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CHAPTER FOUR

AMELIA

T his is fine. Totally fine. Everything is fine.

It’s not like I showed up late to my very first class as a PhD student in the most prestigious computer science program in the country because I got so wrapped up in the true crime podcast I was listening to that I lost track of time.

And it’s not like Elliot Wyles—Dr. Elliot Wyles, my professor who I need to agree to be my advisor—is looking at me like he wants to devour me whole while he talks about analyzing the values inherent in technology design and designing technologies to promote social impact.

And it’s not like I zone out completely when I notice the way his jeans stretch over his muscular thighs and the most amazing ass I’ve ever seen.

Or the way his sleeves are unbuttoned and rolled up over the hottest forearms on the planet.

Forearms I’ve thought about, conservatively, one hundred times a day since I left him standing in the airport six months ago.

It’s not like any of that is happening because all of that is not going to help me get my PhD in computer science with a focus on UI/UX design, which is my dream.

Okay, so it’s not exactly my dream, but it is a thing I’m doing, and I want to do it well. Doing it well involves paying attention in class and not drooling over the man living rent free in my head.

Get your shit together, Amelia .

I grab my coffee mug and take a sip, then toss a handful of gummy bears into my mouth, the sugar soothing me as I keep my eyes fixed on the whiteboard behind Elliot.

Fuck, behind Dr. Wyles. In here, he’s Dr. Wyles.

Not the hot guy from the plane I haven’t been able to stop thinking about for months.

I knew he would be teaching this class. I was prepared to see him again.

Except it turns out I wasn’t because I’m lightheaded and it feels like electricity is sparking in my veins, and no amount of gummy bears is going to soothe that.

It’s going to be a long semester, and I’ll probably fail out of this entire program because Elliot Wyles specializes in UX design and app development, and I need him to be my advisor, but that’s going to be really fucking hard if I can’t stop staring at his ass.

Jesus fucking Christ.

I take another sip of my drink and force myself into student mode, listening to Elliot’s rich, deep voice discuss socially responsible app design.

He’s engaging, funny, and completely captivating, and my pen flies across my notebook as I try to capture everything he says in my notes to revisit later.

A laptop would probably be more helpful, but ironically for a coder, I work best with pen and paper.

I’m a contradiction, and I mostly like it that way.

Before I know it, he’s dismissing the class, and the noise level in the room rises as everyone slides laptops into bags, gathers jackets, and shuffles out of the room and on their way to whatever comes next.

I try and join the crowd with my eyes fixed on the floor to avoid Elliot’s stare, but fate has other plans for me. Before I make it to the door, my jacket snags on a chair, and I stumble a little, my bag sliding down my shoulder and my phone tumbling to the floor.

“Shit,” I mutter. I bend to pick it up, but before I can get there, a pair of denim clad legs enters my field of vision, and Elliot is there, scooping up my phone. I take a deep breath and finally raise my gaze to his. I regret it immediately.

He has the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen. It was true six months ago when I saw them for the first time at airport security and it’s true today. They’re fixed so intently on me that I have the very unusual feeling of being well and truly seen.

I’m not sure if I like it. Okay, that’s a lie. I like it, but I don’t want to like it. I can’t like it.

“Mystery Girl,” is the first thing he says, a slow grin spreading over his face just like it did when I first walked into the classroom.

Holy hell, that’s a dangerous smile. A smile that could make me forget that I’m here to do a thing and keep a low profile, and it’s that thought that snaps me right back into woman on a mission mode.

“My phone, please.” I hold out my hand, and he looks down at it and back up at my face, his grin turning into a smirk.

“You’re not even going to thank me for rescuing it from the ground?”

I narrow my eyes at him. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m perfectly capable of picking up my own phone.”

He studies me, tapping my phone on his open palm.

“I don’t know. If I had a…” He looks down at my phone and then back up at me, brow furrowing.

“Wait, is this the new Redwood phone? The one that isn’t being released for another two months?

How did you get this? New Redwood releases are, like, the most closely guarded secret in the world. ”

Fuck. So much for that low profile. I told Gabe I could wait for the newest release like everyone else, but that’s just not the way my brother operates.

“Long story,” I mutter, reaching out to grab it from his hand. He holds it up above his head, his grin returning.

“I’ll give it back to you under one condition.”

I roll my eyes. “This is the airplane seat all over again. What is it with you and making me, like, transact with you for things that already belong to me?”

He shrugs. “It seemed like a good way to get you to talk to me then, and, well, here you are, talking to me again. I like listening to you talk.”

Butterflies swarm my stomach, and I don’t love it because I absolutely cannot have butterflies for my professor. The man who holds the proverbial keys to my future. Sort of. I huff out a frustrated breath. “What do you want for it?”

He reaches forward with the hand not currently occupied holding my phone hostage and pushes a piece of hair behind my ear.

My skin heats under his touch, and it’s only then I realize how close together we’re standing.

My gaze flies around the room, and I’m relieved to find it empty.

I still take a step back. And he smirks at me again, like he can read my mind.

If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s enjoying the shit out of this little interlude. Smug, gorgeous asshole.

“Coffee,” he says, his deep rumbly voice sending chills up my spine.

“What?”

“You asked what I wanted in exchange for giving you back your phone. I want coffee. With you. Right now.”

I shake my head. “I don’t drink coffee.”

He glances pointedly down at the stainless steel coffee mug in my hand. “What’s that?”

“Diet Pepsi.”

