12. Fletcher

Okay, so he's clearly not happy I'm here. But I couldn't resist. When Professor Briggs invited me along, I just couldn't say no.

"So Professor Barlowe, are you having a good summer?" I ask him, trying to make it sound innocent, but really my mind is back at his office. Me on his desk. What if I would have kissed him? Would he have pushed me away right away, or would he been just as helpless as I feel when it comes to this thing between us?

God, I wanted him to kiss me and never stop. I would have stripped naked and bent over his desk so damn fast, if I thought that's what he wanted too. But for now, I'm just playing the slow game.

Being cordial and hanging out near him. Totally normal behavior, I'm almost positive.

But he's glaring at me again.

"Oh my God, call him Ronan before that little vein in his forehead pops," Professor Briggs says with a laugh and places her hand over the middle of her chest. "And you can call me Annie." Then she points to Professor Harmon. "And him Nathan."

"Annie," I say with a smile and then nod. "I do like that." I turn to the professor who really does look like he's going to pop a vein. "Ronan."

"And Nathan," Professor Harmon finishes.

Ronan grumbles something into the beer he's drinking with his hamburger, but I don't think I want to hear that, so I let it go.

"So how is helping Annie, Fletcher?" Nathan asks, not making his friend answer my question, and I suppose that's for the best too.

"Pretty great. I think I could really get used to sociology."

Annie whoops, and Nathan just shakes his head at me. "Not math? Come on. What makes more sense than math?" he teases.

I laugh at that. "Yeah, no offense, but math is just about as entertaining as economics."

Annie chuckles. "See, you number boys will never understand. People will always trump numbers."

"Numbers never lie," Nathan says matter-of-factly.

"So this is what professors talk about in their free time?" I ask, and Annie cackles. Apparently, it is. But it's cool to see Ronan like this. He may be trying to keep his face serious, but I see the cracks in it when Annie teases him.

Or when Nathan teases Annie back for him. When they talk about the nightmare of grading and how they really do need to enjoy their summer now because they aren't really looking forward to the fall.

Not just yet.

But I can tell they all love their jobs.

We finish our burgers, and then Nathan asks Ronan to play pool. Ronan waves him off, as does Annie, but I don't. "I'm up for a game." I hop up, and Nathan looks excited.

"Thank God. Someone who knows how to have fun."

"Well, he is a damn fetus," Ronan grumbles. I raise my eyebrows in his direction.

"A fetus? Really?"

He looks away, and I swear I actually see a blush on his cheeks, but I can't be sure. Nathan just laughs at that. "Aw, Ronan. Are you sad you aren't the youngest anymore? Because you're pretty damn close to fetus stage."

Ronan surprises me when he raises his middle finger in his friend's direction, but Nathan doesn't seem surprised. It's wild to see him almost free like this.

Could he ever be like this with me?

I head over to the pool table and start a game with Nathan, but the whole time, my eyes keep drifting to Ronan. God, I'm even obsessed with his name.

If Nathan notices, he doesn't call me on it, and I'm grateful because I don't think Ronan would like that at all, and I'm trying to get on his good side, damn it.

That kiss.

That kiss is ingrained in my brain. Just planted right there in my memory, and I play it over and over again.

I want to kiss him again. So damn badly.

Fetus.

I'm not a damn fetus. I may only be eighteen, and I may act like a shithead, but I'm very mature for my age. I had to grow up young, and I can handle hanging out with people ten years, or even more, older than me.

And Ronan—I don't think he's even ten years older than me. I should do some research and find out his exact age. He looks really young for a professor. I don't think he's even hit his thirties yet.

"How old are you, Nathan?" I ask, trying like hell to sound casual but failing and failing hard because way to just blurt that out, Fletcher.

"Thirty-nine. Why?" he asks cautiously.

I shrug, lining up a shot and sending the number four ball to the corner pocket. "Just curious. Since you all called me a fetus."

He tosses his head back and laughs at that. I miss the next shot, and he lines up to take the next one. "Well, that's what we call Ronan. Annie's turned thirty-five six times since I met her." That makes me smile. "And then there's Ronan, who just turned twenty-six."

Twenty-six.

I can't fight the smile on my face at that because I knew it. He's not that much older than me.

I can also work with that.