Page 8 of The Professor's Wife
I could feel heat rising in my cheeks. I wondered how flushed I looked.
He didn’t look red at all. He appeared calm and cool, though one hand continued worrying the guitar pick between his fingers.
Maybe he wasn’t as unaffected as he seemed.
“Do you live here?” he asked, watching me closely.
My attention shifted to the door again before I could stop it. I looked down at my water, swirling it slowly.
“No.”
He nodded, not pressing. “Me neither.”
“Where do you live?” I asked, needing the focus to shift. I didn’t want him digging into my life.
Not tonight.
“East Coast,” he said simply.
I studied him, curious. “Long way from home.”
He chuckled, though the sound was a little distant. “Yeah.”
“What brought you out here?”
He glanced away, scanning the room as if the answer might be written somewhere across it.
“I like to drive.”
It was vague, but I understood.
We all had our walls.
Our secrets.
For the moment, they didn’t seem to matter.
His gaze flicked to the barely touched water in front of me. “Not feeling it?”
I shook my head, grateful he hadn’t offered to buy me something stronger. Even if I had wanted it, I didn’t need alcohol to make me lightheaded.
This man was doing all the work.
“No. It’s just water.”
If he thought that was strange, he didn’t show it.
“You want to grab ice cream?” he asked. “There’s a little mom-and-pop shop down the block. I saw it when I drove through.”
“Ice cream?” I echoed, surprised.
“Too random?”
“Just a little.”
“It was either that or the hot dog stand across the street. The donut shop is closed, and coffee felt too serious.”
I laughed, some of the tension in my chest loosening. “It sounds like you put a lot of thought into this.”
