Page 11
It was a huge mistake to bring Maren Olsen on this trip.
That became clear three days ago, as all the chosen students filed onto the bus idling outside the campus library.
All the others grinned sleepily at me from the center of their neck pillows, or reached out for lazy fist bumps as they turned and climbed up the bus steps.
A few of the girls giggled together when I smiled at them, but there was nothing I couldn’t ignore.
Then Maren reached the front of the line, bundled up in a red knitted fisherman’s sweater against the spring chill. Her backpack looked enormous, balanced against her slender shoulders, and her blonde hair was damp from the shower and combed back into some kind of elaborate braid.
And… Christ.
A single look at her, and my stomach plummeted. My skin grew tight and hot, and my pulse started cantering in my throat.
Maren blushed and smiled up at me.
And a vicious headache began to squeeze my skull.
Oh, I greeted her calmly and waved her onto the bus along with the rest of the students, but I knew right then when we hadn’t even left campus: this was a mistake. A disastrous error of judgment.
Because Maren Olsen makes me want to pound my chest, sling her over my shoulder, and steal her away like a goddamn wild man. To throw away my reputation and career in order to sink between those creamy thighs, rutting away at her like a animal. To make her mine.
Yeah. I’m losing my mind—the part of me that has never, ever let me down before. For a supposedly smart man, I’ve set myself one hell of a trap, because I’ve wanted this girl all semester… and now she’s dangerously near.
So now I have eleven more days in close proximity with Maren Olsen. Eleven more days, where I need to keep my unacceptable feelings under wraps, and remember that I am a professor while she is a student.
Eleven days of bumping into Maren around our small campsite, and hearing her soft voice laughing and chatting with the others. Eleven nights of knowing that she’s sleeping nearby, possibly shivering in her sleeping bag, our bodies separated by only a few feet and two flimsy tents.
Fuck.
“Hey, Professor Carter? Is this the right camera for tonight?”
Inhaling sharply, I drag my attention back to the present moment.
We’re at our campsite partway up the mountain, our brightly colored tents pitched in a loose circle around a central fire pit.
A few of the students have gathered around our bus where it’s parked over by the treeline, right before the road turns to dusty, uneven rock.
We’re storing the expensive equipment in the vehicle, though God knows any thieves that schlepped all the way up here to steal our stuff would have earned it.
“Let me see.”
My hiking boots thud against the packed earth as I stride across the campsite. It’s surreal being around my students in jeans and a flannel shirt, but I suppose it would be even stranger to hike up the mountain each night in a suit and tie.
A young guy called Rex with bushy brown hair that always looks recently electrocuted holds up a camera for me to inspect when I reach their small group. When he switches it on to show me the display, the battery pulses red.
“That’s the one. Don’t forget the tripod, too, and the spare charger packs. We want to get steady shots through the night.”
“Got it.”
The Thelseid meteor shower usually lasts around ten days, and it’s forecast to start tonight. It won’t be anything too bombastic on night one, with the show just getting started, but we’re not gonna miss a single second of it.
“Professor?”
A soft voice at my side makes my heart lurch. Schooling my expression, I turn to face the cause of my now daily headaches.
“Yes, Maren?”
She’s in a baggy gray t-shirt, dark leggings and hiking boots, and she’s still somehow the most tempting thing I’ve ever seen. Especially when she blushes prettily and gives me a nervous smile.
“I’ve packed up our food supplies and bear-proofed the camp. Once everyone’s ready, we can head out.”
The breeze teases at a few escaped strands of her blonde hair, the rest scraped back into another neat braid. With the pink-tinged sunset, those strands glint like pale gold.
What I’d give to tug out that hair tie and sink my fingers into those soft strands; to lay Maren down and spread her hair over the pillow in my tent. To send the other students away and have her all to myself, her cries of pleasure echoing around the campsite.
There’s a sharp stab of arousal in my lower belly. Like always, I ignore it.
“Excellent. Thank you.” Turning to the wider campsite, I call out. “Did you hear that, everyone? We’re moving out in ten minutes. Anyone who isn’t ready by then will stay behind.”
A few panicked shrieks float through the mountain air, along with the scuffling sounds of people running around from tent to tent, stuffing supplies into their backpacks. Beside me, Rex curses loudly and starts fumbling the camera into its carry case.
Maren, meanwhile, is serene.
She turns and watches everyone, standing in companionable silence at my side. It’s ridiculous to admit, but even having her standing next to me quietly is so fucking soothing. My constant pounding headache eases, just a little.
“It’s pretty here,” Maren says, so softly that I have to strain to catch her words.
Glancing around, I try to see our utilitarian campsite through my sweet student’s eyes: the bristling pine trees, standing sentinel all around; the rustling birds in their branches; the pink sky and puffs of white cloud.
The view of the mountains and valleys, dropping away from us with barely any towns or roads to interrupt the wilderness.
I’m so used to being in charge, to seeing everything as a data point or checklist, that I’d almost missed the beauty of our surroundings.
“It really is,” I agree.
Campus has never felt further away.
“I’ve never seen a meteor before.” Maren watches the others scurry around camp, nibbling on her plump bottom lip.
“No?”
“Nope.” She slides me a wry smile. “I’m a journalism major. To be honest, I took this class because I needed a science credit to graduate. I never expected… well.” Maren waves a hand at our campsite, on what feels like the edge of the Earth. “This.”
“But you’re glad you came?” My question sounds way too urgent.
Like I’m desperate to know; desperate for Maren to want to be here too.
And it would be humiliating, so out of line for a professor to get so intense over a student, except she brushes the back of my hand with her own. Just for a split second, we touch.
Shock travels up my wrist, my arm, all the way to my shoulder like an electric pulse. Standing rigid, I stare out at the mountains and valleys.
Did that just happen?
“Of course,” Maren says. “Of course I want to be here.”
Christ.
And when she walks away, stepping delicately over tent lines, the back of her neck is bright pink.
* * *
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