Текст книги "Pushing the Limits"

Автор книги: Brooke Cumberland

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

She frowns and it’s all the answer I need.

Tonight she has her therapy appointment, so I wait outside the room for forty-five minutes while Dr. Kingston tries to teach her ways of dealing with her feelings by using a healthier outlet. Six months of therapy later, and we’re still trying to help her manage the way she acts out.

Not that I can really blame her, though.

Once her session is over, we drive home, and I start browsing in the kitchen for something to make for dinner.

“Shit, I forgot to go grocery shopping,” I mumble as I stare at the half-empty orange juice container and Chinese takeout boxes in the fridge.

“You shouldn’t swear.”

I slam the door shut, not realizing she was behind me. “You shouldn’t creep up on people,” I tease, spinning around to her sitting by the breakfast bar.

“Grandma says swearing is the devil’s voice.”

“Well, you should ask Grandma what whiskey is then.”

“I already did,” she responds matter-of-factly. “She says it’s the Lord’s blood.”

I snort. “Grandma’s a liar.” I begin opening cupboards and digging through boxes of food.

“I know.” She grins. “So what are you making? Or should I say…burning?”

“You know…for an eleven-year-old—”

“I’m almost twelve,” she interrupts.

“Whatever. For an almost twelve-year-old, you have quite the smart-mouth.”

“I prefer gifted.”

“I prefer it shut.”

She narrows her eyes at me and sticks her tongue out.

I opt for pizza delivery instead of cooking until I get to the grocery store again. And even then, I’ll probably grab frozen pizzas and boxes of mac ’n cheese.

Back in Ohio, there was this small family-owned deli and sushi bar that I always stopped at on my way home from work. But now that I have Natalia with me, I actually have to remind myself to hit the store.

Either that or I’m going to go broke from ordering in seven days a week.

CHAPTER THREE

ASPEN

I arrive at my night class early Thursday, knowing the room will be empty beforehand. I can paint in my apartment, but there’s just something about the atmosphere and being in a room filled with other paintings. I grab an easel and settle in with my ear buds while I paint.

Most recently, See You Again by Wiz Khalifa has hit home for me. I’ve had it on repeat for several days and every time I draw or paint, I’m able to tune everything out when I listen to it and think happy thoughts about her.

The lyrics inspire me to paint an abstract of her face. I use the entire canvas to lightly outline her features—her heart-shaped face, almond-sized eyes, and the strong bridge of her nose.

Once I finish, I lightly draw a line down the middle of her face to emphasize her different layers—happy on the outside, depressed on the inside.

I grab a tube of red paint and squeeze it out onto the palette. I swirl a round brush into the paint before outlining the lines and angles of the face.

I focus on one side at a time. Warm colors with light shading reflect her outside personality the best, so I add in some yellow with a blending brush over her cheeks and jawline. I add in some white to create the lighter shading around her eye and slant of her nose. Once I’m finished with that, I add some teal paint and use my fan brush to accent the cheekbones with the yellow underneath it to create a lighter allusion.

I finish up the left side with my pointed round brush and paint in the eye blue. Once that’s complete, I smooth everything together with a flat brush and wait for it to dry. I stand back and study it for a moment before deciding I’m satisfied with it for now. It feels like her—happy and energetic—the teals and yellows of my past life.

I begin the other side with a base coat of purple and then layer a light shade of blue on top. This side of the face is meant to be dark and oppressed—her inner personality—so I add in the shading to exaggerate the features more.

I wait until it dries a bit before adding another layer of blue, this time a couple shades darker than before to accent the cheekbones. I run the angular flat bristles alongside the jawline and up near the ear, making the blue stand out more than the purple. Once I’m done with the blue, I blend in the white to outline the other side of the nose and eye.

The song continues repeating in my earbuds as I sing some of the lyrics aloud. I take a step back and look at the two sides as a whole.

I tilt my head left and right, checking out the different angles before deciding to add another layer of blue to the right side.

I quickly glance up at the clock and see I still have a good twenty-five minutes before I need to clean up and pretend I was never here. Just as I’m dipping a clean flat brush in the paint, I feel someone behind me.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and jerk around so quickly the paintbrush between my fingers follows. A streak of blue paint wipes across Professor Hampton’s face before I even realize it’s happened.

“Oh my God!” My eyes go wide as I feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment. I quickly yank my earbuds out. “I’m so sorry!” I lower my hand and examine the damage.

He smiles and a small laugh escapes his throat as he blinks. “Guess I deserved that.”

