Preservation (26 page)

“Can’t argue with that,” Ryan said, ushering me in front of him toward the bathroom. “But Kate and I need to shower first.”
Oh thank God.

Leaving Dean and Carter to explore our tropical fairytale retreat, Ryan and I snuck off to shower and pick up where we left off, happy and blissful, in love and insane, on our way to better versions of ourselves, thanks to the debt paid to our fears, the memorial given to our insecurities, and a tardy class attendance on a rainy fall day.

K
EEP READING FOR MORE FROM
R
YAN’S
POV
...

RYAN’S LITTLE MISS TARDY

There was that awful clunky, shuffling sound again. The most distracting sound—like a fucking herd of elephants. Wet elephants trekking through mud. I glanced to the door.
Her again. Figures.
“See me after class, Ms. Parker.” My anger flared for a second, but then I grew bored. Really goddamn bored. I should have been happy. Hell, I should have been thrilled to have this teaching job. It wasn’t half bad, really. Only it wasn’t writing. It was watching all of
these
kids, most of them not much younger than me, writing. All starry-eyed and hopeful, sights set on being the next Faulkner or McCarthy, while I yapped away telling them how to chase their dreams. Big dreams, nice dreams—naive dreams.

This distraction, the raven-haired beauty named Ms. Parker, was making a routine out of lugging all her shit into my class late every Monday.
If she can’t make it to my damn class on time, she needs to look into changing her schedule.
Tardiness irked me to no end. Teaching these kids was boring, but it was all I had. Some punctuality would be nice. I looked to the clock on the wall while she mumbled some kind of incoherent apology. At least her fine ass was worth a glance as she made her way up to her seat. She bent over to drop her bags before sliding behind her desk, flipping her long, dripping wet, jet-black hair over her shoulder, slinking out of her coat like a damn cougar. I leaned back on the desk for a second to take in the sight.
Yeah. Definitely worth it.
All of my blood rushed south, straight to my pants.

Shifting off the desk, I returned my attention to the class, diving into my lecture with half-hearted enthusiasm.
Just look at them all.
Watching me so intently, as if I hold the key to the Lost City of Atlantis in my hand.
A pang of pity and envy whirled around me as my fingers twirled a pencil, mimicking the movement of the jumbled up emotions swimming around in my gut. Catching Amy’s stare in the third row, I dumped all those thoughts out the back door and instead zoned in on her killer rack and those wanton eyes she kept flashing my way.
Now that’s a welcome distraction.
I’d be seeing her real soon. Things with Alisha were shot to hell, anyway. And Amy knew how to have a good time . She was wild in bed and we had an understanding.

At some point during my lecture, after droning on and on for what seemed like hours, my gaze landed on Little Miss Tardy. She was balancing her attention between her laptop screen and the notebook in front of her. Back straight, hands poised as she took notes, glancing up at me every few seconds with fierce focus—a crazed focus, as if her life depended on each word that came out of my mouth.
Well, look at that. Someone actually gives a shit.
I studied her for a moment, her mousy-brown eyes deep with some kind of need, a determination. Not the young, doe-eyed look every other student had when they listened to me lecture. Hell, some looked like over-caffeinated zombies on auto-pilot, only out for the grade. Some yawned or fell asleep. Little Miss Tardy was quite engaged. Attentive.
Not attentive enough to be on time, apparently.

Finally, time was up. Another class down. Time to take a breather and rendezvous with Amy in the gym locker room. I snatched up my paperwork and started filing it away as students shuffled out. Porcelain, snow-white skin flickered ahead of me out of the corner of my eye, the late hottie making her way down the steps toward me, that hideous bag slung high on her shoulder.
Shit. I have to take care of this first.

“Is this going to be a habit, Ms. Parker?” I turned and propped myself against the desk and folded my arms, admiring the fact that her skin looked even softer, all the more tempting up close like this. “Because I’m very fond of punctuality, in case you haven’t noticed. It’s high on my list of priorities.”

“Yes, I’m very aware of that, Mr. Campbell.” Her jaw tightened and she brushed wet strands of black hair behind her ear, deadpanning me.
Oh, she has some spunk, does she?
“Mondays are really tough for me. I don’t mean to cause a distraction.”

“Well you do,” I eyed her bag again, and then her soaking wet chest. I pulled my gaze upward to meet her stare. “You’re very distracting. Are you carrying your kitchen sink in those bags? If you’re living on campus and just trying to look like an overachiever, you should know that your charade is not endearing, nor is it going to drum up sympathy.” Running my fingers through my hair, I straightened my jacket out, brushing off the coat’s arms. She had a quiet edge about her, one that screamed ‘don’t fuck with me.’ It was there in her eyes. Made me want to know her motives, what she was fighting so hard for beneath those sensual lashes and thick tresses of onyx hair. Whatever it was, bravo to her for giving such a damn.

“Excuse me?” Her eyebrows shot up, head tilting slightly.

Oh, yeah. Not to be fucked with.

“I’m sorry, how is what I carry in my bags any of your business?” she continued, her glare burning holes into my head.

“It’s called dry sarcasm, Ms. Parker. Perhaps you should acquaint yourself with it if you’re going to be taking my class.” Straightening up, I pulled the pencil from my pocket and started twirling it between my thumb and forefinger, smirking inwardly.
Come on, baby. Let’s see you really break out those claws.
“You didn’t answer my question. Is this going to be a habit?”

