23. Chapter 23

My hand tightens against something hard. My face isn't pressed against my soft pillow—it's pressed against something warm and hard. Of its own accord, my hand tightens. A low grunt fills the room.

Last night starts coming back to me. I remember Cody and me spending the rest of the day in my bed, watching movies, devouring snacks, and me crying endlessly.

But—wait—he's not who I fell asleep with last night.

No. Quinton came. While I was sleeping, he lifted the covers, his warm body sliding next to mine. Before I drifted back into a deep slumber, I remember pulling him tighter against me. Comforting me. Bringing me back to reality. Letting me know that I'm okay. I'm always okay with him. He's my lifeline, my safety blanket, the one who always brings me comfort when I need it.

He makes another grunting sound. And oh god—that's when I realize it. Immediately my fist relaxes as I jerk up from my sleeping position. Cheeks flaming. My hand was on him. As in his morning wood.

Oh god.

Mentally I facepalm myself and want to curl under the covers.

Oops.

"Oh god, Quinton," I rasp out. "I didn't. I, uh, I didn't realize I was holding you. I mean, I knew you were there, but I—uhh—I didn't realize my dick, oh god, not mine but your dick was in my hand." Stuttering the words, I feel the heat spread from my face, down my neck, to my chest. I'm mortified.

What's with my hand always finding a dick to squeeze when I'm sleeping? Some people have comfort blankets, I have comfort cocks.

He laughs. Quinton opens his eyes and starts laughing. I don't think it's funny. Certainly not funny enough to warrant him cracking up at my embarrassment.

"It's fine, B. I thought I was dreaming."

Turning my body so that I'm facing him, I bring my legs up, crossing them underneath me. "You—uhh—have dreams like that?" I ask him as the blush comes back.

What is wrong with me? Sex doesn"t bother me and talking about sex definitely doesn't bother me. But talking about it with Q has my cheeks flaming.

"Yeah, I am a guy," he answers me, bringing his arms back behind his head.

He makes no movement other than that. But I can't help but notice that, when he raised his arm, his shirt rode up. His black skin is peeking beneath his gray shirt, and I desperately want to trail my fingers down his muscled stomach. He looks content in my bed. Like he's comfortable and that we sleep together all the time.

Plot twist, we don't.

Aside from that time in Chicago. If we stay together, Quinton always takes the floor. Always.

At first, I thought it was strange, because what guy wouldn't take the opportunity to sleep next to me or any girl, but I just thought it was him being respectful. There's something so hot about a guy that has manners and treats women with respect.

Shaking my head, I pull the sleeve of my hoodie down into my palm before bringing my hand to my face, resting my elbow on my knee.

"No, not like that. I mean, I know you're a guy, a guy that likes sex. I meant a dream about me, and, oh god, never mind."

I try to hide my face, but what he says next has me snapping my eyes to his, searching his face for a giveaway that he's joking.

"Yes, Brynn. I've thought about you in my dreams. Like that."

There's no evidence that he's joking. None. The only thing I see is a pained expression painted on his face. It looks like he's hurt to finally get those words out of his mouth. I just stare at him, unsure of what to say next. Breaking our gaze, I jump out of bed, almost getting tripped up in the blanket that is still wrapped around my foot.

"I have to shower before class," I practically shout, racing toward my en suite.

Shutting the door behind me, I feel myself start to breathe again. My mind is going back to the admission that he's dreamed of me. Now factor that in with our kiss in Chicago, and I'm one confused Brynn. Does Quinton have feelings for me? When did that happen?

What do we do now?

There was that kiss outside our front door when we got back from Chicago, but I was just doing what felt right. He was the one who told me to do what felt right in the moment. And in that moment, I needed his lips on mine.

The little touches and small gestures he makes have woken something inside of me. There's a spark, a connection between us. Maybe there always has been, and I've been too blind to acknowledge it. But I don't want to fight it anymore.

Because the truth is, Quinton Boyd makes me feel alive. I don't have to find the high when I'm with him. He brings out the high that's already inside me.

Do I tell him about the shift I've been feeling? That my body hums in his presence. That I can sense him in a room before I see him.

Walking over to my sink, I pull out my toothbrush, dabbing a small amount of toothpaste on the bristles. Bringing the toothbrush to my mouth, I start brushing my teeth while my mind starts to play back over the years.

