This Love Read online

  "Focus on your classes. I'll email you some basic research on my field, so you aren't walking in blind, but there is nothing so pressing it won't wait till Monday."

  She nods, scribbles on a piece of paper. "That's me. I guess I'll hear from you, then."

  I take it, my fingers brushing against hers until she pulls away and reaches down to pick up the duffel sized purse at her feet. She grins. "I guess I'll see you next week, Professor."

  I watch her wave at the barista and shove her way out of the coffee shop, the sunlight catching on her light hair.

  I stay there until Dane calls me, demanding to know what I did with his keys. My best friend yelling at me kills my lingering arousal. “I have them.”

  "Why do you have my keys?" he demands, baffled.

  "Why did you post a job listing without telling me?"

  "Because you need help, dipshit."

  I swallow my laughter—he'll be insufferable when he finds out I actually hired someone. "I'll be back soon. You got plans tonight?"

  "Not yet. Pick up some food. I'm fucking starving. Melanie might drop by later."

  I don't comment on that, just hang up and stand up to leave. The man behind the counter is watching me again, and I meet his gaze. I'm surprised by the hostility in his eyes, and idly wonder what he means to Avery.

  The idea of her with someone is unsettling, more than it should be.

  I nod at him as I walk out. The thick Louisiana heat slaps me in the face like a wet towel. Summer will only make it worse.

  Wherever I move, it needs to have kickass A/C.

  Chapter 2

  Avery

  My last final is over.

  I click submit, and the test vanishes into the ether. Around me, other students are staring at their screens with a mixture of desperation and anticipation.

  I wave at the TA before I push out the door. My phone is buried in my purse, and I pause in the hallway of the history wing to dig it out. “Shit,” I mutter as two pens clatter to the floor. I seize my phone—I really need to downsize my purse—and crouch to grab my pens.

  A pair of scuffed sneakers stop in front of me, stepping on my favorite red pen.

  “Excuse me,” I grumble, reaching for it, and a husky laugh jerks my gaze up.

  Atticus Grimes is standing in front of me, his eyes amused. He’s wearing faded jeans and a tight fitting concert t-shirt, his hair hanging in his eyes.

  He looks like a sexy frat brother instead of a professor. Hell, if Brian looked half this good, I would have slept with him months ago.

  “You gonna stay down there forever?” he asks, amusement lacing his rough voice.

  I flush, then rise. “What are you doing here?”

  Grimes’ eyebrows go up. “I work here, remember?”

  Like I could forget. He’d asked if it was a problem, that he was a professor. And I’d said no. It could be all in my head—the flash of interest I saw in his eyes could be my imagination. It has to be, because that was totally not happening.

  I look at him again and realize I’ve missed whatever he just said. I blush again, and he grins. “I’m actually glad I caught you. Are you headed to class?”

  I adjust my purse and shake my head. “No, I’m done—just finished my last final.”

  “Can I borrow you for a few minutes?”

  “Of course.”

  I follow him down the hall and into a cramped, messy office. Boxes of half-packed papers and books are stacked in one corner, his desk covered in folders. There’s a faint odor of stale pizza and burnt coffee—I make a mental note to bring in some incense.

  “Sit down, Ms. Emili,” he says, shifting a few boxes. Something about his tone makes me pause and my heart sink.

  “You changed your mind?”

  “No! Of course not—I’m actually starting to think I might make my deadline. I just wanted to talk to you about the schedule and wages.”

  I stare at him then glance at my phone. The idea that I’m spending all summer working with him is as terrifying as it is intoxicating.

  “My research trip—I got the details finalized. I usually take my assistant. Do you have a problem with a two-day trip to New Orleans next month?”

  I shake my head, push my hair out of my eyes. “Not a problem at all, Professor.”

  He makes a face at that, but doesn’t comment. “Excellent.”

  I fidget. “I’ll need the last week of July off.”