I frown. “It wasn’t on purpose.”

“Never sneak up on a painter,” he confirms. “Sorry about that. I was trying not to startle you, but apparently, my plan failed.”

“It’s fine,” I assure him. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come in yet.”

“Yeah, I figured I’d come early and prepare.” He smiles that crooked, drop-your-panties and beg-for-it smile, sending a rush of excitement through me. I’ve had some amazing professors in the past, but they’ve never made me feel as nervous to be around them as he does.

I can feel his breath against my bare arm, alerting me to take a step back. I put the brush down and look away. I start cleaning up my supplies, but I feel him grip my wrist and squeeze.

“Wait.”

I turn to look at him staring at the painting. I swallow at the intensity of his voice and eyes. His hand stays wrapped around my wrist as he stares intently at it, almost as if he’s examining every detail.

“You started this just today?”

“Yeah, about an hour ago.” I look back at the painting. “It’s a rough start. Something I did on a whim.”

He releases my wrist and smiles at me. “It’s stunning. The contrast between the warm and cool colors really catches your attention, drawing you into the tones. It's almost like they are forcing you to feel the agony and heartache she's feeling from her struggles.”

“Thank you.” I lower my head to hide the blush creeping over my cheeks. When I need to get out of my own head, I just start painting. Getting lost in whatever piece I’m working on helps me cope. It’s the only non-medical thing that keeps my anxiety under control. “I was trying to show her two contradicting personalities by putting them side by side,” I explain.

“So she’s struggling with inner demons but doesn’t reveal it on the outside?” he asks, intrigued, and I nod.

“There’s a struggle with who she wants to be on the outside and what she feels on the inside.”

“Sounds intense.” His lips tilt down slightly into a frown. “I love it, Aspen. Would you mind if I kept it in the classroom to exhibit for a bit?”

I look down and bite my lip. I slowly bring my head back up, his eyes trying to read me. “Um…” I hesitate. “Actually, it’s kind of personal.”

“I won’t tell anyone it’s yours.” He grins slyly, and I find myself having a hard time resisting those damn dimples.

“Okay, so if anyone asks…” I prompt.

“I’ll claim it’s a student from the old college I used to teach at. Someone named…” He pauses briefly. “Regina Hopintale.”

I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing but fail. “Thanks.”

His lips curl up even higher, showing off his dimples again. Lord, those dimples are like fresh strawberries covered in melted chocolate. They look so delicious and perfect that you can’t deny the explosive flavor once it hits your tongue.

Oh my God…did I just compare my professor’s dimples to chocolate covered strawberries?

I seriously need to get some fresh air. Or perhaps a second pair of panties.

He walks to the front of the classroom, setting his briefcase down on the desk. I clean up my area and put my supplies away before the first few students walk in.

“How’s it goin’?” Ellie asks in that southern twang of hers as soon as she sits down in the chair next to mine.

“You’re surprisingly early…” I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously.

“Not that early…” she denies, her cheeks turning a soft red.

“Does this have anything to do with that guy over there eye-fucking you?” I noticed it during our first class. He stares at her every chance he gets.

“Who? Kyle Simmons?” She pretends to not notice him as she digs through her supplies bag.

I playfully scowl at her. “I don’t know his name! But it’s apparent you do.”

“We might’ve had a couple classes together last semester.”

“And?” I prompt, knowing there’s so much more to the story.

“And…” She lingers. “We might’ve hooked up at a party.”

“So you came to class early to what? Have a staring contest?”

She wrinkles her nose at me. “No…I don’t know. It’s just once class starts, the easel will block my view.”

“So…go sit next to him. Wouldn’t that solve your problem?”

“Oh, bless your heart, Aspen.” I furrow my brows, confused. “He should come sit next to me. It’d be the gentlemanly thing to do.” She crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap.

“Ah…” I say, it finally clicking. “So what you really want is to eye-fuck him and play hard to get until he makes the initiative to come talk to you?”

“Is that too much to ask?”

I laugh at her sharp-witted southern accent. “Oh, so you were ready to jump on the professor in a heartbeat, but Kyle needs to be a southern gentleman and come to you?”

“That’s exactly right,” she answers sharply. I shake my head and smile at her.

Soon, class begins, and I watch Professor Hampton walk around the front of the room and discuss our assignment. I should be listening, but my mind wanders to the abstract I painted earlier. The one that portrays her inner demons…

It’d been raining all night long, and eventually, the storm woke me up. A flash of lighting temporarily blinded me as I squinted, trying to see if Ari was awake. Her bed was empty and the light in the hallway peeked under our bedroom door.

