Quick Study - By Gretchen Galway Page 0,16

end of each toe and made him want to fall to the ground and kiss each one.

“This isn’t a good time,” she said.

He dragged his gaze to her face. She was wearing more makeup than before, and her hair was tied up except for a few loose curls at her temples. “Are you going out?”

She nodded and flushed, triggering a wave of hot, pounding emotion in his gut he realized was jealousy. Not like him. He cleared his throat. “On a date?”

When she didn’t meet his eyes, he assumed the worst. Shocked by the way his body tensed in preparation for lifting her over his shoulder and hauling her back to his house for himself, he couldn’t think of what to say, just scowled and blinked at her.

“I better go,” she said.

“Wait!” He stepped forward but didn’t touch her, concerned he might do something crazy if he felt her satiny skin under his hand. He took a deep breath and smiled at her, hopefully irresistible. “At least give me your number.”

She was frowning at him, distressed. “Look, Paul. I’m dealing with something right now. This—” she gestured between them with her adorable hands, also marked with purple nails, “—this isn’t what you think. I’m not just some regular girl that can keep doing this, whatever it is.” She sucked in her lips and looked away.

“You’re not a regular girl?” He felt confused but open-minded. “Whatever it is, whoever you are, I just want to see you again. Or talk. We can just talk.”

She sighed. “You don’t only want to talk.”

Their eyes met and electricity crackled in the narrow space between them. His heart banged against his ribs, wanting her. And he knew she wanted him. So what was the problem?

Chapter 5

“I do want to talk,” he said. “In addition to other things.”

Her distressed face broke into a smile, and the dimple in one cheek nearly undid him. “How about this. You give me your number.”

Nodding so quick he felt a sprain in the back of his neck, Paul pulled out his wallet for a business card. “I never use these things except for—” he stopped himself, not wanting to elaborate on his boring professional life. “Well, never mind.”

But she misunderstood him. “Except for women?”

“No,” he said quickly, savvy enough to avoid saying not lately, but annoyed with himself for setting that up. “For work. But the only time I need a card is at a conference once a year.” Risking the physical charge of touching her, he reached down and took her hand in his, tucked the card in her palm, and gently closed her fingers around it.

“All right, but really, you should just forget about this. About me.”

“But why?”

She stared over his shoulder into space, then took a deep breath and met his gaze. “I used you, Paul. I was going to write about what we did for my master's thesis. That's why I invited you home in the first place. I was using you. And I didn't tell you. So now I have to think of some other way to finish my degree without totally destroying my conscience.”

For a few long, awkward seconds, Paul couldn't think of anything to say. He was. . . research? But then he saw the pain in her eyes and thought, glad I was there for her.

Then he realized the implications. “Was I the only one you—you—used?”

She closed her eyes briefly, nodded, and he sighed in relief. Deep relief.

“But I still need to collect enough data to write about. So I have to go,” she said.

“Hold on! You're going out tonight to—research? With some other guy?”

“No, no! Not like that. Just interviews.”

He sagged against the gate and tried to keep the jealous caveman out of his voice. “Well, good. Because if you need to do any research, you can do it with me, all right? I don't like that you didn't tell me, but the damage has been done. Might as well make the best of it.”

“No more research. Not like that. Not with you.” And before he could stop her, she bolted back inside, leaving him frustrated and alone out on the sidewalk.

“Why did you come back?” her roommate Lorraine asked.

“Yeah, he sounded cute,” Marilyn, her other roommate, added.

“Now how can somebody sound cute?” Lorraine asked Marilyn, starting an affectionate argument that would last for ten minutes. Bonnie’s roommates were elderly women who called themselves “the dearest of friends” to outsiders, not quite believing that the world had changed enough to accept