Sweet Ache

“I’ll take that as a maybe,” I hear as I end the call.

I immediately dial Layla. “Did you get a ticket?” I ask when she answers.

“Thank God, no.” Relief floods her voice.

“Good because I’ve reconsidered. Ready to go get liquored and laid?”

“Well, at least one of them,” she laughs out.

“I’m aiming for both.”

Chapter 5

QUINLAN

Campus is buzzing from the combination of a break in the relentless heat and students finally settling in for the long haul of the school year. It’s comforting to me and hell do I need the feeling because once again I’m heading to the department offices, but this time I’ve been summoned.

And somehow it has to do with Hawkin’s seminar.

After biting the bullet and accepting the fact that I was going to let her down, I was finally able to talk Carla into getting someone else to cover the rest of the series, starting with today’s lecture, so now I’m worried why all of a sudden she needs to talk to me about something we decided upon five days ago. Did another student—or Hawkin himself—report my insubordination in the last lecture and it’s just now trickling down through administration?

I don’t know what to expect but I can’t deny that my nerves are humming and I’m mentally chastising myself for my inability to just shut my mouth.

When I head toward Carla’s office at the end of the hallway, laughter sounds from within and she waves me in upon seeing me approach.

“Professor Stevens, you wanted to see me?” I hate that my voice sounds unsteady as I stand in the doorway, partially obscured by the half-opened door¸ but there’s no way that I can mask it.

“C’mon in Quinlan,” she says as I push the door open, my eyes meeting hers.

“Quinlan?” Hawkin’s voice hits my ears before I see him sitting very comfortably in a chair opposite her desk. He says my name in a tone that’s both a question and a statement at the same time.

Shit.

My body jolts with awareness from being back in his proximity. I’m sure it doesn’t help that even though I’d dropped the lecture, I’ve spent a shameful amount of time on the Internet checking him out, watching his interviews, and the band’s music videos. Learning about the band’s history and antics before researching him personally. I scanned his dating history, which can only be described as an ever-revolving door of women who are more than willing to brag about him and his abilities even after splitting up. I admit I allowed myself to be hypnotized by his voice.

Purely out of curiosity.

But hell if the sight of him in the flesh—the lazy smirk and bedroom eyes laden with secrets—doesn’t cause all my research to rush back and clog the space between us with the hint of desire and possibility.

And that’s before he even utters a word beyond my name. In silence he still exudes arrogance and sex appeal—I don’t think that’s something he can help—with his nonchalant posture and the easy expression on the sculpted lines of his face. But he also looks dead serious, which ratchets up my discomfort with the situation when all he does is nod his head and then glance over to Carla and raise an eyebrow.

Yes, it’s her office but clearly he’s running the show, and I’ve just been told not so subtly that my opinion in whatever matter is being discussed is of no importance.

How come they were laughing moments before and now they are both so somber? I glance back and forth between the two of them, his eyebrows asking the questions his voice doesn’t. Quinlan, not Trixie? Really?

So I focus on Carla. Hawkin’s too distracting, and if I answer his questions honestly I might just have to face a few truths I’m not ready to. That he irritates me, unnerves me, turns me on, and turns me off all at the same damn time. He makes me want when I don’t want to. Tempts me to go back on my decree of never dating anyone like my brother again.

Because there is just something inherently sexy and clichéd about a man who can play a guitar, and, damn it to hell … it’s making me want to go back on those same promises to myself.

It’s not worth it. Think of your brother, think of how you’ve observed too many things during his single, playboy days that have made you shudder when it came to the women he dated. At least Hawkin’s not a race car driver—he’s got that going for him.

Carla’s cheeks flush under my stare, and she quickly averts her eyes from mine. Apparently he’s worked his effortless charm on her for some reason, and the question I fear is for what purpose?

And if he’s won her over, why am I the only one he’s treated differently with his flippant comments and unwarranted attention?

“I called you in early because Mr. Play asked if you could spare some time to show him the PA system and overhead setup before today’s lecture.”

My head must snap up because she looks at me strangely. Does she not remember our conversation several days ago when she agreed that I was off his service? “I’m sorry?” I ask, confusion laced with disbelief in my voice.

“Well, I know we discussed that you needed to drop assisting Mr. Play’s seminar here because of your course load, but …” And the way her voice fades off tells me that he has definitely worked his magic charm on her.

“I told her I couldn’t do it without you or the cool tricks you had to make class more interesting.” I don’t even want to turn my head to look at him because if I do, I’ll risk either sarcastically commenting that he’s full of shit or falling momentarily comatose to his good looks.