  He nods brusquely. “Now, your salary. I’m expecting a lot this summer—getting me moved, typing up and organizing my research trips. I think six hundred a week is fair.”

  I do the math quickly and lean back, shocked. It’s more than twice what I need. It’s a ridiculous amount of money, and I don’t know what to say.

  “Ms. Emili?” he says, his voice sharp.

  I jerk from my thoughts and nod. “That sounds great.”

  “Great. We’ll get started tomorrow, then.”

  Seven thousand dollars. And the sexiest smile I’ve seen in ages. It’s gonna be a killer summer.

  Atticus

  She looks so surprised. I think she would have taken half the money I offered, but she doesn’t really know what she’s gotten herself into.

  And I can afford it.

  Avery—Ms. Emili—stands, her sundress falling from where it bunched a little while she sat. “I’ll see you in the morning,” she says, her eyes sparkling.

  “You want me to bring coffee?”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Not unless you’re getting it from the Hill.”

  “Where else?”

  She gives me a little look, amused—like she knows I’m suddenly planning on going fifteen minutes out of my way to get her coffee.

  “See you tomorrow,” she says, and steps over to my open office door. She hesitates and looks back at me. “Thanks, Professor. I really appreciate this.”

  Avery flashes a smile, and then she’s gone, with a soft whisper of cotton and a scent I can’t place.

  God. I am so fucked.

  Avery

  The apartment is half packed. I stand in the midst of Kelly’s chaos, sipping a glass of wine. “It’s gonna be quiet with you gone.”

  “Don’t sound so excited, Avery.” Kelly says, shoving the last bit of clothes in a box.

  I nudge it with my toe. “Are you putting these in storage?”

  She nods. Honestly, I will miss her—I’ll enjoy my privacy for a week, but the quiet will drive me a little crazy and I’m already dreading the three months she’ll be gone.

  “Let’s go out tonight!” she suggests.

  “I start my new job tomorrow, Kel. I can’t be hung over.”

  She gives me a pouty face, and I see the questions brewing in her eyes. I head her off. “Chinese and movie night?”

  She nods, and for the moment forgets my job.

  After we’ve gorged ourselves on orange chicken and fried rice, laughed our way through a cheesy horror movie, and drank two more bottles of wine, I lie in bed. I’m anxious, and it occurs to me—I don’t want Kelly to know about Atticus. I don’t want to hear her tell me how fuckable he is, or why sleeping with him is a good idea.

  I don’t want to see her watching him with predatory eyes.

  It’s not fair. And I know it’s not. But I’m not doing anything about it.

  Chapter 3

  Avery

  It’s eerie, being in the history hall so early. Classes are over, and all remaining finals are scheduled for later in the day—most professors don’t bother coming in early. It’s ridiculously quiet. My steps echo on the tile, making it sound like someone is following me.

  I stop abruptly in front of Grimes’ office. The door is closed and dark. I knock then wiggle the handle experimentally.

  Nothing. The damn thing is locked. I glance at my phone, but I’ve been holding it—there’s no way I missed a call from him.

  Awesome. It’s my first day, I’m a little hung over, and my boss didn’t bother to show. Fucking great. />
  I thumb through my contacts till I find him and tap out a quick text.

  Me: I’m at your office. Were we meeting somewhere else?

  I stare at the phone for a few minutes, hoping he’s just running late. But nothing happens. Annoyed, I slide down the wall and lean my head back.

  If this is the way it’s starting, something tells me this summer is gonna blow.

  My phone buzzes and I glance down. The Professor. “Hello?” I answer.

  “Who the hell is this?” a brusque voice demands. I blink, pull the phone away from my ear. Whatever my caller ID is saying, this isn’t Atticus Grimes.

  “Avery Emili. I’m Professor Grimes’ research assistant.”

  The caller barks a laugh. “No shit? He actually hired someone?” I can hear the man moving around, pouring something. “Look, Atti is sleeping. He isn’t exactly a morning person. Why don’t you head over here—there’s plenty of work to go through, I promise.”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea,” I start, before he cuts me off.

