Why did he need a pickup truck?Granted, it’s nice and all?—
Two hands lift me by my waist and guide me to the seat of the truck. I put a foot in, then the other, and he lets go. Clearing my throat, I give him a quick “Thanks.”
As he rounds the car, I take a moment to look inside. It’s a nice four-door pickup truck with black leather seats. It’s comfortable and still has that new car smell. As nice as it is, I wouldn’t have pegged him for a pickup truck kind of guy.
Grayson opens the door and settles in as he starts the car.
As soon as it roars to life, a radio host’s voice starts talking about the current top pop songs in the country.
I don’t like this radio station, it has more commercials than others. Luckily, I only have to tolerate it for six minutes.
“Which dorm is yours?” he asks quietly.
I keep staring straight. “Astor Hall.”
He doesn’t reply as “WILDFLOWER” by Billie Eilish plays quietly. Looking out the window, I relax. My heels rarely break,and I see this as a sign to stop trying to get answers from the man sitting next to me. We’ve seen each other five times since July, two were in informal settings, and two ended in an inappropriate conversation.
This is why I avoid nights like the one in London. Not that I expected him to be a professor at my school, but every time I try to have fun with a guy, it never ends the way I want or need. If only we had never run into each other again, that night could’ve stayed perfect, and the image of him could’ve remained just the way it was.
“You have a nice voice,” Grayson says while pulling into the parking lot of my dorm.
I hadn’t noticed that I’d begun singing. “Thank you, and thanks for the ride.” I don’t move, and I close my eyes. Part of me is screaming not to do this, while another part tells me it’s for the best. “I’m going to ask my editor to let someone else take over the article. It’ll probably be the one who should have gotten it in the first place.” I gather my shoes and the broken heel, feeling defeated about having to give the feature to Samantha. She doesn’t deserve it, but she’ll get the answers without the conflict of interest. “She’s one of the best.”
“Emma—”
“Thank you again, Professor Hayes. For the ride and the opportunity.” I reach for the door handle as the locks sound. Turning my head, I meet Grayson’s intense stare.
“Don’t ask your editor for that,” he says sternly, but this time I notice a hint of sadness behind his voice.
“Wouldn’t you like something andsomeonesimpler?” I ask, confused as to why he isn’t considering my offer.
He shakes his head. “Visit the soup kitchen before you change your mind.”
“I don’t know if that’s going to make a difference?—”
His fingers grip my chin, and although his eyes are tough, there’s a hint of vulnerability and a kind of longing reflected in his gaze. Grayson leans over, not close enough to kiss me, butclose enough to make a statement. “I’m sorry for being an asshole.” He closes his eyes briefly before returning to normal. His tone stays neutral but honest. “I don’t want you to lose this opportunity, especially not to the person who did what they did at the restaurant.”
Swallowing harshly, I assess him. “Only if you promise never to pull something as you did with Leo again. We don’t have room for jealousy here,” I say. His eyes flare with frustration. “He’s also your student,” I emphasize, but what I really mean isI’m not yours to claim.
He nods. “You have my word.”
“And I want to bring a friend with me to the soup kitchen.”
He seems surprised by my request, but I think bringing one of the guys will help me stay focused on my work more than him.
Grayson looks at my lips before backing away from me. “Okay.”
Swallowing loudly, I unlock the door and gently jump out of the car, not wanting to do something I’ll regret later.
Giving him one last glance, I throw the heavy door open and walk to the side entrance of my dorm, unlocking it with my ID.
Grayson’s car doesn’t move until I’m safely inside, feeling dizzy and as confused as ever.
Chapter Seventeen
EMMA
Jake and I walk in our most casual clothes toward the side doors of the brick building that acts as a soup kitchen near the border of Driscoll and the town next to ours. Most soup kitchens are in churches, but not in this case. There are only two churches in town, and both are too small for the job, serving only as food pantries, never offering a hearty meal. I guess that’s why Grayson thought Driscoll was a great place to open one.