“You should be,” Brian said. “But, ah, do you think you’ll be able to handle that?”
Anger swelled in my chest. I knew he cared. Knew Megan cared. But I wasn’t a child. Yes, I had anxiety problems and issues with personal space, but I wasn’t breakable. Being treated like a fragile doll was frustrating. And I’d decided a long time ago, when I walked out of my mother’s house, to stop being weak.
“I can handle a lot, Brian.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but Megan cut him off. “What time are you done? We can both meet you afterward for dinner.”
“Lecture gets out at four-fifty, so let’s aim for five.”
“Perfect.” Megan clapped and Brian nodded in agreement. “We can celebrate your first lecture on the other side of the fence.”
~
I ran my palms down the front of my black pencil skirt. The emerald fabric matched my eyes and, as usual, my long curls hung loose around my face and down my back. This was my power outfit. The curtain my hair provided was my security blanket. Staring down a theater of one-hundred-plus students, I needed all the security and confidence I could get.
Starting up the PowerPoint deck, I cleared my throat, and reminded myself that I knew this material. I was prepared, organized, and all variables were accounted for. Any possible scenario that could disrupt the lecture had been thought of and a plan of action in place. From a student randomly vomiting to a surprise fire alarm, I had a solution for it all. Having control, or at least the illusion of it, gave me a sense of peace.
I began the lecture, feeling more confident by the minute. Midway through, I glanced up from the presentation to look at the crowd. My blood pressure spiked and my palms went sweaty.
Standing in the doorway of the upper corner entry was Mr. GQ.
With the lights off, it was hard to make out every detail of his handsome face, but those wild baby blues were bright against the darkness. He slid into the back row near the door and simply stared at me.
My throat went dry and my whole body shook. I tucked a lock of hair behind my ear—then untucked it. I forced myself to concentrate and continue.
Damn it. He was a variable I hadn’t counted on. Taking in a gulp of air, I prepared for the flood of anxiety to rush over me.
But it didn’t.
His eyes were intense, his demeanor so fluid and calming I could drink from it. What he made me feel wasn’t fear, it was awe. He radiated power and control and with every stolen glance at him, I felt stronger. Simply being in his presence made me feel secure, but the explanation for such a feeling was eluding me.
The next thirty minutes dragged by and though I didn’t have a nervous breakdown, my heart rate stayed above ninety. His eyes never left mine and I felt the heat behind every gaze. Ignoring him was a lesson in improbability—one I failed miserably.
When the students left, he walked down the steps toward the front of the room where I stood.
“Hi.” I smiled, trying not to sound overly anxious. “What are you doing here?” My tone was accidently harsh, but damn it, my whole body was buzzing like I had been running a marathon for the last hour.
His tone however didn’t falter. “I’m learning about sociology.”
“Really?”
His eyes skated over me and I fought the instinct to cross my arms over my chest and huddle into a ball. Appearing small and meek was a great way to avoid confrontation. But standing in front of this man, I found myself wanting to be noticed. Instead of cowering, I straightened my stance and smiled.
He was in a black suit and tie with a crisp white shirt underneath. Just as striking as I remembered. I grinned when I noticed his five o’clock shadow and couldn’t help glancing at the clock. It appeared I had been right about that.
“Is something amusing you?” he asked.
“Yes.” Maybe it was the adrenaline or the fact that I was coming down from it, but I couldn’t suppress the sheer joy that was rising in my gut. Somewhere in the back of my mind I had been certain I’d never see him again. But he was here. This was my chance. My makeover moment.
“Did you like the blouse?”
“Yes. Thank you. It really wasn’t necessary, though. I would have returned it to you—”
“Why would you give back something you like?”
The words caught in my throat. I stood there once again at a disadvantage, and I needed to rectify that. Licking my lips, I rallied my courage, and mentally chanted: Coffee dates aren’t scary. You can do this. Will do this. Just ask his name, then ask him out.
“What is your name?”
“Adam Kinkade.”
Damn. Even his name sounded sexy— “Wait. Kinkade? Like Kinkade Enterprises down the street?” I walked past the tall glass skyscraper every day on my way to and from the university.