28. Emily

28

EMILY

I didn't remember closing my eyes, but suddenly I was fluttering them open as the early morning light poured in from my window. I waited a second, watching the dust particles dance through the air, and took a deep breath, knowing what I'd find without having to look. Cold sheets and an empty bed. Almost like last night was nothing more than some hyper-realistic fantasy made up by the mind of a girl who hadn't gotten laid in a while.

The very real throbbing between my legs told me it wasn't though.

I didn't bother to check for a note or a text as I forced myself to roll off the mattress and changed into a clean t-shirt and a pair of sweats. What I really needed was a shower, to wash the scent of his cologne off my skin and the taste of his mouth from my lips.

But a quick glance at the old-school analog clock on my nightstand told me that was the real fantasy. I'd forgotten to charge my phone and had just enough time to sprint across the lawn and slide into my seat for my first class of the day.

I tied my hair up into a high ponytail before setting my notebook and pen in front of me. Most of my classmates used their laptops, but I enjoyed the weight of a pen in my hands and the feel of ink gliding across the page. And right now, I needed the distraction. To get out of my head and ground myself. Because forgetting Cohen wasn't so easy when my senses couldn't escape him.

You'd think getting fucked out of my mind would ease the tension in my muscles, help my body relax. It didn't. I felt hungover, like I'd taken too many shots of vodka instead of too much dick in one sitting, while my stomach growled from yet another missed breakfast. I should have been embarrassed by the way I looked, but the truth was I just blended in with the rest of the masses, who all smelled like sex and last night's bad decisions.

Because that's what Cohen Michaels was. A bad decision. A mistake. Something I was more than a little aware of as I sat with my eyes glued to the door, like thinking about him enough would make him appear. Ten minutes into Professor Hughes's lecture, I'd accepted the fact that wasn't going to happen either.

So when I heard the door squeak open, followed by heavy footfalls towards the front of the class, I didn't bother to look up from my notebook. Until my doodles were distorted by the ring of a coffee cup.

"Hey! What the hell—" The words caught in my throat and nearly choked me to the point that all I could do was comply when a hand reached down. Grabbed my wrist and tugged me to my feet.

"You forgot your phone," Cohen said as he set the device in my hand and curled my fingers around it before he deposited a brown paper bag next to the coffee cup. "And breakfast."

Then he lowered his head. Palmed my cheek and kissed me. I found myself unable to speak, standing here and wondering when I'd fallen asleep while asking myself why I was still dreaming about some guy who dined and dashed on me last night. Because I couldn't imagine any other way this could be real.

"All right, Mr. Michaels." Professor Hughes cleared his throat, and I suddenly realized that all eyes were on us. Cohen and me. In the middle of class. When I looked like I'd been thoroughly fucked and he smelled freshly showered. "I've given you enough leeway. If it's not too much of an inconvenience, I'd like to continue with my lecture."

I heard a few chuckles in the back of the room, before Cohen's glare had them stifling their laughter with a fake cough. He didn't say anything else. Just pinned me with that same glare, his eyes blazing a bright blue as he took a step back. Pivoted on his heel and walked out the door like I'd once again imagined the whole thing.

Professor Hughes's voice broke through the buzzing in my ears as he went on to babble about mathematical equations I didn't have the brain capacity to grasp at the moment. I shook my head, trying to reboot my senses while ignoring the hushed whispers and frequent stares, as I reached into the paper bag and pulled out a chocolate muffin.

I wanted to grin, to believe the gesture meant something. I could feel my facial muscles pulling taut without me telling them to, but I'd never been one of those girls. The type to think a muffin and a coffee were anything more than a muffin and a coffee . A small gesture that didn't signify something it wasn't.

If anything, this was a cheap thank you . Like a quick tap on the ass on your way to the door. A don't call me, I'll call you kind of thing in the form of my favorite breakfast order.

It could have been worse though. And my stomach was grateful to not have to eat itself for the next few hours.

The sound of my phone vibrating caught my attention as I plopped a piece of pastry into my mouth and savored the way the chocolate melted on my tongue. I should have been focusing on class. But I couldn't help the way my eyes hitched to the message pinned to the top of my screen.

UNKNOWN:

Stop staring at the bag and actually eat your breakfast, Emily. And don't leave your phone behind again. If I text you, I want to know you're able to respond. And not just being stubborn.

I rolled my eyes. I shouldn't expect anything less than arrogance from the man, even if he was doing something nice.

UNKNOWN:

You still smell like me, by the way.

He was right. I did smell like him. And I was sure everyone in this lecture hall now knew why.