus our dates—all smiles and happy because she’d coached me into snagging the most popular boy in the school. He happened to be the football team’s QB. Of course. It was all so cliché. Too superficial to go anywhere in spite of all the hype. It fizzled after our third post-prom date because I couldn’t stand his ego or his constant flirting.

It must be a thing with all-star quarterbacks. Something in their DNA that makes them egotistical dicks. I’m thinking about Jonesy of course, even as I deflate from my forced position because I know it’s unfair. He’s not a total dick even if he does have that arrogant swagger. He has so much more. A heart. And I wish I didn’t know this, wish I hadn’t seen him vulnerable with his dad and loving with his mother and fun with his Aunt Viola and respectful of his Dad’s new wife.

The last thing I need is to think of Dylan as more than a hunky young horn-ball. I don’t need him to be so… so something, as Emily would say. About to go another lap around, I stop when the object of my reluctant admiration appears in the open doorway. I smile before I can stop myself.

He’s dressed in a black polo shirt and black jeans that hug his hips and thighs. If I were a sculpture I’d beg him to pose for me. But I’m not.

I’m a coach with ambitions and I need to toss my admiration of his muscles—and everything else about him including and especially those deep dark eyes where his heart shows through—where they belong in the bucket with the rest of the deflated balls.

His smile is a slow burn that heats me degree by inevitable degree until I feel scorched. His eyes move up and down over me and I suddenly feel foolish for dressing up and glad at the same time. But I don’t shirk away from his stare because once again, I’m not the kind of girl to back down. I’m proud of who I am, who I’ve become and that includes all of my assets, some of which are showing nicely in my slinky red dress.

“You have a hot date later?”

“None of your business,” I say. I had been planning to go out to a place in Laconia, Pitman’s Freight Room, on the recommendation of Kevin Ryan—not that I’m anxious to meet him there—but the appeal of finding a man to take home deserted me as soon as Dylan walked in. While we stare at each other for another couple of blinks, Dylan has my desire completely under his control. His appeal fills my mind and spills over to my hormones and my blood until everything I am he owns, like I’m in some kind of sensual trance. Not good.

I turn away and sit down behind my desk, motioning him to have his seat that I wish was not in front of me. It’s better if I don’t look at him anymore.

“You’re right,” he says and I don’t remember what I’m right about because his voice is a trigger and I automatically meet his eyes. Forcing the sass, or anything to keep me grounded, I grip my laptop and open it.

“Always. And don’t forget it,” I say. I look away from his smile like he’s a blinding supernova that can’t be withstood. “Ready for week two’s assignment?” I click on his syllabus and wrench my mind into Finance 101 gear with the mental equivalent of metal grinding and groaning. Do not think of grinding and groaning.

“Readier than ever.” He pushes his tablet around for me to see and there’s his completed assignment, all the examples calculated correctly and explanations given to answer all the questions. I take my time looking it over, without looking up, commenting here and there on his work.

“Looks good.” Looks fucking perfect. “Any questions?”

“None.” I sigh, once again realizing that my role as his tutor is superfluous.

“Maybe we should suspend the tutoring—”

“Coach said it’s good for the optics with Dean Lassiter, so that would not be a good idea.” I nod, because I need to go along with Coach Radz. He holds a lot of clout in the athletic department and I can’t afford to do anything to piss him off or even slightly annoy him.

“Fine. Then class dismissed.” I fold my hands on top of my closed laptop.

“How’s Paul?”

“What is it with you and Paul? Why do you have such an unhealthy interest in my dog?” He laughs.

“Because he’s yours.” Of all the things he could have said this is unexpected. The surprise must be what causes the massive flutter in my gut, the sudden quickening of my heartbeat.

“You’re ridiculous.” I want to laugh, but I can’t. Not with his eyes on me like he wants to eat me. I so should not have worn this dress. Aren’t I familiar with the twitchy touchy nature of twenty-one-year-old male hormones?

“How’d your date go Saturday?” he asks more than casually.

“About like you’d guess it went.” He laughs, bigger this time, a shade of triumph on his face.

“Don’t get so smug about it. New Hampshire isn’t exactly crawling with eligible men so I resorted to a fix up. Sue me.”

“You have a whole campus full of eligible men,” he says and I know a test question when I hear one. I give him an eyeroll because that’s what he deserves.

“Okay, I get it. Us college guys are beneath you.” He smirks. I get the immediate image of him beneath me and the shot of heat between my legs is proof I need to find someone fast. Someone not named Dylan Jones, though God help me, I wish—never mind what I wish. I’m not committing career suicide over this kid.

“What do you do when you’re not playing football or torturing your finance tutor?” I’m curious, that’s the only reason I ask. I’m not fishing for info on his love life, I swear.

“Nothing worth mentioning,” he says. “Oh, except I googled you.”

I freeze, my body stills and I stop breathing, I swear my heart even stops for a beat.

“Why?” It’s a stupid question. I should be telling him he’s out of line. I should be kicking him out of my office because his time’s up. Because he’s crossing all kinds of lines whether he knows it or not, he’s crashing through all my lines of defense.