Quinton has always been protective of me, always coming to my defense when a guy gets too handsy or when slut-shaming begins for my extracurricular activities. We spend a lot of time together, but that"s just what friends do, right? It's normal to spend this much time together…right?

These thoughts are making my brain hurt. It doesn"t help that I have an emotional hangover from yesterday's grieving session. Factor in all the junk food, alcohol, and smoking and I'm spent. A real hot freaking mess.

Spitting the toothpaste out of my mouth, I rinse the brush and swish water in my mouth, before splashing cold water on my face. Stripping my clothes, I climb into the shower, letting the cold water run over me until it gets warm.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm stepping out of my bathroom with my hair in a towel and a robe covering my body. Surprise has me jumping. Quinton is still here. He's sitting on my bed, dressed in last night's clothes, scrolling through his phone. Glancing around my room, I see that all of the trash from the day before has been cleaned up, and my bed has been made.

"You didn't have to do that," I say, referring to cleaning my room.

His shoulders flex with tension. And I hate that. I hate that he was vulnerable with me and instead of talking to him about it, I fled. I'm good at that. Running when life gets a little challenging.

Glancing over his shoulder, he takes in my body. Running his eyes from my bare legs up my silk robe-covered body, snagging a little longer on my cleavage that is exposed from the opening of the robe, before making his way up to my eyes. Dark stormy eyes meet my "deer-in-the-headlights" expression. Vulnerability and sadness, and maybe a little arousal, line his features. He runs his hand over the back of his head, gripping his neck. Exhaling, I feel myself deflate.

"Q," I sigh, stepping closer to him. "I'm sorry I walked away."

My legs are next to his, and I'm standing over him as he sits. Seeing him sitting there, looking up at me with desire in his eyes does something to me. Warmth starts to spread through my body, settling in my lower stomach, nipples pebbling against the silk. He must see something on my face, because lust fills his eyes.

Quinton breaks eye contact first. Clearing his throat, he stands up. Our bodies are close, much closer than normal, especially since I'm wearing nothing except for a thin silk robe.

"Don't apologize," he says. He brings his hand to my cheek before sliding it down and gripping the back of my neck, pulling me into a hug.

I'm temporarily frozen by what has just happened, and it takes me a minute to react. Placing my arms around his middle, I return his hug. Quinton gives the best hugs. They're warm and comforting. He makes me feel strong when I feel weak. He makes me feel safe when I'm scared. Grounding me when the darkness creeps in.

Quinton Boyd feels like home. A home I've been searching for since I lost my brother.

Kissing the top of my head, he releases me. "See ya later, B."

And with that, Quinton leaves my room, leaving me feeling confused and aroused.

"Miss Wilder, can I see you in my office?" Professor Peters asks before he dismisses the class.

Cody and I exchange a glance. I knew that my outburst last week wasn't going to go unnoticed, but I was hoping Prof. Peters would be cool about it and just let it go.

"Want me to wait?" Cody whispers as he gathers up his stuff.

Putting my laptop away, I look over at him. "No, I'll see you in the Union for lunch."

The rest of the students look in my direction. I can see jealousy written all over the girls" faces. They wish they were me and were being asked to have a private conversation in Professor Peters's office. And yeah, there was a time that I wanted that too, but I don't want that anymore.

The idea of having a fling with a professor has lost its appeal. After this morning, I just want to get to the Union and have lunch with my favorite people. Quinton has been radio silent since he left my room this morning. I texted him a couple of times, but he just read them without responding. Which is annoying. Like, don't even read the messages if you're just going to ignore someone.

Tossing my backpack on my back, I make my way down the steps toward the bottom of the lecture hall and out the side exit toward the hallway that houses some of the professors' offices. Professor Peters's is the last one. The door is open, waiting for me. Knocking first, I step into his office. It's a decent size space with a desk, filing cabinets, and a small couch against the opposite wall from the desk. His walls are decorated with diplomas and motivational quotes. Honestly, I didn't expect Peters to be so stereotypical and have motivational quotes. It just seems so basic. One thing that Peters isn't.

"Ahh, Miss Wilder, please have a seat."

He gestures to the soft chair that faces his desk. And that's exactly what I do. I take a seat across from my professor.

