Instead, I whirl around toward the attached convenience store and stomp inside. I start heading toward the back, not really even sure what I’m looking for. Beer, I decide. It’ll be good to get wasted after this kind of complete emotional upheaval.
I yank open the door of a refrigerator case and feel a hand on my arm.
“Hyacinth.”
I pull back as though his touch has burned me and turn to glare at him. His eyes are wide and almost teasing.
“What do you want?” I practically spit.
“I like it when you’re feisty. It’s pretty fucking sexy.”
I ignore that—ignore the blush that’s beginning to climb up my neck, too—and reach into the fridge for a six-pack of Sam Adams.
“Leave me alone, Smith.”
“Why?”
He leans up against the glass door next to me and crosses his arms. The space around us is so narrow that, even if I wanted to get around him, I’d have to touch him in some capacity. Right now, I don’t think I can handle that kind of contact—not without slugging him. Or doing something completely different, something less violent and more lustful.
“Now do you understand what I was trying to tell you?” Smith asks then. I meet his gaze and scowl.
“Trying to tell me about what?”
“About standing up for yourself.” He nods his head vaguely in the direction of the door. “You’ve gotta make them respect you. It’s the only chance you’ve got to get any kind of hold on them—to make them listen to you.”
The flush that’s coasting over my skin now has nothing to do with desire and everything to do with fury. Or at least that’s what I tell myself, as I shove the beer back into the case and shut the door before planting both hands on my hips and glaring at Smith.
“Listen to me,” I say in the most even, measured tone I can muster. “I don’t need your help or your advice. You don’t know me or what I’ve been through. You don’t know who I am. And since we’re off school property, I feel completely comfortable telling you this.”
I take one step even closer and narrow my eyes, but I never stop meeting his gaze.
“Back the fuck off.”
For a second, we both stand there, staring at each other. I’m breathing hard, my anger coursing through me like a freight train, and I feel my chest rise and fall with every breath I take. Smith’s nostrils are flaring and his eyes are wide.
When I move to push past him, his hand grips my upper arm.
“Get off me,” I practically growl.
I open my mouth to protest more, but something in Smith’s expression stops me. Then, a moment later, I’m silenced completely as he swiftly turns me with my back to the beer case and presses me up against the cool glass.
“Woman, you make me out-of-my-mind crazy,” he says in a low voice. One hand is still on my arm, holding me still, while the other anchors itself at the back of my neck and directs my face up toward his.
“Every day I want you more, and every day I can have you less,” he murmurs. I feel his breath against my lips and I have to force myself not to close my eyes.
“You still want me to get off of you?” he asks.
I swallow hard. “Yes.”
But it’s a weak response and he knows I’m lying. He ducks down and presses his lips against my jaw, then skates them up to my ear.
“Liar.”
When his teeth scrape lightly along my earlobe, my body bows back from the glass and into the hard, muscular planes of Smith’s torso. He takes the opportunity to slip an arm behind me. His hot skin on my cool back feels like the best kind of contradiction.
“Every time I see you, I want to get you alone. Tell me you don’t feel that, too.”
I shake my head, but I’m not saying no—not to his question, anyway. Just no to my impulses. And either Smith knows that or he’s willing to take the risk because, before I can stop him, his mouth crashes down on mine.
Kissing Smith was hot the first time. Kissing him the second time is downright scorching. His tongue slides into my mouth without any pretense, and the groan that leaves mine is unstoppable, too. His hands slip down my back and pull my belt loops upward, effectively notching his erection between my legs in a way that makes me weak in the knees.
“Let me have you, Hyacinth.”
His mouth coasts down to my neck and I grip his shirt in both of my fists. I close my eyes, forgetting where we are and why this is a bad idea. Forgetting everything about how this feels and how much I want it.
“Ahem.”
The cleared throat is like a slap across my face or a bucket of ice dumped over my head. I jump away from Smith to see an older lady with wooly white hair and a knowing smile standing next to the case of milk.
“Excuse me,” she says in a slightly wobbly voice. Smith and I watch as she pulls out a carton of 2 percent milk. When she turns to walk away, she gives an exaggerated wink.
I blink rapidly and the rush of reality hits me square in the chest. What the fuck am I doing right now? Am I insane?
Before Smith can prevent me from moving, I push back from his embrace and head through the narrow aisles and out the front door of the store. I don’t look back, don’t look anywhere but at my car and the gas pump as I remove it and replace it in its holder. I’m not sure if Smith is behind me when I climb back into the driver’s seat and start the engine. I just can’t get out of there fast enough, and the last thing I want to see is Smith’s face reminding me of what we just did.
Accidentally hooking up with a student is one thing. Hooking up with a student when you know he’s a student—that’s a whole other problem.
And I’m halfway home when I realize that, on top of everything else, I’ve completely failed my objective. Not only is Smith not transferring classes, but now I’m the one running away from him.
I need to come up with a better plan. Starting tomorrow morning, I’m not backing down or running away. Smith Asher is going to learn a whole new definition of “stand your ground” and, this time, I’ll be prepared.
Chapter Eight
Truth and Consequence
Success! I’ve managed to avoid all Elizabethan sexual innuendos in class today!
Of course, this is mostly because we stick to act two of Hamlet, where the theme is more about revenge than anything romantic—lots of Hamlet plotting his uncle’s demise and what-have-you.
But, it probably doesn’t really matter, considering the fact that Smith isn’t even here this morning. Hence, my current mantra—
I am not disappointed by this.
I am not disappointed by this.
I am not disappointed by this.
It’s not really working and I’m completely disgusted with myself for still caring whether Smith Asher lives or dies. After yesterday’s encounter, you’d think I’d have sobered up enough to get over my irrational crush. But I have to force myself to focus on Hamlet’s plotting and Claudius’s retaliation.
“So, what is Claudius’s reasoning for having Rosencrantz and Guildenstern come to visit Hamlet?” I ask the class, setting my book down on my desk.
“I’m still stuck on that whole uncle-father thing,” Tyson says, leaning back in his chair and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “That’s nasty as hell.”
“I know, right?” Jasmine Fields pipes up from the back. She swishes her dark hair over one shoulder. “Like, ew—who wants to do their brother? They must’ve been desperate back in the day.”
I smile at her. “It’s weird for sure, but it’s not technically incest. Not like you’re thinking, anyway. It’s sort of like—well, do any of your fathers have a brother?”
Several students nod.