like this. Or the service. A small, self-conscious part of me thinks maybe it’s me. Maybe they don’t like that I’ve come in here just to drink and study. There’s a long bar on the other side of the room though. I close my eyes and shake my head slightly. It’s not me. I’m always thinking that. I need to stop that. It’s a bad habit.
I stretch out my shoulders and look back at the computer screen. I mumble a curse under my breath. The guy across the aisle distracted me, and I didn’t even get to ask for the password when the waiter finally came around. Damn, I’ll have to remember to ask when he comes back with my drink. I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth. He didn’t even ask for ID. I wonder if I’m starting to look old. I purse my lips as I consider this thought. No fucking way. He’s just a shit waiter.
Satisfied with that, I return to my syllabus and pull out the corresponding textbook and a yellow highlighter. I've got three chapters from this one to highlight, and then I’ll write my notes down. I nod my head. That’s a good plan. I may have transferred schools two years into my PhD, but I should be able to bang out all three classes this semester and be back on track. I’ve got Molecular and Cell Biology up first. I cringe a bit. It's all just so much fucking memorizing that I’ll never ever use again. This may be a long fucking study hour. Correction. Hours.
My heart sinks in my chest at the thought of wasting the night like this. I'm so tired of late nights in the lab or studying. I've alienated everyone in my life. My “social life” consists of bailing my mom out of jail and talking to my primary investigator about our research. I don't even want to pursue the summer internship I was offered. I thought I'd love doing cancer research, but my only choices at this point are working with either cells or animals. And neither one is tempting. I have no clue why I’m still working my ass off for this. But if I let it go, what do I have left? Without my career, I’ve merely wasted years of my life hiding from reality. The thought depresses me to the core.
“Whatcha doing, sweetheart?” My body jolts as I hear the question, and I turn my head to stare at the Italian Stallion that sneaked up on me.
Hearing his masculine voice and watching his corded muscles ripple as he moves to sit across from me in my booth brings back that initial desire, full fucking force. My pussy heats and I clench my thighs. Holy hell. His muscles are rock fucking hard, and there isn't an ounce of fat on his body. His dark eyes pierce into me. I break away from his gaze and curse my hormones for making me so horny. Not fucking fair. I feel a deep urge to just fuck my frustrations away.
I don’t need sex. I’ve never had it, never done the dirty deed, but no one needs sex. I bite my lip and feel my shoulders turn inward as doubt creeps in. How the hell would I know if it would help? I’ve never had the courage to go through with it.
I can’t believe he’s sitting with me, but at the same time, I don’t want to be hit on. I’m sure he’s just trying to get lucky. I don’t have time for this. I have to catch up on my studying so I don't fall behind even more. But I find my eyes drifting down his body the way I imagine his would trail down mine. His white tee shirt is pulled taut over his muscles. My eyes dart to meet his as I belatedly realize that I’m blatantly staring. A blush blazes in my cheeks, and my stomach drops.
I nervously tuck my hair back behind my ears and lick my lips. I drop my eyes, and focus steadily on the white tablecloth for a moment. I clear my throat and gather the courage to look Mr. Hunk in the eyes. “I have to study.” I’m surprised I had the courage to say anything at all, and that my voice was mostly steady. I wish I weren’t so dismissive though. It came out a bit shorter than I would have liked. I don’t want him to