I threw the covers off and opened the door, deciding to tiptoe down the hallway to see where she had gone. “Ariel?” I whispered. I stood in front of the bathroom door that was closed, but I knew she had to be in there. “Ariel, you in here?” I knocked lightly.

Silence.

I slowly opened the door, hoping I wasn’t interrupting her, but when I stepped in, my entire world stopped.  “Oh my God, Ariel!” I ran to her where she lay on the cold bathroom floor, blood running down her hand and fingers. “Ariel, wake up!” I screamed, pulling her into my lap.

I grabbed a towel from the hook and wrapped it around her wrist. A razor blade lay next to her, covered in dried blood. Tears fell down my cheeks faster than I could wipe them off. I couldn’t understand what was happening…why had she done it?

Why hadn’t I known she was hurting?

The sound of chairs sliding on the floor knocks me out of my past nightmare. Everyone’s hustling to grab their easels and spread out their supplies. I grab my project that we started last class after our memory exercise and drown in my thoughts as I keep my eyes down and to the canvas in front of me. Professor Hampton continues walking around, but I don’t need to glance up to know he’s studying me from the front of the room.

Before we’re dismissed, he reminds us to keep an eye out for his email about our first blog assignment.

I have a feeling Professor Hampton is going to take up much more of my time than I suspected.

CHAPTER FOUR

ASPEN

The sound of my alarm wakes me up and before I can even manage to open my eyes, I reach for my phone and tap on the screen until the noise stops. It’s Saturday, and I have to be at work in less than an hour, but the heavy weight lying next to me reminds me that I’m not alone.

Jake, or maybe it was John, is a guy I met during happy hour, and when two drinks turned into four and six, I invited him back to my place.

But I don’t have time to casually escort him out and exchange numbers—not that I’d give him mine anyway. That’s not how this works. I avoid any kind of attachment, friendship, or even a fuck buddy. I don’t feel that compassion toward relationships that most women do. I can’t be open, discuss my feelings, or have ‘talks’ about my past. It’s the exact reason I avoid it all in the first place. One-night stands and casual hookups are all I’m emotionally capable of giving.

I need to shower and leave before I’m late to work again. So I slide out of bed¸ grab my towel hanging on the back of the door, and walk to the bathroom.

He has exactly forty-two minutes to leave before I kick him out.

I wash my body and hair, trying to remember the events of last night.

Kendall and Zoe met me at Happy Joe’s for the two-for-one happy hour special.

It was only meant to be a quick, fun girls’ night out, but it soon turned into a party of six after Kendall invited her boyfriend, Kellan.

Jake, or John, was there with a friend from work—some name that I can’t remember either—and I can only assume Zoe took him home after Kendall and I left.

As soon as I’m out of the shower, I dry off and head back to my room to search for some clothes. What’s his face is still lying face flat on my bed.

Fucking hell.

I open one of my drawers to grab some jeans and purposely slam it shut, hoping it’ll startle him enough to wake up.

No such luck.

On to Plan B.

I walk over to the other side of the bed and start shaking his shoulder. “Wake up!” He barely flinches. I grab the covers and rip them off of him, only to realize he’s completely naked.

I tilt my head and admire his firm ass for a quick second, but then shake my head away from the distraction. “You need to leave!” I say loud and insultingly slow.

He finally starts stirring and mumbles something but doesn’t open his eyes.

“I’m going to pour a bucket of cold water on you if you don’t get the hell out of my bed,” I threaten. “You have three seconds.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, slowly shifting around, searching for the covers with one hand.

“I have to get to work.” I walk back around my bed and start searching for a shirt in my closet. “Which means you have to leave.” I spell it out for him.

“Where the hell do you work that you have to be up this damn early?” He finally sits up and starts searching for his clothes that are scattered on the floor.

“I work at an art gallery.”

“Sounds…boring.”

I pull my shirt on and grimace. “Out,” I say firmly.

“What?”

He’s pulling his jeans up when I turn around and glare at him. “You can get out now.”

“I’m working on it. Gees. You weren’t this bitchy last night.”

My lips form into an oh-hell-no-he-didn’t scowl, and I bend down to grab one of my heels and throw it directly at him.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“First, you diss where I work, which by the way, is one of my favorite places to be in the whole world. And second, you call me a bitch!”

I’m ready to throw the other heel at him, but he finally uses his brain cells to get the hell out.