  “It’s brilliant. I’ll leave the front unlocked. Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.”

  “Um.”

  “I’ll text you the address.”

  He hangs up, and I blink at the phone, startled. Whoever he is, he’s got all the force of a wrecking ball. But the lure of coffee and breakfast—and hell, being out of this creepy hallway—wins out. I’m halfway to my car when the text comes through.

  Atticus

  I smell coffee and bacon, blueberries and butter. And a slightly off-key voice singing along to Green Day. I roll on my back, trying to figure out who the hell Dane brought home that would be singing.

  I need coffee. I push myself out of bed and pad barefoot into the kitchen.

  Avery is singing as she washes something, her blonde hair pulled into a messy knot at the back of her neck. Her little ass shakes in time to the music, and I have to drag my gaze away from the jean-clad perfection. I clear my throat, and she jerks, dropping the pan and twisting to look at me over her shoulder.

  Her eyes go wide, and sweep down.

  I feel the heat of that brown gaze like a touch, lingering on my tattoos, sweeping over my chest, hesitating on my low slung shorts, sliding lower. “Did I wake you up?” she asks, turning away.

  Not yet.

  I wonder if the interest I keep feeling from her is my imagination. I want to say it’s not—I’m not that bad at reading women, and Avery Emili likes what she sees.

  Stop that fucking thought right there.

  “No,” I say shortly. She’s rigid at the sink, Green Day crooning, soft and forgotten. I step closer to her, pulled by an instinct I can’t seem to deny. She’s very still as I reach around her, plucking my favorite mug from the dish rack. My arm drags against the bare skin of her shoulder, and even though she doesn’t flinch, I can see the goose bumps on her skin.

  I pull away, ignoring the urge to run my hand over her skin and soothe them.

  “I’m sorry—your roommate told me to come over. I started organizing some of your research—do you have any system?—and then I got hungry.”

  I hold up a hand, and she falls quiet, fidgeting nervously as I pour a cup of coffee and grab a piece of bacon. I steal a glance at the clock. Its a few minutes before ten. And if she talked to Dane…I lower my coffee and frown at her. “What time did you get to my office?”

  “Um, around 7:45? You didn’t say when we’d start, and I didn’t want to be late.”

  I look at her, and she flushes under my fascinated, slightly appalled stare. “You know, I can’t remember the last time I saw 7:45?”

  I can, actually—it was almost five years ago. I had been somewhere I shouldn’t have been.

  Avery is picking at her chipped nail polish, and I sigh, taking a bite of bacon.

  “For future reference—we won’t be starting until 9:30 or 10:00, most days.”

  She nods, and I grab my coffee. “Let me put some clothes on, and you can show me what you’ve done.”

  She blushes—making her do that gives me a twisted sort of pleasure—and nods quickly. “Take your time.”

  Avery

  Crap on toast. He’s a professor—it is completely unfair that he looks like that.

  And! What the hell was that by the sink? It had felt like a come on, but then he’d been distant. I just wanted to go back to sorting through his research and ignoring the fact that he’s hotter than all the frat boys I’ve been with in the past.

  Wiping my hands on my pants, I move to the table, where I’ve been working. It is easier to focus on his research—the entire subject is fascinating. It's also a hot mess. I sip my coffee and pick up a research paper--it's got Atticus' name on it and a distinctly feminine scrawl. It annoys me. There is absolutely no method to the mass of confused papers—no wonder he needs help.

  He pads back into the living room wearing faded jeans and a ripped t-shirt. He looks good enough to eat—which is so not where my thoughts need to be headed.

  "How do you find anything?" I demand. Atticus pauses in the middle of the room, watching me warily. "It's like you grabbed everything and shoved it into five boxes and forgot about it."

  Something flickers in his eyes, briefly, and then he nods. "Pretty good description of what went down."

