Ryker
I stifle a yawn as I slide into an empty seat in Trusts and Estates on Monday morning. I almost didn’t come at all, but this class actually entertains me. And unlike Babcock, Turner doesn’t care which seats we take, helping my late arrival go unnoticed.
It isn’t until I see the Pez dispenser next to me that a wide grin splits my face. Maybe today is looking up after all.
Justine. She’s already furiously typing away on the piece-of-shit laptop provided by the school to the scholarship kids. Somehow she’s nursed hers all the way into third year, when most people killed theirs within the first or second semester.
I still need to get a straight answer out of her about the strip club, but now isn’t the time or place. The lack of stripper titty glitter on her gives me hope that she didn’t take the job.
“What’d I miss?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“Like you care,” she shoots back, and my grin widens.
“You can pretend like I don’t exist, but we both know you’re watching me like a hawk.”
“No one can miss that you’ve decided to become the class jackass.”
Her comment stings more than I expect, and my smile fades.
“And what do you care about it?”
“Other than the fact that you’re throwing something away that plenty of people would kill to have? Nothing.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Porter. Mr. Grant. Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”
And we’ve officially been noticed by Turner. Justine’s cheeks turn red at the professor’s attention.
“Sorry, Professor Turner. I’ve been asking Ms. Porter out at least once a week for the last two years, and she’s still shooting me down. You’d think I’d give up, but I just can’t let it go.”
Justine’s face and ears flame even brighter red, and she slaps a hand over her face and lowers her gaze to the keyboard of her laptop.
“And do you think that announcing this is going to help your case any, Mr. Grant?”
“No, sir, but you asked if I had anything to share with the class.”
The middle-aged man seems like he would have been cool in his day, and I know it’s true when he doesn’t bust my balls any further.
“Fair enough, Mr. Grant, but save it for after class. I imagine you’re going to have a lot of apologizing to do, and perhaps some groveling.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Turner moves on to call on the next person on his list to recite the facts of the case, and I’m glad he didn’t bestow that little honor on me.
Justine grabs the Chewbacca Pez dispenser between us and pops a few yellow candies into her mouth. Her face is still bright red, and Turner’s right. I should probably apologize for humiliating her, but it’s not like anyone in this room doesn’t know I’ve been trying since the beginning of our first year. She’s the only one who pretends like it’s not happening—at least until that night after finals at the bar.
I haven’t been able to get the way her body curled into mine out of my head. I need to remind her how fucking good we could be together. If that kiss was anything to go by, when we get naked, we’ll be explosive.
One more chance. That’s all I need to convince her that we have a hell of a lot more to explore.
Class grinds on for what seems like an eternity until Turner dismisses us and everyone starts packing up their laptops and casebooks.
I know I’ve got one shot to get Justine to agree to talk to me—especially after I made my little announcement to the class.
Biding my time, I wait until she’s trying to pass behind me, and I stand so she runs directly into my chest. Thrown off-balance, she wobbles, and I wrap both hands around her hips to steady her.
“I got you.”
Her eyes narrow and her mouth curls into a scowl. “You did that on purpose.”
“Deliberately got in your way so I could get my hands on you again? Damn right, I did.”
I see a flash of confusion and then the anger takes precedence again.
But we both know it’s the truth. Getting my hands on her is exactly what I want. Her shirt rides up on the sides, and I sweep my fingers along her bare skin. Fuck, she’s soft. Which guarantees my dick isn’t.
“Let me go.”
Instead of a demand, Justine’s words sound breathless. I have to remind myself I’m standing in a classroom with a professor up front and students filing in and out. This isn’t the time or place for a hard-on.
“I’ve got some things I need to say to you, and you’re going to let me.”
Her brown eyes snap up to mine, surprise clear in them. “Why should I?”
“Because you’re nothing if not curious, and you want to know what I have to say.”
She steps backward, and I let my fingertips trail across her skin before they drop away. Justine adjusts the straps of her backpack on her shoulders and tucks Chewbacca into a side pocket.
“You know you want to hear the rare sound of me apologizing, don’t you?”
Justine purses her lips, and all I can think about is the dreams I had all weekend of her staring down at me from a stage while she danced and stripped. My own private show. I’m not going to admit how many times I jacked off to the mental picture. I need the real thing, and I won’t have another shot if she won’t even give me a chance to talk to her.
I don’t know what changes her mind, but she relaxes her posture and relents. “Fine. You’ve got five minutes. This better be good.”
It’s not much, but I’ll take it. I lead the way out of the classroom, slipping out the side door I used to make my unobtrusive entrance. Or at least, it was unobtrusive until I decided to share my strike-out history with the entire class at Professor Turner’s invitation.
Glancing behind me, I’m marginally surprised to see Justine actually following. I head for the third-floor doors to the library, where the private rooms are. This conversation isn’t for public consumption.
The first private room on the right is empty, so I push the door open. Justine trails me inside, and I shrug off my backpack and drop it on one of the four chairs.
She closes the door behind her and leans against it, her arms crossed over her chest. I’m guessing she wouldn’t stand that way if she realized how it draws attention to her chest. I force my eyes back to her face. I’m not about to fuck this up.
“Wow, you must really plan on groveling if you need privacy,” she says, an eyebrow raised in challenge.
“Maybe I just wanted to get you alone.”
She rolls her eyes. “And I’m already getting bored.”
“You love to bust my balls, don’t you?”
“I don’t really like to think about your balls, if you want to know the truth.”
I try on my charming smile, the one that has dropped panties for years. “I’m calling bullshit on that. You’ve thought about me at least once.”
She pushes off the door and turns halfway to reach for the handle. “And if that’s all you wanted to say, then I think we’re done here.”
“Wait.”
I’m shocked when she listens.
Justine rubs her hands over her face, her every move revealing her frustration. “You ask me out for two years, practically blackmail me into a kiss, then you blow me off completely, and now you’re all up in my business again. What the hell do you want from me?”
Her confusion punches me in the gut, making me wish I could tell her why I wasn’t there the morning I promised to help her move. It wasn’t for any reason she thinks.
I stride toward her, pressing one palm against the door beside her head. “I’m not blowing you off, and I haven’t stopped thinking about that night.”
“Then why—”
I can’t give her the explanation she wants, so I try something different.
Lowering my head, I catch the next words out of her mouth on my lips. They’re just as soft as I remember, and I drop my other hand to her hip, drawing her against me. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my T-shirt, almost reluctantly, but she’s not pushing me away.
I take her mouth, my tongue diving between her lips to taste her again—finally, but the pulsing of my dick against the zipper of my jeans forces me to back off. If I don’t, I’ll be laying her out on the table behind us, and that’s not what this is about. At least, not all of what this is about.
With her face flushed and her hair messy from my fingers, Justine shutters her expression. She’s rebuilding her walls brick by brick.
That’s not going to work for me.
“What’s it going to take, Justine?” I remember asking her the same question at the bar.
Her dark eyes fill with confusion. “What’s what going to take?” The words come out defensively.
“With you. To get a second chance. I fucked up once, but doesn’t everyone deserve another shot?”