Part 57 (2/2)
”There are things I need to tell you.”
”Go away, Nate,” she says through gritted teeth.
The words almost fall from my mouth. 'I'm not Nate' but the confusion of the situation calls for a rational, sit down, sort this s.h.i.+t out conversation which we're unlikely to have now.
Defeated, I walk away.
16.
FLEUR.
Inside the converted Victorian house, I pause for breath and sit on a wooden chair between the two offices. As the days pa.s.sed, the likelihood of Nate apologising about Friday night dropped. He has my phone number; a texted apology would've helped. Not that I'd accept it. I close my eyes and blank the replay of my humiliation, allowing my disgust to rise instead. Okay, maybe he was drunk, but his behaviour was inexcusable. I helped him, and he mocked me.
The worst thing about the situation is I care. When Will accosted me at the beginning of term, he was at least complimentary. Even though Will p.i.s.sed me off, I don't hope he'll be castrated by a mob of p.i.s.sed off girls as I do with Nate.
I'm confused. The Nate I've spent time around is a world away from the foul-mouthed misogynist from a few nights ago. Don't they say alcohol brings out the ugly side of your personality?
Smooth, Nate but you've revealed your true colours. He knew exactly how to manipulate me into getting what he needed. But he doesn't get what he really wants on top of that.
The door opposite me opens and Shaun looks out. The moment he sees me, he smiles. In response to Anne's question the other day, this man is the one who does things to my lady parts. Or should I say, would like him to. Intelligent, charming and what was it Anne called Jax? s.e.x on a stick. I fight a smile. Yes, I could lick him.
His heavy brow puckers. ”Are you okay?”
”Fine.” I switch on a bright smile and he indicates my hands.
”Then why are you gripping your bag until your knuckles turn white?”
”Oh?” I loosen them. ”I'm ”
c.r.a.p. Where the h.e.l.l did the tears come from? Shaun steps back. ”Fleur... What's wrong? Come in.”
I follow him into the room, swiping my eyes with a sleeve. My heart beats faster as I attempt to control the deluge of emotion ready to spill.
”I'm fine. It's okay. I just... had an argument with somebody.”
”I expect they lost.”
I sniff and return Shaun's smile. His G.o.dd.a.m.n s.e.xy smile to match his G.o.dd.a.m.n s.e.xy accent. ”Of course he did.”
”He. Makes sense.” Shaun indicates the corner of the room. ”I'll make you a drink. Coffee?”
”Tea, please.”
”Hmm. I only have weird flavours that Samantha stashes in here.” He pulls a tin from a shelf next to a small kettle and peers inside. ”Do you like herbal teas?”
”Not really.”
”Me neither. They taste of hot water and paper.”
”That's okay. I only stopped by to bring your book back.” I drag the heavy tome from my bag and set it on his desk with a thump.
”Ah! Don't tell me you've read this already?”
”Absolutely. Every word.”
His eyes sparkle. ”Favourite chapter?”
”The last one?”
Shaun rubs my arm. ”See, you're smiling again already, even without the fancy teas.”
Hand on my arm. On my bare skin. Smooth fingers shooting lightning through my body at the place his hand rests a moment too long. My breath catches in my throat and I search his face for a sign this was deliberate.
Shaun's flecked green eyes don't hold back his thoughts and I'm caught sharing my own. He knows. He's recognised the girlish fumbling with my bag, the way I trip over my words with him the days we meet.
Shaun's noticed me.
”I tell you what, why don't I take you for a coffee, I mean tea, at Sip,” he suggests.
Sip, the coffee shop far enough from campus we won't be seen. A thrill runs through me, filling my stomach with excitement at the illicitness. Shaun Hennessy is asking me for coffee.
”You sure?”
”I'm sure, Fleur.”
Suddenly the s.p.a.ce between is charged with the power that tripped from his fingers to my skin before. Are we about to cross a dangerous line?
No, somebody who has an ounce of respect for me and doesn't only look for what he can get is interested. In me.
”Okay.”
Shaun leans past me and grabs his phone from the table. I catch his subtle, clean scent, the one I a.s.sociate with time alone with Shaun in this room and could a.s.sociate with more. If more happens.
”I think Samantha must be an anarchist,” he says as we step out of the building into the bright autumn day.
”That's a weird thing to say. I didn't realise she was political.”
”No, the tea. Anarchists only drink herbal tea.” He smiles down at my confused look. ”Because all proper tea is theft.”
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