  It doesn't make sense. I looked him up, after the coffee date. I know he's an expert on Jean Lafitte. I know he's one of UB's youngest professors. He graduated from the University of Branton and did his graduate work at Rutgers before taking a position at the university the previous spring.

  I know he's dedicated to his work and has published impressive research in Journal of American History. So that he has been so haphazard with his research annoys and confuses me.

  It doesn't fit the image I have of him.

  "Do you have any office supplies? Folders, filing cabinet, scanner?"

  He shakes his head. "No. When I moved, I sorta left my office behind."

  "Okay, well I need that. I can't organize this mess with nothing to work with."

  He nods and strides into the kitchen. "Let's go. I need to order a desk and chair anyway."

  Atticus

  Avery pulls herself into my truck and looks at me expectantly. “You know there isn’t a decent office store in Branton, right?”

  “I grew up here, Ms. Emili. I’m well aware of our options.”

  She wrinkles her nose and drops her purse on the floorboard. “I have a name, Professor.”

  I grin. “Touché.”

  “What should I call you?” she asks, pulling her ponytail free and redoing it quickly. “We’re going to be working together for the next three months, and I’m already tired of Ms. Emili. Just call me Avery.”

  I keep my eyes on the road as I turn onto the highway and head toward Baton Rouge. “Fine.”

  She is quiet, waiting for me to say something. When I don’t, she huffs and settles into her seat and thumbs through her phone. “Fine. I’ll call you Atti, like your roommate.”

  I grit my teeth. “I don’t think that’s quite appropriate.”

  She laughs, a short, amused noise that fills the cab of the truck. “Oh, honey. After this morning, I don’t think you get to point fingers about appropriate.”

  I dart a look at her. Long legs are braced on the dashboard, sunglasses low on her nose as she toys with her phone.

  “Atticus.”

  She looks up and smirks, an expression that pulls a smile to my lips. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  Avery shopping is something to see. She tosses that god-awful purse into a cart and waves me away. “Go look at desks. I’ll get what I need and meet you.”

  I ignore her, following her through the store. She’s humming, her phone tucked into her back pocket as she grabs a box of folders and tosses them in with her purse.

  “What we really need is a scanner,” she says. She glances at me. “If you’re going to follow me, at least push the cart.”

  I obed
iently take it. “Get whatever you need.”

  She grins—the girl is ridiculously excited about office supplies. She gets some highlighters, portable file crates and labels, notecards. A few memory sticks. Finally we pick a combination scanner/printer. I could use the one on campus, but once I move into my new apartment, I want to work from home. It makes sense to get what I need.

  Finally, she turns. “Okay—desk and chair?”

  I nod, and we head to the back of the store.

  “You’re really planning on working at a desk?”

  “Where else would I work?”

  She drops into a chair and gives it an experimental spin. “I like this one,” she says.

  I sit in it and shrug. “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s great. Lean back,” she says.

  “Why?”

  She steps closer, leaning over me. I back away, into the seat back, as her long hair swings down around my face. She places a hand on either armrest, her fingers brushing mine as she leans closer. “It’s got great support,” she murmurs.

  “Can I help y’all with anything?”

  Avery smirks. “I think he might have picked a chair.”

  Chapter 4

  Avery

  The first two weeks pass in a blur—Atticus is distant to the point of being rude after that first morning. It takes a few days, but eventually working with him becomes routine. He’s distracting with his damnable good looks, but even that is forgettable when I get into the research.

  “I’m done,” I announce.

  Atticus looks up slowly—it takes about thirty seconds to pull himself out of the history and focus on me. “What?”

  “Organizing. It’s done.” I motion behind me, at the neatly labeled files of research. It took two weeks of reading and organizing, scanning documents and taking notes, but it’s finally done. All of his research is organized.

  He stares at it. “Holy fuck, Avery. What the hell did you do?”

  I bristle. “You said create a system. I did. Don’t you dare get upset about it now.”