“BYE, Jake,” I yell at him as he walks down the hallway.

“Bye, Satan,” he yells back, and I can’t help but burst into laughter.

Sadly, this isn’t the worst morning-after I’ve had to deal with before.

The door opens and closes with a slam. A few seconds later, I hear it opening and closing again, this time much quieter.

“Do I even want to know what that was all about?” I hear Kendall shout from the hallway. “He looked like a scared cat after a cold bath.” She walks to my room with a knowing grin on her face.

“He couldn’t handle my classic morning wake up call,” I explain, brushing the knots out of my hair. “Amateur.”

She snorts and then says with a doe-eyed look in her eyes, “Kellan woke me up in a way that made me never want to leave the bedroom.” She flips her hair over her shoulder with a smirk.

“Well, Jake was nearly in a coma until I threatened him with cold water.” I grab my makeup case and begin my routine, but in a fast-forward motion.

“Are you sure his name is Jake?” she asks, furrowing her brows. “I could’ve sworn it was James.”

I shrug. “It wasn’t worth remembering.”

“Clearly.”

“So, I take it your night ended without penetration. How about Zoe’s?” I rummage through my makeup case and grab my eyeliner and mascara.

“Well, from what I could hear last night, it went well. And then again this morning. He’s still there. I think they went in the shower together.”

I shake my head and grin, applying my eye makeup. “Those poor guys never saw us coming.”

“Speak for yourself! I’m actually dating the guy I brought home.”

I thread my fingers through my hair after unsuccessfully brushing the tangles out. Since there’s no time to blow dry it, I pull it up into a messy bun and wrap a headband around my head. That’s just going to have to do for today.

“All right, I’m ready. Let’s go.” I grab my purse off the vanity and follow her out. “Whose turn is it to drive?”

“Yours.” She looks over her shoulder and smirks.

Kendall works with me at the Broadway Street Gallery. It’s a chic and popular art gallery where a lot of art students work and visit. It’s across the street from the university, so when I first moved here my freshmen year, I immediately applied for a job.

I was hired as a paid docent that gives tours to larger groups in hopes they’ll make a purchase. Even if they don’t, they often give a donation at the end. The gallery gets a commission from each sale, which then they give a portion each year to school art programs in the area. It’s one of the major reasons I applied to this gallery in the first place.

I love going through all the exhibits and watching people’s expressions and answering questions about the art pieces. Exhibits switch out every sixty to ninety days, so it’s my job to keep updated on the artists.

My end goal is to be a curator so I can be the one to pick which artists and paintings a gallery displays, but that takes years of practice and more school. Until then, I plan to apply for a curator apprenticeship after I graduate. Mr. Cross is the gallery curator now, but he’s due to retire within the next ten years or so. All the administrative tasks are starting to be more than he can handle.

I wave to Ms. Jones, the gallery director, as we walk past her office on the second floor.  She’s a widow in her mid-sixties who’s been working here longer than I’ve been born. She’s yapping on the phone in Spanish, so I can’t be sure if she’s scolding someone or not, but with the way her features tighten, I can only assume the worst. She’s fluent in four languages, so she’s able to communicate with a diverse group of artists from around the world.

I think about all the things she’s achieved in her life and look up to her so much as a role model. I can only hope to be as successful and driven as her one day.

Kendall and I walk into the employee lounge to lock up our things. She’s a gallery attendant and sits at the information booth and welcomes everyone who enters. She answers phones and takes messages if someone isn’t around. If it’s not too busy, I’ll sit with her until another tour arrives.

As I’m adding another layer of lip-gloss, Shane from security walks in.

“Good morning, Aspen.” He smiles wide as his eyes roam up and down my body. I let him look without consequence, but it’s as far as I’ll ever go with him. Even though he has biceps bigger than my head and the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen, I don’t mix pleasure with business. So that automatically means no sleeping with co-workers.

“And good morning to you, Shane.” I flash him a sultry smile in return and layer it with a wink. I even suck in my lower lip and bite it, earning a throaty groan in return.

I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve definitely thought about it. Shane would be sure to give me one hell of a night, but then what? We come to work as if nothing happened? What if he wanted more? What if he told everyone at the gallery that I was an easy lay?

To avoid all the ‘what ifs’, I’ve made it a firm rule to only sleep with guys I have no intention of seeing ever again. With demanding art courses and a busy work schedule, the last thing I have time for is a clingy guy who thinks they own me.

“You are going to make that poor guy walk around all day with a boner,” Kendall teases, shoving her purse and sweater in her locker.

