of the room, Professor Walsh was writing the class title and his name and email address on the whiteboard, arm stretched up in a way that put his lean, strong body on full display.
Ever since their encounter a week and a half ago, she’d been thinking about Professor Walsh. Way too much. Way too inappropriately. Way too…everything.
You’re here to clear the air. Not ruminate on him being borderline offensively hot.
“Uh, hi,” she said, hugging her bag to her body. Something about this man made her feel like she needed a physical barrier. He stirred things inside her that she’d promised herself wouldn’t be stirred by anyone, ever.
“Audrey.” He said her name before he turned around, as though he instinctively knew she was there, and for some reason that made her stomach do little somersaults. “You’re a little early, but feel free to take a seat. I’m getting myself situated.”
When he turned, she had to force herself not to gulp like some cheesy cartoon character with hearts for eyes. He looked…devilishly handsome. “You grew a beard.”
He chuckled and ran a hand over his jaw. “Well, this is only the beginnings of one. I thought some facial hair might prevent any further confusion about which side of the desk I’m supposed to be sitting on.”
“It looks good.” The words popped out of her before she could stop them. Before she could even contemplate stopping them. She was prone to sharing facts, and it was totally and utterly a fact that the liberal sprinkling of bristles along Ronan Walsh’s jaw was an unnecessary improvement to an already achingly handsome man.
“I was wondering if I might be able to take a moment of your time,” she said quickly, hoping they could both gloss over her fawning. The air seemed charged somehow, like that feeling right before a storm swept through town.
“Sure. You might need to come a little closer, though,” he replied in an amused tone. His accent was as intriguing as the rest of him—American, definitely, but there were some rounded vowels and a slight lilt that made her blood hum. Perhaps it was a souvenir from his time in the UK. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to clear the air about…what happened.” Ugh, so freaking awkward.
How did one apologize for falsely accusing a person of attempted fraud?
“Because you called me a sex robot or because you told me I couldn’t possibly be a professor?” A smile tugged at his lips, and it didn’t seem unkind in any way.
“I did not call you a sex robot.” Maybe Audrey should grab herself a shovel and start digging. If the earth wasn’t going to heed her wish to open up and swallow her whole, then she might have to take matters into her own hands. “But yes, my assumption that you were not part of the college faculty was incorrect and unfair. Although, in my defense, the beard does make you look more…”
Attractive? Sexy? Like you’ve been plucked from my wildest dirty dreams?
“More…?” Ronan raised an eyebrow.
“Scholarly.” Audrey nodded, trying to give herself a confidence boost. “I find beards to be quite academic.”
Okay, now Ronan looked even more amused. Ugh, this was not going how she’d planned.
“I’m glad my facial hair gets your seal of approval,” he said, his blue eyes flicking over her face. His curiosity was a magnetic pull. Nobody was ever curious about Audrey or her bland-as-oatmeal existence. Everyone in Kissing Creek knew her story—dead mom, deadbeat dad, future prospects that dwindled with each passing year. Girl from the wrong side of the tracks who wouldn’t ever make anything of herself, because the longer you stayed in a situation like that, the higher the chance you’d be stuck there forever.
But he looked at her like she might be worthy of his interest—like she might have something worth saying.
“It’s octothorpe, by the way,” he said. “The official term for the hashtag.”
Despite feeling an unwanted swirl of attraction rousing butterflies in her stomach, Audrey’s chest got warm and fuzzy. “You looked it up.”
He leaned back against his desk and smiled. And oh boy what a smile it was. “I couldn’t have my professional capabilities questioned like that.”
Audrey cringed. “I’m not usually so judgmental, Professor Walsh. I promise.”
“It’s fine. And no need to call me professor, okay? I don’t need to be identified by the label,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “The elbow patches do that quite well enough.”