“Wait—wait a minute.” She looked as if she were calling on some higher power to keep her temper in check. My inward smirk made its way outward, settling into a content, satisfied expression. “For the record, I’m not living on campus—your sarcasm is dually noted. And as for your implication that I’m an overachiever, I don’t appreciate you making assumptions about my character.”

“So you’re telling me you’re not an overachiever.”

“
Excuse me
?”

“And you are accusing me of assuming when I’m actually deducing.”

“What...”

“Don’t be late to my class again, Ms. Parker. That’s all, thank you.” Turning away and unbuttoning my jacket, I reached for my briefcase, resigned to let her stew over this. I could bask in the look she was giving me for days—it was that good.

The words that came out of her mouth next made me freeze, my briefcase dangling from my fingertips as I bent to lift it from the ground.

“Did you ask me to stay after class to chastise me for being late or to arrogantly insult me after you’ve already made a spectacle of me in front of the entire class?”

Well, I’ll be damned. She does have some fight in her.
Sexy.
As much as I wanted to stop the smile from seizing my face, that desire was abandoned underneath the rubble of my amusement. “I was simply acknowledging your inability to make a graceful, punctual entrance with all that nonsense on your shoulders, that’s all Ms. Parker. No insult was intended. And if you say you are not an overachiever, well...you’re correct,” I cocked my head, mulling the thought over. “That’s none of my business.” Tossing the pencil on my desk and strolling toward the door, I loosened my tie, wanting to stretch my own talons a bit, just for the hell of it. “Oh. And yes, I believe ‘arrogant’ is a suitable adjective for me. If you have a problem with that, how about you take it up with the dean?”

Winking, I eyed the pencil on the desk, my grin reaching epic proportions when I saw her eye it too, looking as if she were desperate to snatch it up and pluck my eyeballs out.
Oh, yeah. I dare you, Ms. Parker. I dare you.
Turning my back to her, I exited and took a deep breath, feeling oddly awake, more alert than I had been throughout the entire class.
Maybe it’s time to end things with Amy. A change of pace might be nice. Especially if it involves a new sparring partner like Little Miss Tardy.

RYAN’S GEM

My end-of-the-night swims were the highlight of my days on campus. Strolling through the gym doors and toward the pool, I slipped off my shirt and adjusted my trunk waistband, taking a deep breath at the pleasant thought of just me and the pool. No Alisha, no students complaining about their grades, no eye rolls from Amy because I told her I was done screwing her. Nothing but—

Shit. Parker.
Kate Parker to be exact, the saucy hot one from my a.m. class.
What is she doing here?
She was finishing a lap, turning to rest at the edge of the pool, elbows on the ledge, eyes locked on mine
.
I drank in her bare shoulders and perky breasts.
Double shit. I’m screwed. Have to have her.
The soft sounds of lapping pool water and the shuffle of my flip-flops on the tile called my attention to the rest of the room, realizing no one else was around. I glanced from left to right, nodding to the lifeguard who was preoccupied, talking with a friend.

When I made eye contact with her again, she’d looked down, started to fumble with her goggles.
Huh. Flustered, are we, baby?
My stride slowed for a moment and then I straightened up, hell bent on walking straight toward her.
Not this one, Ryan. Leave the girl alone.
I hunched down to meet her at eye level.

“Um, hi...” she muttered, looking lost.

“Ryan.”

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure...”

“What are you doing here so late? I’m always the last one here.”

“This is my routine,” she stammered, gripping her goggles tighter, eyes darting everywhere, landing on my tattoos. “But I’m usually gone by now. I stayed a little longer tonight. Needed some time to think.” She peered up at me through those long, thick lashes, and I thought I could swim in those eyes; eyes like dark, luscious chocolate. The drinking kind that you sipped slowly. I grinned down at her and then glanced over my shoulder toward her chair, checking for signs of any company—hopefully no chump boyfriend or jealous female students around to witness this. I cleared my throat and scanned the perimeter behind her.

“So...you swim often?” her voice called me back to her soft, wet curves, all tucked up in a sexy, black racerback suit.

“Yes, it’s my routine, too. Especially on Mondays and Wednesdays. After my afternoon classes I get to go home for a few hours, but then I have to be back for one night class. Then I come here afterward.”

“We must miss each other by less than an hour, then.”

“Looks like it. You come with anyone?” I slipped into the water next to her, relieved when she shook her head. “You have an almost perfect stroke. Were you on a team or something?”

“When I was a kid, yeah. Almost perfect? What does that mean?” She glanced behind me and shifted to lean back against the pool wall with a smooth chuckle, the velvety feminine sound doing all sorts of crazy-good things to me. I slid a hand underwater to adjust myself.

“I meant exactly what I said—it’s almost perfect. I saw you finishing up when I came in. Your shoulders are too tight, you need to loosen up. I bet you’d benefit greatly if you learned to loosen up.”
And I could show you how.
At your service, baby.

“Hhhmm. Don’t believe I asked for your opinion, Mr. Campbell.”

“We’re back to last-name basis now, are we? Okay, Ms. Parker. Just trying to call it like I see it. You’d enjoy it more and you’d get a better workout if your stroke wasn’t so tight, that’s all.” I started to stretch, liking where this was going.

“How about we stick to talking about writing?”