“I should go,” she insisted, although she didn’t move toward the door.
“You’d better.” And just like that, he let her go, stalking back toward his desk.
“Seven tomorrow?” She turned to look at him working the buttons on his shirt, tucking it into his jeans.
“Don’t be late,” he said, buttoning his cuffs.
“I won’t.” Her voice was barely a whisper as she slipped out his office door.
* * * *
What in the hell am I doing?
Bailey stood in front of the mirror, pulling at the hem of her dress—it was even shorter and far more form-fitting than the one she’d worn to class—wondering if she might be losing her mind after all. The fumes from all those chemistry experiments had gone to her head. He’d said it wasn’t a date—but then he’d proceeded to tell her how much he wanted to fuck her.
Mind games. I hate mind games.
But she didn’t hate Professor Jacobs—Dom. She thought of him as Dom now. She wanted to hate him, considering he was the only thing standing between her and her dream, but hating him would just be shooting the messenger. She sucked at chemistry. It was a fact. She couldn’t blame him for that.
I have an idea.
What did he mean by that? She wondered.
“So you’re off to fuck the chemistry prof for an A, right?” Joanna poked her head in, grinning.
“Shut up, Jo.” Bailey turned, surveying her curvy figure in the soft, grey form-fitted dress she’d chosen that barely came to mid-thigh. “It’s not like that.”
“Oh really?” Joanna raised her eyebrows as Bailey slung her purse over her shoulder. “So you’re risking frostbite on your nether regions for nothing?”
“It’s a nice restaurant, that’s all.” She’d actually had to look it up. She’d never been to Camille’s on the River before.
“Whatever you say.” Joanna rolled her eyes.
“Are we on-call tonight?”
Joanna shared the nights with another doula. They’d been friends since grade school but it was Joanna’s mother’s turn-of-life baby that had gotten the girls involved. Joanna’s interest in babies—and how they were made—had sparked Bailey’s interest back in middle school. They’d poured over nursing and obstetric texts, sitting cross-legged in the library, awed by the whole process, from beginning to end.
“Yeah. So don’t turn off your phone.” Joanna admonished her from the couch where Simon had curled up and was purring so loudly Bailey could hear him even with her head in the closet. Joanna let her go as a “birth photographer.” Photography happened to be Bailey’s other passion and the money she received from families doing birth photos paid for anything fun she wanted to do, since most of her paycheck went toward rent and food.
“Even if you end up back at his place.” Joanna grinned as Bailey pulled her shabby, puffy, pink winter jacket out of the closet.
“I told you it’s not—”
“It’s not like that, so you say.” Joanna rolled her eyes, pushing the cat off her lap and coming over to the closet. She grabbed Bailey’s coat and hung it back up. “But if anything does happen, I want all the deets when you get home!”
“There won’t be any… deets,” Bailey protested as her friend pulled out her own long, black wool coat.
“You don’t wear come-fuck-me pumps if you’re not expecting to get fucked,” Joanna stage-whispered, as if Simon cared what they were talking about. She handed over her wool coat. “Wear this. At least your legs won’t freeze.”
“Shut up, Jo.” Bailey stuck out her tongue.
“It’s a shame to cover that dress. You can see everything.”
Bailey turned, buttoning her coat, about to say the words but her friend interrupted.
“I know, I know, shut up, Jo!” She laughed, pushing Bailey out the door. “Have a good night! And remember, I want details!”
* * * *
The restaurant was packed, which wasn’t a surprise for a Saturday night in a college town. Bailey hung back behind a group giving their name to the maître d', glancing around the dimly lit restaurant in hopes she would see him. The maître d' looked up at her expectantly and she stepped up, clearing her throat, about to speak his name when he appeared, stepping around the podium to take her arm.
“We’re over here.” Dom nodded toward the back of the restaurant. “Want to hang up your coat?”
Bailey let him slide it off her shoulders and she heard his sharp intake of breath when he saw her dress. She smiled coyly when he missed the hook—twice—because he couldn’t take his eyes off her as she smoothed the soft material over her hips. Once her coat was squared away, they headed around the bar. It was dark and cozy and she wondered if he’d been fibbing when he told her he didn’t sleep with students, because this felt like a date to her.