Page 82 of Ashen Souls

For a moment, neither of us spoke. His gaze swept slowly over the short black dress, my messy hair, and the plastic cup in my hand.

“You seemed to be having fun,” he observed.

“I was,” I replied. “Now I’m just hyper-aware of my professor standing next to a beer pong table.”

He laughed. “Fair.”

Ethan shoved his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“I was walking back to my car across the quad,” he admitted. “After the guest seminar.”

Shit. The seminar. The one we’d discussed at the café, which I’d completely blown off tonight in favor of the Archive and the party.

“Right,” I murmured, suddenly very interested in the rim of my cup. “I’m sorry I missed it. How was it?”

“Distracting,” he answered. “Mostly because I kept looking at the door, expecting you to walk through it.”

My breath caught slightly, but before I could respond, he shook his head. “I heard the music on my way to the parking lot. I knew it was a terrible idea to come inside, but it was like… something compelled me here.”

I took a slow sip of my drink, my eyes never leaving his. “That’s a very unscientific explanation, Professor. Most people just blame the free beer.”

“Believe me, I’d much rather blame the beer. It is wildly inappropriate for me to be here. I almost didn’t come in,” he admitted.

“And yet, here you are.”

“And yet.”

I studied him: the light blue shirt, the jacket gone, the version of him that existed outside lecture halls and academic boundaries.

“What made you change your mind and come inside?” I asked, leaning back against the wall.

His eyes dropped, sweeping down the short dress, lingering for a fraction of a second on my bare collarbones before snapping back up to my face.

“I saw you.”

A group of guys pushed past us toward the kitchen, forcing Ethan to step closer to avoid getting slammed into. He ended up mere inches from me. Near enough that I could smell his cologne. Close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him.

“Well,” I managed to say, the alcohol doing nothing to slow my racing pulse. “I do have that effect.”

A corner of his mouth tipped up. “You do.”

Above the noise of the crowd, the chaotic thump of the playlist abruptly changed. Slower. Heavier. The opening chords of Lord Huron’s “The Night We Met” drifted through the speakers.

I smiled. “I love this song.”

Ethan glanced toward the ceiling, then back at me. He shifted his weight, closing the remaining distance between us.

“I swear I didn’t pay the DJ.” His voice was so low he had to lean in.

His gaze dropped to my mouth and stayed there. “I’m supposed to be the adult who turns around and walks out that door.”

I swallowed, my skin burning wherever he was closest. “Are you going to?”

His hazel-green eyes met mine again.

“No.”

He reached out, his hands settling low on my waist. The warmth of his palms bled right through the thin fabric of my dress. He pulled me half a step forward, flush against him, forcing me to follow the slow rhythm of the song.