“Well, it’s not like anyone’s died from blue balls before. I’m sure he’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah, with you in mind.”

I shrug. “Whatever helps get the job done.”

She rolls her eyes and slams her locker door shut. “Explain to me again why you can’t just fuck him out of your system?”

I nearly choke on her words as a few heads turn and glare at us. “Jesus, Kendall. Parade my sex life a little louder, will you? I don’t think the teenagers in the mall across town heard you.”

“Oh, it’s not like your little eye-fucking affair with Shane is a secret. You two have been flirting for months.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So get on with it already!”

I quickly shove my purse back in my locker and grab my employee vest and lanyard nametag before locking it. “Maybe you should worry about your own sex life.” I wink, knowing she’s nearly dry-humping the air for any friction at all. I quickly pull my arms through the navy blue vest and wrap the lanyard around my neck. “I’m heading out. See you at lunch.”

I find the gallery manager, Christine, at her desk and sit my ass halfway on top of it. “Your main bitch is here. When’s the first tour?”

“I’m really getting sick of your damn early morning perkiness, Aspen.” She frowns, slouching. “It’s making the rest of us look bad,” she mocks. She’s a great leader and is almost always on top of her game, but she most definitely isn’t a morning person.

“You’re such a hater.”

“Yes, of mornings.”

I laugh at her groaning. “What you need is a good dose of dick. Because, believe me, you’d learn to love mornings, too.”

“Sorry that I don’t participate in the same extra circular activities like you, but I happen to enjoy being in relationships.”

“Yeah, well, so did Katie Holmes. Look how that turned out.”

“You’re such a pessimist.”

“I’m a realist,” I correct, grabbing the tour schedule from a pile of papers. “Looks like my first tour is in fifteen minutes. I’m going to use the restroom and grab a drink quick.” I jump off her desk. As I walk toward the door, I call over my shoulder, “Go drink some coffee to lighten up those dark circles around your eyes.”

“I hate you!” she calls back, making me laugh at her dramatics.

Once I’m finished, I wait for my first group to arrive. Tour buses and schools make trips here regularly, so I’ve met a large diversity of people. However, today’s group is the spunkiest group of women I’ve ever met.

“So what is your organization called again?” I ask as I lead them toward the first room.

“The Red Hat Society,” one member explains.

“We also brought you a hat!” another member adds. She walks up to me and places a pink fedora on top of my head. “Since you’re under fifty, you can’t wear red,” she explains. “So you’re a Pink Hatter.”

“Wow…it’s like Mean Girls for seniors,” I tease, smiling and adjusting the hat to fit over my messy knot.

“Don’t feel bad, darling. Pink suits you well.” She gives me a wink, and I know their tour is going to give me a run for my money.

My first half of the morning with the Red Hat Society is filled with hilarious animated stories and random fits of laughter. I try to stay focused and remain professional, but these women have definitely kept me on my toes.

“Ladies, you have all been so wonderful!” I smile and feel like I’m saying goodbye to part of my family. “I hope you come back!”

“You’ve been a hoot, Aspen!” Eva, the sassier one I’ve come to realize, says. We exchange goodbyes and a few hugs before they take their red hats and purple scarves out the door.

I walk back to Christine’s office with a smile and fall down in one of the chairs. “Oh my God! That was the most fun I’ve had on a tour,” I gush, grabbing her attention right away.

“I could hear them all the way in here! They did sound pretty sweet on the phone though when they made their reservation.”

“They really were. Normally, strangers don’t ask anything about me, but they were all ‘where did you grow up’ and ‘are you married?’ It was refreshing.”

She tilts her head slightly and gives me a questioning look. “Where did you grow up?”

I realize this is something I don’t normally talk about with people. Even people I know. It’s just not something I like to bring up because it usually leads to other questions, which ultimately leads to me dodging them as much as I can.

“About two thousand miles to the east.” I grin, not willing to give her a clear answer.

“I know you aren’t married but are you seeing someone? Exclusively, I mean.” She cracks a smile. “I don’t even know if you have siblings or what your favorite color is.”

“That’s because I don’t feel the need to parade my life on social media.” I grimace. “And I don’t really talk about my personal life much.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because there’s nothing to talk about,” I lie. I shrug it off, hoping she’ll let it go. “My next tour coming soon or can I grab something to eat real quick?”

“Oh!” She snaps her fingers in the air. “They canceled, but Ms. Jones was looking for you.”