He chuckles. “You put Diet Pepsi in a coffee mug?”

I shrug. “It tastes better this way.”

“I hate to break it to you, Mystery Girl, but Diet Pepsi doesn’t taste good any way. I don’t know where you’re from, but here in Massachusetts, we drink Coke.”

“Bold of you to insult my favorite soda and assume I’ll just jump into this coffee date you seem to want so badly.”

He takes a step forward and grins again when I take another determined step back. “I don’t want it that badly. Listen Mystery Girl, I’m just a guy, standing in front of a girl, telling her I’m keeping her phone unless she has coffee with me. Or, I guess in your case, terrible tasting soda.”

“My name is Amelia, not Mystery Girl.”

He shrugs, all casual like. “Can’t it be both?”

“I’m your student. You can’t call your student Mystery Girl.”

He takes another step forward, and I take one more back, the back of my legs hitting the desk.

I’m trapped, with nowhere to go, and Elliot takes advantage of it, taking one more step towards me.

He leaves enough space so that if I really wanted to duck out, I could, and it’s the consideration in that gesture that fixes my feet to the floor.

With his gaze locked on me, he runs his hand from my shoulder down my arm, the same way he did right before I left him at the airport.

He wraps his fingers loosely around my wrist and speaks softly, blue eyes intense.

“Amelia. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.

Ever since you walked away from me at the airport, all I’ve thought about is you.

I looked for you that day, and then for months, and now here you are.

In my classroom. It feels kind of like it’s all meant to be, doesn’t it? Have coffee with me. Please.”

I swallow hard, his words affecting me more than I want him to know.

I didn’t have to look for him because I knew exactly where he was, but all I’ve thought about was him too.

He’s right here now, and he smells amazing, like some spicy cologne I want to sniff like an addict, and he’s looking at me like I’m the only thing he sees.

But then I remember all the reasons why I can’t.

My low profile. The app no one knows about.

The PhD I mostly want, with him as my advisor.

And I sidestep away from him where I can breathe again.

“This is a really bad idea.” I point to him. “Professor.” And to me. “Student. All kinds of wrong.”

He nods. “Could be. Probably is. I’m sure there’s a policy against it somewhere in that massive faculty handbook I didn’t read. But there’s no policy against coffee. Or terrible soda, in your case. I’ll even throw in a cinnamon roll.”

I huff out a breath. “I love cinnamon rolls.”

A grin spreads over his face. “They’re my favorite. I bought one this morning, but I gave it to my brother’s girlfriend because she needed it more than I did, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.”

“Why did your brother’s girlfriend need your cinnamon roll?”

“Because she’s not a morning person,” he says simply, like that explains everything. “Come on, Mystery Girl. Don’t leave me hanging, under-caffeinated, and cinnamon roll-less. Have coffee with me, and I’ll show you the spot with the best cinnamon rolls in Boston.”

I study him. “Can we talk about you being my research advisor?”

Elliot smiles. “As much as you want.”

“If anyone asks, can we keep how we met a secret?”

Something flashes in his eyes but disappears before I can figure out what it is.

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.

I met you just this morning, in my very first class of the semester.

You want me to be your research advisor, and to do that, I needed to school you in acceptable soda consumption first.”

I smile, enjoying the banter between us a little too much. “Okay then, coffee it is. Give me the address and I’ll meet you there.”

He shakes his head. “Hard pass, Mystery Girl. Last time you walked away from me, I didn’t see you for six months. We’re going together. I’ll drive.”

“Where we’re going involves driving? I figured we would just go somewhere near campus.”

He scoffs. “Sure, if you want inferior cinnamon rolls, we could definitely do that. But you don’t strike me as the inferior cinnamon roll type.”

I glance down at my leggings, battered Ugg boots, and hooded UC Berkeley sweatshirt. “What part of me looks like the kind of person who would be a snob about pastries?”

I realize my mistake immediately. Elliot does a slow perusal of my body, sweeping his heated gaze down and back up again.

My throat goes instantly dry. “Amelia, there isn’t one single inch of you that isn’t superior, and if you think I wouldn’t give you the best of everything, well, I guess we have some things to learn about each other. So, let’s go learn them.”

I take a long, slow breath because I think I might be in a little bit of trouble. Needing to regain the upper hand, or gain it I guess, since I’m pretty sure I lost it as soon as I walked into this classroom five minutes late and froze on the spot, I hold out my hand. “Phone, please.”

He gives it to me, running a finger over the back of my hand in a deliberate move that has goosebumps breaking out all over my body.

“Knew it,” he murmurs, a soft smile on his face. “You’re not going to be able to resist me, Mystery Girl. I already can’t resist you.”

“Uh-uh.” I shake my head, vigorously. “Teacher. Student. Extremely forbidden.”

He shrugs. “Probably more like strongly discouraged, but point taken.”

I stick my phone in my bag and hitch the bag higher on my shoulder, suddenly desperate to get the fuck out of this room and into public, where there are lots of people to remind me why climbing my professor like a tree is wrong. “So, cinnamon rolls?”

Elliot nods, a smile playing on his lips like he knows what’s in my head without me having to speak it out loud. “Cinnamon rolls. Come on, Ames, we’ve got places to be.”

His sudden shift from intense to playful and his use of my nickname gives me whiplash, and as we walk side-by-side out into the cold January day, I can’t help but think that a line was just drawn, dividing my life into what was and what will be.

And I shouldn’t be looking forward to it all nearly as much as I am.