"I'm really sorry for my outburst last week," I spit out, body slumping against the chair, once again, internally smacking my head.

Professor Peters just smiles at me as I watch his eyes rake over my body. Austin is still really warm, even though we are well into fall and approaching November. Today I threw on a distressed denim skirt and an alternative rock band tank top. Peters stares at my crossed legs where my skirt has risen from sitting down. If we're being completely honest, three weeks ago, I would've jumped at the excuse to be alone with him. Yeah, he might be my professor, but when you look this damn good, it doesn't matter. He's throwing forbidden romance vibes my way. Gosh, I sound like Chloe and one of her romance novels.

Placing both elbows on the desk, Peters leans forward.

"I should be the one apologizing," he says, looking up at me. "I'm going to be blunt with you, Brinley. I've heard about you. Hell, most of the professors at CTU know about you. Your reputation precedes you. They know about your wild ways, and you're notorious for showing up to classes hungover."

He pauses, a smirk coming over his face.

And I can't help but start to feel a little uncomfortable. His words are a shock to my system. I didn't think my out-of-class activities would pique so many professors' interests. Do I party? Yes. Do I enjoy guys? It's college. Do I have fun? Hell, yes. But what I do outside of my classes should have no reflection of what I do inside the classroom. Especially when I've maintained a 3.5 grade-point average.

Before I have a chance to interrupt, he gets up from his side of the desk, sauntering toward my side. Leaning his lower half against the front of his desk, Peters crosses his outstretched legs at the ankles, and rests his arms across his chest which makes his muscles flex. Quinton flashes into my mind and how he used his muscles to brace himself over me. Moisture gathers at my center at the memory.

Once again, his eyes pursue my body.

"It was unfair of me to judge you and put you on the spot like that. I let your reputation get the best of me and, for that, I'm sorry."

"It's no problem," I respond quickly. Wariness spreads through my body. "Let's call it water under the bridge."

I smile up at him, hoping this conversation gets over quickly.

He doesn't take the hint. Instead, he leans a little closer to me, his legs brushing my bare ones. I quickly remove them from his touch.

"Each semester, professors are allowed to ask a student to become their office assistant. After hearing your story and seeing how serious you are about getting your degree, I thought you'd be perfect to provide assistance whenever I need something. Would this be something you'd be interested in?"

And my stomach drops at the way he said assist. If I'm not mistaken, Professor Peters is interested in me providing assistance outside of the classroom. And that makes my skin crawl.

"Oh, um, I—" I try to sputter out a response, feeling extremely uneasy.

"It'd be a wonderful opportunity for you to learn one-on-one outside of the classroom. I have some colleagues I could introduce you to who would offer you some more experience and get you set up post-college."

Sitting up, I pull down my skirt, watching Peters's eyes follow my movement. Clearing my throat, I finally find my voice.

"Thank you so much for the opportunity. Would it be possible to get back to you?"

Annoyance and confusion flash over his face. Peters doesn't seem like the kind of guy who is used to being told "no" or asked to wait. Just as quickly as the annoyance flashed across his face, he schools his features, that flirty smirk coming back.

"Of course, Brinley. Just don't take too much time. This is an arrangement that would benefit both of us, and I'd love to get started sooner rather than later."

"Of course," I reply, and quickly scoop up my backpack, walking toward the door.

I can feel his eyes trailing my movement. As much as everyone talks about having a fling with their professor, this whole exchange has left me feeling extremely uncomfortable. Making my way out of his office, I continue pulling my skirt down. I know it's an appropriate length, but after that talk, I just feel dirty.

Quickening my pace, I push open the doors to Rogers Hall. Taking in a long inhale of fresh air, I feel like I can finally breathe again. But as I start walking toward the Union, I can"t help but sense I'm being watched. Glancing over my shoulder, I see Professor Peters standing at his window, watching me. A shiver runs through me. I'm officially feeling sketched out.

Inside the Union, I go straight to the cafeteria. Skipping my usual salad, I head over to the grill. I need something fried ASAP. Deciding on the fried veggie medley, I grab a Coke from the drink machine and make my way to the checkout.

"Oh, honey, please tell me this isn"t your lunch," Tina, my favorite cashier, says.

Smiling at her, I pull out my card and swipe it.

