Page 9 of Never Let Go (Forbidden #1)

Chapter Nine

LAUREN

A fter my run in with Caleb last week, I’ve tried to keep my head down. He’s not been back to Strokes, or not on the nights I’ve been working, anyway.

I’ve been over the reading list he gave me and it seems easy enough. I’ve got my first ‘session’ with him today. I’m not relishing the idea of being alone with him considering the one and only time we were together, we ended up fucking in a bathroom. Apparently, we can’t be trusted.

I don’t bother wearing anything fancy, opting for my trusty sweatpants and hoodie with my hair thrown up in a messy bun. Checking the time I realize I need to leave soon, and if I’m really quick, I can make a stop at the Honey Pot on my way.

I get to the coffee shop and order my usual, even going so far as to push the boat out and treat myself to a Danish.

I make my way over to Daniels Hall, where I’m meeting Caleb, quickly eating on the way.

It starts drizzling, so I tug my hood up and hunch in on myself.

For a stripper, I’m not overly confident, I show people what I want them to see at Strokes, but outside?

Outside, I’m quiet and generally not a people person.

Entering the building, I place my bag on the floor, and take off my hoodie, shivering from the cold that’s seeped in.

Tying the hoodie around my waist, I sling my bag back over my shoulder and resume the walk to Caleb’s office.

I stand outside taking a couple of deep, calming breaths before raising my hand and knocking.

“It’s open,” I hear muffled from within. My hand tightens around the door handle and I push it open.

Caleb’s sitting at his desk— holy fuck! Is he wearing glasses? I do a double take and sure enough he is, which only adds to his appeal. Stop it! I internally chastise myself. He’s your professor, he’s your professor , I chant over and over.

He looks up and when he sees it’s me, takes his glasses off, pointing at them. “I, uh, only wear them for reading.”

Is he blushing?

He stands up and gestures to the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat.”

Sitting down, I lay my bag on my lap and wait for him to continue. My gaze strays to the window as he sits in his own chair.

“Did you manage to look over the reading material I gave you?” he asks.

I glance back at him and nod my head. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good. Is there anything that you’re unsure of?” he questions. I watch the gentle curve of his lips as he speaks, mesmerized.

“Uh, one thing I didn’t get,” I say as I rummage through my bag. Finding what I’m looking for, I hand him a piece of paper with the reading materials on it. “This. ”

Caleb rounds the desk and bends down to look, and my heart stops at how near he is. He looks over what I’ve pointed to and I take the time to study him—his day-old stubble, his strong jawline, and the gray hairs that have started to pepper his temple—something I missed while at Strokes.

He turns his head to look at me, our faces inches apart, breaths mingling as our lips nearly touch. Caleb clears his throat, and I gaze up at him, only just realizing that I was staring at his lips.

Our gazes are still locked as he whispers, “Lauren.”

I feel like I’m in a dreamlike state as I hum in response. “Hmm?”

“You, uh…” He trails off, staring at me.

“What?” I breathe out.

“You have something on your face.” He smiles and I sit bolt upright, hastily wiping at my face for the offending item.

Caleb laughs at my behavior, and when I say Caleb laughs, I’m talking full-on belly, clutching at his sides, tears in his eyes, kinda laughter. And I. Am. Mortified .

I watch Caleb, noticing how handsome and carefree he looks. How much younger it makes him seem, and a warm pool of something settles in my stomach. His eyes hold a world of knowledge and I’m suddenly desperate to know him.

“I’m so sorry, Lauren,” he gasps between breaths. “Your face.” He doubles over with laughter again and it makes me chuckle with him.

“Stop it,” I laugh. “It’s not funny.”

Once Caleb has managed to stop laughing, he grins at me. “Oh, but it really is.” His blue eyes twinkle with mirth, those fucking dimples making a show, and I’m floored. Stunned speechless. No man should ever look this good.

Chuckling, Caleb tilts his head and begins explaining about the assignment. I zone out as he talks. My eyes wander to his hands, that are placed on the desk in front of me, as he points to the words. The veins on them are raised, making me want to trace every single one of them with my tongue.

“... Hopefully that makes sense?” he asks, standing up to his full height and taking a step back.

I feel my cheeks grow hot as he looks at me. I swallow knowing I need to agree with what he’s said, but in all honesty, I didn’t catch a word. “Erm, any chance you can repeat that, please?” I duck my head away from his gaze, embarrassment clear in my tone.

He eyes me like he knows where my thoughts had gone but doesn’t call me out on it. Thank fuck.

“So this will need a ten thousand word dissertation on why Pride and Prejudice was advanced for its years, along with your thoughts on the book. What you liked. What you think could be improved on the writing technique and storyline.”

I gape at him. “But Pride and Prejudice is one of the greats. It’s impossible to try and say what’s wrong with it— nothing is wrong with it,” I state incredulously.

“Ah, see that, right there”—he points a finger at me, his eyes lighting up— “is the beauty of writing, Lauren. Just because you loved it, doesn’t mean that others will.

Some say that it’s a superb piece of writing.

Others will argue that it's not. I want to see what you think could be improved on. Think outside of the box. Look at it from another person's perspective. Find the stuff you don’t love about it and go from there. Writing is subjective, Miss Taylor, tell me why.”

Leaning my head on my hand, I have to know. “What do you like and dislike about it, then?” Sitting up, I add, “For research purposes, of course. ”

“Well for starters, I love the fact that it was written by a woman, in a time when writing was incredibly taboo. Women were only allowed to have babies and to speak when spoken to.”

I nod my head in agreement. “Jane Austen was ahead of her time, that's for sure,” I muse.

“Absolutely. One thing I didn’t like… Mr. Collins.” Caleb visibly shudders and I laugh. “That man was a complete menace to society.”

Watching Caleb talking so animatedly about one of my favorite things, makes my stomach flutter and my chest warm. It’s easy to see why people gravitate toward him, he has this… energy about him that keeps you wanting more.

Caleb notices me staring and almost like a light has gone off in his head, he clears his throat and says, “I’ve got to go. I have a meeting.” He looks at me for a minute, his hands in his pocket—like it's a nervous habit—his gaze unreadable. “Same time next week?”

I nod. “Of course. I’ll just grab my things and go. Thank you for… this.” This? Thank you for this? What does that even mean ?

I stand up and start backing toward the door, my bag dangling from my hand as Caleb stands by his desk, watching me leave, and I’m suddenly struck with the thought that I wish he wasn’t my professor at all.