Page 119 of Any Port in a Storm

He quirks a brow. “The mailroom?”

“This is hallowed ground. Just there,” I point. “That’s where we had our meet-cute.”

“We didn’t meet here.”

“I mean, I guess that’s technically true.” I nuzzle against Nick’s shoulder and pop open my mailbox.

“You don’t even remember meeting me,” he teases, kissing the side of my neck.

“I guess you just weren’t that memorable,” I joke, grabbing a bill and a postcard from Ivy that says “LET’S GO TO THE BEACH” in all caps. She’s been trying to convince me to spend the summer in Ogunquit with her this year. I’ve been noncommittal, and apparently that’s driven her to snail-mail bribery.

“I’ll thank you to rescind that comment immediately.” Nick grabs my waist and hauls me against him.

“I mean, I don’t think that anymore,” I demur, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips.

“That’s what I thought.” He walks us backward against a bank of mailboxes and skims his thumbs under the hem of my shirt. “Because if you forgot—I might have to do something to make sure you remember.”

Smoke swirls beneath my navel. “Do tell.”

He bends to whisper in my ear. “I might have to put my mouth here,” he brushes his pointer finger between my thighs. “To remind you that I’m worth keeping around.”

My breath hitches in my throat. “I definitely forgot. In fact, I might have amnesia.”

His lips lilt up as he touches me again. “Do you just want me to do dirty things to you?”

“Jesus,” I groan. “We need to leave. Now.” I grab his hand and drag him, laughing, out of the mailroom.

“Why the rush, Laurel?” he drawls.

I purse my lips. “You know perfectly well what you did.”

As we round the corner, we almost collide headlong into Dr. Spillinger.

“Oh, hey there,” I say brightly. “Sorry about that.”

Her attention flicks between us. She’s got a weird look on her face, but I suppose that’s to be expected since we nearly ran her over.

“Hi, Laurel. Nick.”

I feel Nick stiffen beside me. “Elaine.”

Her first name hits me as odd, but I suppose, while she’s my mentor, she’s actually his colleague. It’s a strange place to be, in the limbo between grad school and teaching, especially for Nick, who not too long ago was a student himself.

“I’ll have to stop by your office this week,” I tell Spillinger. “I’ve got a few new sources I want to run by you.”

“Yes, of course.” She still seems a bit flustered.

“Anyway, we’ve gotta run. So much writing to do.” I flash her a grin. “See you later!”

“Bye,” she and Nick say at the same time.

As we walk away, he leans to whisper in my ear again. “Is ‘writing’ what we’re calling it?”

“We can call it whatever you want,” I say coyly.

He squeezes my hand. “Perfect. Let’s go back to your apartment. I’m going to write the best essay you’ve ever read.”

When we get back to my room, we don’t speak; just straight head for my bed. I slip off my dress and slide under the covers. Nick pulls off his shirt, but I drag him down to me before he manages to kick off his gray sweats.