"Then I won't tell you that this is my lunch."

Tina just shakes her head.

"Are you okay, dear?"

"Of course," I say way too loudly with a wobbly smile.

Narrowing her eyes, she stares at me. Skimming my features for any crack in my mask.

"If you say so," she says. "Have a good day, hon."

"Thanks, Tina. Have a good one too."

Grabbing my tray, I scan the room for my friends. My eyes snag on Cody, who's waving his hands in the air. Instantly, I feel at ease. Dropping my tray across from Cody, I sit down in a seat next to Quinton. Picking up my straw, I hit it on the table with more force than necessary, in hopes to get it open.

"Jeez, B, what'd that straw do to you?" JP asks with a chuckle.

But I don't respond. Feeling the looks of both Cody and Quinton, my initial reaction is to hunker down in my chair and hide.

Cody speaks first. "What the hell did he do?"

The straw finally pops out of the paper, and I slip it into the lid of my fountain Coke, taking a large gulp before responding.

"Nothing. He just wanted to clear the air from last week," I lie.

Cody sees right through the lie.

"Bullshit."

Quinton hasn't said anything yet. He just stares at me, burning a hole in the side of my face. I haven't looked at him. If he can ignore me all morning, I can ignore him too. We're playing a real childish game.

"Everything is fine," I say, dipping a fried cauliflower in the ranch dipping sauce.

Cody looks at me, and then looks at Quinton.

"You're a fucking liar," he says, looking at Quinton for help. He isn"t getting any from him. "What's going on between you two? Something happen after I left last night?"

I sneak a glance at Quinton as his jaw flexes. But the moment is interrupted by Macy. She slams her tray down on the table, making me jump.

"Shit, Macy," Quinton barks.

"What?" she asks, taking in the tension at the table. "Did I interrupt something?"

JP jumps in since Cody, Quinton, and I say nothing. "Something weird is happening between these three."

Macy looks us over.

"Does this have anything to do with you guys staying over last night? Oh my god," she gasps. "Did you three have a little fun?" Her eyebrows wiggle at her insinuation that the three of us hooked up.

All of our heads snap in her direction.

"Hell no," Cody all but yells. "I left when Q came over."

"Oh thank god." Macy chuckles. "Because that'd be awkward as hell."

"I can't believe that"s the conclusion you came up with," I say. "Professor Peters asked me to stay after class. That's all."

"Hot Professor Peters?" Macy asks, with a mouth full of food. "Because damn, what I wouldn"t give to get him alone."

"What'd he want, Wilder?" Quinton finally speaks up.

"Nothing, he just wanted to know if I was interested in being his office assistant this year." Before the guys have a chance to say anything, I add, "I got a weird vibe while I was there."

"What'd he do?" Cody and Quinton say in unison.

"You're weird right now," Cody says.

"Did he touch you?" Quinton adds.

Our whole table is watching this conversation.

"Guys, enough. Nothing happened. I'm going to tell him ‘no.' Everything is fine," I reply, diving back into my food. "Are you boys ready for the game tomorrow?" I ask, changing the subject.

JP responds with a "hell yeah," but Q doesn't take his eyes off me. We need to talk about this morning, about the change we both are feeling.

But I'm scared. I'm scared of these feelings, and I'm scared of losing him if we aren't on the same page.

I can't lose Quinton.

A voice clears at the end of our table, and everyone's eyes snap in that direction. Monica is standing at our table. She's dressed in a pink T-shirt, the Kappa Alpha Theta letters across her chest, and skintight black leggings showing off her tiny frame.

"Hey, Brynn," she greets me.

But her eyes don't find mine. They find Cody's. Setting my food back down on my tray, I swallow the remaining food in my mouth.

"Monica!" I welcome her a little louder than needed, but I'm happy for the interruption from my thoughts. "Guys, this is Monica. Monica, this is, well—this is everyone."

She smiles at everyone.

"Cody, Monica is in our psych class."

His head pops up at that, paying Monica more attention. I watch as he trails his eyes from her face down her legs.

"Oh, awesome. Want to join us?"

Monica looks at me, and a grin spreads across her face before turning her attention back to Cody.

"Sure, thanks!"

And with the interruption of our new table mate, the conversation turns toward her, making everyone forget about my trip to Professor Peters's office.