that?”
“All right.” He shifted in the seat. “I started one file on the day you signed up for tutorial. It’s called ‘Documentation.’ It describes our conversations and exchanges.”
“That sounds official.”
“That’s exactly how it started. I was recording the things I’d said to you and the way I’d behaved when I was with you, especially when we were alone. To be honest, I was covering my ass. I sensed some—interest—from you, shall we say, that Tuesday morning. When you signed up for tutorial?”
“Was I that obvious?”
“Well, the blushing and stuttering, not to mention the drool—”
“Fuck off.” I laughed. “That was the most epically mortifying first impression I’ve ever made.”
“Not at all. You were charming.”
I wasn’t sure if should feel insulted by the fact that he’d thought I could potentially threaten his position in the way Nicola had, but I suppose I’d have been equally paranoid if I were in his place. And he hadn’t known me at all.
“So, when you were doing this so-called documenting—did you write about your feelings for me?”
“No, of course not. I was in denial. I wrote about how professional I was being. Keeping you at arm’s length, not allowing myself to be alone with you in a room with the door closed, never calling you by your first name—that sort of thing.”
“So, tell me, Mr. Grant,” I said, dropping my voice. “Are you still documenting?”
“No, I’m not, Miss Price. At least not in an official capacity.”
“When did you stop?”
“February thirteenth. I wrote one last entry justifying why I’d driven you home after you were sick at the play. Later on, I lay in bed for ages, but I couldn’t sleep so I got up and wrote more, but this was very different.”
“In what way?”
We were both whispering now.
“Well,” he said, trailing his fingers gently along my cheekbone. “I started a new file. It’s called ‘Aubrey Price’ and is hardly something I’d share with a university tribunal.” He laughed softly. “I wrote about how much I wanted to kiss you when we were in the theater that night and how helpless I’d felt when you were sick. How insanely jealous I was of the fact that Matt got to spend time with you and I didn’t. That’s when I understood the hold you had on me.”
“Really?” I whispered.
He nodded. “From that point on there was no more documenting. I was trying to come to terms with my feelings, which I knew were completely inappropriate and imprudent,” he said, gazing at me from under his lashes.
God, he was so sweet. He cradled my face and rubbed his thumb along my cheekbone.
“I suppose I was joking on Friday when I told you I thought of March thirteenth as our one month anniversary, but that night in February was pivotal in terms of my feelings for you. The usher at Hart House asked me if I wanted her to check on you in the bathroom. She called you my girlfriend . I couldn’t help wishing it was true.”
“Well, all signs do point to that as our first date,” I confirmed. “There’s no denying it. You’ve got it in writing.”
“I guess I do.” He smiled. “Do you want to know more?” he asked. “I’ll tell you about the third file if you want, but I’d like to preserve some of my pride.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t need to hear another thing. I do need to get out of this chair, though. My ass is starting to get pins and needles.”
He chuckled. “Okay, but we need ground rules before we head over there to curl up,” he said, gesturing toward the bed with a bob of his head.
“Ground rules?”
“So things don’t get carried away again.”
“Wow, this sounds serious.”
“It’s extremely serious,” he said, assuming an expression of mock sternness. “Rule number one. No come-hither lip-biting and raising your eyebrow in that sexy way you have.”
“In that case, rule number two. No panty-melting dimply smiles and winking in that sexy way you
“All right.” He shifted in the seat. “I started one file on the day you signed up for tutorial. It’s called ‘Documentation.’ It describes our conversations and exchanges.”
“That sounds official.”
“That’s exactly how it started. I was recording the things I’d said to you and the way I’d behaved when I was with you, especially when we were alone. To be honest, I was covering my ass. I sensed some—interest—from you, shall we say, that Tuesday morning. When you signed up for tutorial?”
“Was I that obvious?”
“Well, the blushing and stuttering, not to mention the drool—”
“Fuck off.” I laughed. “That was the most epically mortifying first impression I’ve ever made.”
“Not at all. You were charming.”
I wasn’t sure if should feel insulted by the fact that he’d thought I could potentially threaten his position in the way Nicola had, but I suppose I’d have been equally paranoid if I were in his place. And he hadn’t known me at all.
“So, when you were doing this so-called documenting—did you write about your feelings for me?”
“No, of course not. I was in denial. I wrote about how professional I was being. Keeping you at arm’s length, not allowing myself to be alone with you in a room with the door closed, never calling you by your first name—that sort of thing.”
“So, tell me, Mr. Grant,” I said, dropping my voice. “Are you still documenting?”
“No, I’m not, Miss Price. At least not in an official capacity.”
“When did you stop?”
“February thirteenth. I wrote one last entry justifying why I’d driven you home after you were sick at the play. Later on, I lay in bed for ages, but I couldn’t sleep so I got up and wrote more, but this was very different.”
“In what way?”
We were both whispering now.
“Well,” he said, trailing his fingers gently along my cheekbone. “I started a new file. It’s called ‘Aubrey Price’ and is hardly something I’d share with a university tribunal.” He laughed softly. “I wrote about how much I wanted to kiss you when we were in the theater that night and how helpless I’d felt when you were sick. How insanely jealous I was of the fact that Matt got to spend time with you and I didn’t. That’s when I understood the hold you had on me.”
“Really?” I whispered.
He nodded. “From that point on there was no more documenting. I was trying to come to terms with my feelings, which I knew were completely inappropriate and imprudent,” he said, gazing at me from under his lashes.
God, he was so sweet. He cradled my face and rubbed his thumb along my cheekbone.
“I suppose I was joking on Friday when I told you I thought of March thirteenth as our one month anniversary, but that night in February was pivotal in terms of my feelings for you. The usher at Hart House asked me if I wanted her to check on you in the bathroom. She called you my girlfriend . I couldn’t help wishing it was true.”
“Well, all signs do point to that as our first date,” I confirmed. “There’s no denying it. You’ve got it in writing.”
“I guess I do.” He smiled. “Do you want to know more?” he asked. “I’ll tell you about the third file if you want, but I’d like to preserve some of my pride.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t need to hear another thing. I do need to get out of this chair, though. My ass is starting to get pins and needles.”
He chuckled. “Okay, but we need ground rules before we head over there to curl up,” he said, gesturing toward the bed with a bob of his head.
“Ground rules?”
“So things don’t get carried away again.”
“Wow, this sounds serious.”
“It’s extremely serious,” he said, assuming an expression of mock sternness. “Rule number one. No come-hither lip-biting and raising your eyebrow in that sexy way you have.”
“In that case, rule number two. No panty-melting dimply smiles and winking in that sexy way you
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