Page 36 of Icebound

Panting, I jolt up from bed, right on the brink of orgasm, only to realize I’m completely alone in my bedroom.

“Dammit,” I growl into my pillow.

This has been happening all too frequently over the past two weeks. The man’s edging me in my dreams. I can still feel the ghost of his fingers as I twist in bed each night.

When I slip my hands beneath the sheets to ease the ache between my legs, it’s always Rhode’s handsome face that pops into my mind—uninvited. I know he’s too old for me, but ever since the kitchen, he’s all I can think about.

With a huff, I throw off the covers and get ready for class. It’s infuriating because I don’t have the mental capacity to pine after a thirty-three-year-old man who’s probably forgotten my last name. I have classes, a speech to write, and I still haven’t booked my flight to Argentina.

I don’t even make the footnotes of Rhode’s love life, but nothing helps erase the visual of his body moving against mine. Not even my art history class—which I typically find fascinating—can delete the memory.

“Can anyone discuss how the Inca and Columbian civilizations’ artistic expressions differ in countries like Brazil, Argentina, and Peru?”

Professor Bennett scans the crowded lecture hall. Papers rustle. Everyone in class shifts, looking around the room. “Anyone at all? We went over this last week. How about…” He scans his computer screen, and my heart rate kicks up. “Rowyn?”

I slump in relief.

Someone in the back row clears her throat. I let my gaze drift, and it lands on a striking girl—her long, raven-black hair contrasts vividly with piercing blue eyes. “Um, no. Sorry, but I don’t think that’s something I can discuss.”

I chuckle along with a few other people. Professor Bennett peers down the bridge of his nose. “We went over this in class last week, Rowyn.”

She twirls her ponytail. “Yes, but unfortunately, I wasn’t here because my older brother had a game I had to be at, and he’s been in a bad mood for over a week now. Not to mention he was hungry, which makes him really grumpy, so it was this whole thing, and then our dad—”

“Okay,” our professor interjects, holding up a hand, which is good because Rowyn seems like she could talk to a goldfish. “Can anyone else in class provide an answer?”

My heart’s been pounding relentlessly because someone took my regular aisle seat by the exit sign, my preferred spot in case I need to run out, but I still raise my hand. “The Incas excelled in geometric architecture, which is evident in places like Machu Picchu while Colombian cultures are more known for pottery.”

Professor Bennett nods. “Excellent. Well done…?”

“Nina,” I finish.

Rowyn meets my stare and mouths, Thank you. I smile back at her. Something about the gesture gives me déjà vu, but I shift my focus back to my notes.

The rest of the class blurs in a haze. When our professor finishes the lecture, I grab my backpack and bolt outside into the frosty February air as students flurry around like snowflakes.

I saunter down the brick steps but almost slip on an icy spot when I see Gwen huddled on a bench with her nose stuck between the pages of The Philosophical Ethics of Money.

Their sex noises reverberate in my head like an annoying gong, and I can’t help but flinch. Now, every time I see her, all I can hear are those ridiculous sounds. I thought I’d be crying tears of sadness, but all I feel is secondhand embarrassment when I look at her.

I glance over my shoulder. Maybe I can make a run for it before she sees me.

“Nina! Wait!”

There goes that plan.

She parts the sea of students like a runway model in her chic cream petticoat that matches the snow. She looks gorgeous, and only Gwen could manage to keep it stain-free all day. The arctic wind prickles my cheeks, so I tug Rhode’s extraordinarily soft beanie over my hair.

I scan her coat. “What are you wearing? You look like a snowball.”

She smooths her hands over her cream coat. “It’s cashmere.”

“Hm. Why are you here? I need to go to my next class.”

“I wanted to stop by because I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since I heard you having terribly lackluster sex in the kitchen two weeks ago?”

A blush stains her cheeks as she scans the icicles on the benches. “Can we talk, Nina? Please? I swear, I really thought you were gone when that happened.”