Burnout - Coralee June Page 0,57

snaked out to taste it. Coffee. He tasted like coffee.

“What a way to go, am I right?” I replied with a shrug before pulling away, resting my hands on the desk and pushing my chest out while tilting my head to the side to observe him.

“I was headed to the cafeteria to let you know that Lance got called to a meeting with the hotel owners in Louisiana. He won’t be home tonight.”

My heart raced. The implications of secrecy were painting heat along my thighs. But I kept my breathing steady. “Okay. And?” I asked, choking on my lust like the traitorous bastard it was.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

That’s what I had told him right? This had to be nothing.

Something was creeping up on me.

“I’m going to be working late to grade papers,” he rushed out. It sounded eerily like an excuse. Pussy. I stared deeply into his dark eyes, then trailed lower to take in the maroon tie wrapped haphazardly around his neck and the strain of his jacket. There was a single bead of sweat collected on his upper lip that I wanted to taste.

“Are you avoiding me, Decker Harris?”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” Simple. Truthful. To the point. I could appreciate his honesty. It’s what we should do, right? Avoid one another and pretend the fireworks sparking between us wouldn’t catch the lawn on fire.

I got off the desk and ran my fingers through my hair before heading to the door of his classroom, my hand hitting the handle as the bell rang. “See you tonight, Mr. Harris,” I replied with a grin. My voice was breathy as I looked at him over my shoulder. Stealing one last look at his broody face, I then headed out into the hallway, not sure why I was tempting something that seemed impossible and inevitable all at once.

I could have sworn I heard his whisper, see you tonight, even though I’d left him back in his classroom.

I was losing my motherfucking mind.

15

Decker

I was making my favorite dish, pulling out all the stops with homemade pasta and spaghetti sauce an Italian ex taught me during a summer in New York. I didn’t pull out the paper plates, either. I had to remind myself not to open a bottle of wine because my…dinner companion…was underaged.

I did light a candle though.

I was insane. Fucking insane.

She had a short shift at Huck-a-poos after school, and for all I knew, she’d already eaten. But still I stood there, sweating over a pot of my signature date night dish. I’d made this countless times for countless women. It was the one thing I’d perfected and used to impress people.

I could feel Lance’s speculative stare on my back. He might be in Louisiana for the night, but that didn’t mean his presence wasn’t here. I saw his warning glare beating down my back every time my eyes flickered to the shut door of his bedroom. Bad. This was very, very bad.

The worst part of all of it? She knew I’d show up. Blakely knew I’d be eagerly waiting for some alone time with her. I thought I was the one seeking to figure her out, but she was the one that could read me like a book. She was under my skin.

Under my motherfucking skin.

The door to the loft opened, and I held my breath like a fucking pussy. She walked in, her hair a sweaty mess from the Memphis humidity. The makeup lining her bright green eyes was smeared and smoky as she bit her lip and breathed in the smell of dinner. She turned to look at me, like she already knew I’d be there—like she already knew I’d be standing here with my dick metaphorically in my hand, staring in awe of her flustered beauty.

“Hey, Mr. Harris.” I wanted to slap that verbal dissonance between us and demand she call me Decker, mostly because I loved the sound of those harsh syllables on her tongue. I used to think that I had control over my life, but I was starting to think that it’s safer to sit back and watch Blakely obliterate my ideas about restraint. She was more beautiful to look at than the fine lines of my perfect life, anyway.

“Hello, Miss Stewart,” I replied, calling her on her own game. Though my plan had backfired. She thought I didn’t notice the slight tremor in her bones every time I called her by her name, but I did. “Hungry?” I asked, though the food wasn’t exactly