“All right. I’ll go find her.” I smile. “See ya later!” I call over my shoulder as I begin to walk away.

My mind wanders as I think what Ms. Jones would want to see me for. She’s in charge of the upcoming gala this spring, which means she’s been super busy lately. So I really only talk to her if I see her around.

I feel my phone buzz in my pocket as I start walking toward the stairs up to her office. I reach for it and read over the couple of missed messages. As I get closer to the staircase that leads up to Ms. Jones’ office and the employee’s lounge, I notice a guy’s silhouette standing near the edge of the steps.

“Are you lost?” I ask, trying to grab his attention.

I step closer just as he turns around and faces me.

Oh, fucking hell.

I nearly stop dead in my tracks as his eyes lock on mine. I try to get ahold of myself, but his deep, intense green eyes burn into mine, and I can’t look away.

“No,” he answers with a sly smirk.

The moment his eyes reach mine, I have to remind myself to breathe.

“Professor Hampton,” I say in surprise. “Didn’t realize it was you.”

“That’s okay. And please, you can call me Morgan.” He lays a hand on his chest. “We aren’t in the classroom, Aspen.”

I swallow, and I swear I see him wink at me. “Oh, right. Can I help you with anything?” I take a step and wonder if he’s heading up the staircase, too.

“I’m looking for my aunt. I think her office is up here.” He nods his head up the steps.

“Oh, who’s your aunt?” We start heading upstairs as I try my best to act unaffected by his good looks and charm.

“Melinda Jones.”

I nearly choke as I realize he’s Ms. Jones’—my boss—nephew.

“Oh, um…her office is upstairs to the left. I was just headed there, actually.”

“I had no idea you worked here,” he states as we climb the steps.

“Yeah, mostly on the weekends, but I fit in a couple shifts during the week when I can in between classes.”

“How do you like it?”

“Oh, I absolutely love it. I nearly work every day in the summer.”

“I bet you enjoy that.” His lips part, and I trip on the step in front of me. “You okay?”

“Fine,” I insist, quickly recovering by grabbing the railing. “Damn stairs came out of nowhere.”

He snorts. “They do that sometimes.”

I lower my head to hide the stupid grin on my face as we walk the short hallway to Ms. Jones office. I knock on the door, and seconds later, she whips it open and squeals as she sees Morgan next to me. “Finally!” She wraps her arms around him as best she can, but considering he’s well over six feet tall with a solid chest and arms, she actually struggles with getting her arms around him.

I stand awkwardly as I watch them, wondering if I should even be standing in the middle of it all. I glance at them as they break apart, her smile wide and excited. “I’m so glad we can see each other more often now that you’re living back home.”

“Me too.”

Back home? I think to myself, wondering where he’s been and for how long, but I keep my mouth shut until Ms. Jones looks in my direction and finally acknowledges me. “Aspen! Great, you’re here. This is my nephew, Morgan. Morgan, this is…”

“Aspen.” I turn slightly and glance at him as he cuts her off. The way he says my name is so smooth and hoarse at the same time, which actually makes no sense at all, but somehow, it does.

“Oh, great! You’ve had a chance to meet.” Her eyes light up again. “I have a phone conference in about two minutes, so Aspen, be a dear and give Morgan the grand tour. I’d do it myself, but I can’t get out this godforsaken waste-of-my-time meeting.”

“Oh, okay,” I say breathlessly.

“She doesn’t have to, Aunt Mel. I mean—” He turns and glances at me. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Are you kidding?” She nearly gasps. “Aspen loves giving tours! And she’s the best at it.” She winks at me, and I secretly wonder if she knows something I don’t know.

I hadn’t even told Kendall about him. She knows I have a night course this semester, but I haven’t brought up the fact that I want to take the professor home and do very, very bad things to him. Bad and inappropriate things.

However, inappropriate just went up about ten notches.

“Yeah, it’s no problem. My group canceled, and I’m free for the next two hours.” I smile at Ms. Jones, avoiding eye contact with Morgan because I don’t want her to get suspicious.

“Sounds good.” He turns toward me and grins. “Lead the way.”

“Where would you like to start?” I ask as we walk back down the staircase.

“Hmm…what’s your favorite exhibit at the gallery?”

“That’d be the Fashion Faire.” I smile with a shrug. “I’m a sucker for historic fashion trends.”

“Really?” His eyes narrow suspiciously. “I would’ve pegged you as more of a Paris Fashion Week guru,” he says, lowering his eyes down to my flats that I wear at work, but I know he noticed my heels in class.