Teach Me(26)

The bartender passes my drink over the counter, and even though it’s the kind of Scotch you really ought to savor, and shame on anyone who doesn’t, I toss the drink back in two swift swallows, and slide it across the counter, tapping a finger on the wood to order a second.

The bartender’s eyebrows rise, but he refills my glass all the same.

Deep breaths, Jack. Calm the fuck down. Why has this girl got you tied up in knots? You barely know her. Yes, she was a good lay—okay, a great one. Beyond that, though?

I clench the glass in my fist and start to wind my way through the crowd toward our secluded side room. Before I can exit the main room, though, Drew intercepts me and drags me back toward the bar.

“I need a break from the girl talk,” he says, running a hand through his hair as he orders a pint of Stella. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Mindy’s friends, but wow, they sure do enjoy discussing the haircuts their favorite singers got last week.”

I force a grin, trying to act normal. “Thanks, mate.”

Drew shoots me a look of total confusion. “For what?”

“Reminding me why I fly solo.” I slap him on the back, which nearly makes him choke on his pint. He glowers at me over the rim. I continue to smirk as I swallow a mouthful of my drink. It burns my throat on the way down, which is exactly what I enjoy about it. Scotch is the kind of drink that reminds you what it feels like to be alive.

Painfully good.

“Better watch out. Between all the ladies gunning for you, I don’t know if you can keep up the solo act for long.”

My eyes roll so far up they’re in danger of getting lost in the back of my head. “Not you too.”

“Hey, I’m not taking sides. I’m only saying, can you loan me some of whatever pheromones you’ve been spraying on lately?”

“It’s called being attractive; you should try it some time. Maybe if you cut down on the Stella and up on the gym time . . . ” This quickly devolves into a few minutes of good-natured insulting one another.

Halfway through this, we order another round. But I’m interrupted in the middle of a heavy-handed insinuation that Mindy has Drew padlocked around her ring finger when his attention drifts to behind me, and his eyebrows rise.

“Don’t look now,” he says in an undertone, “But I think your Eau de Jack’s Lusty Lady Parfum has ensnared another innocent bystander.”

I turn, fully expecting to see Sara or one of her girlfriends behind me, probably to offer me a crappy mixed drink like last time. Instead, I find Harper standing at my elbow, eyes on me, though judging by the way they’re narrowed, I’m guessing she might have overheard the tail end of Drew’s pronouncement.

“Ms. Reed,” I say curtly, before she can speak, emphasizing the two words to try and give her the hint. Not the time or the place to talk, if that’s what she’s trying to do.

“Professor.” Her voice is even, giving nothing away. Is she upset? Annoyed at me? Just trying to get a drink? I start to sidestep, in case she’s only trying to get to the bar behind us, but she steps with me, tracking my movement. Her gaze narrows, and her hands come to rest on her hips. The same place I dug my fingers into earlier.

This time, her voice hardens, sharper than diamond. “I just wanted to let you know I might be a little late on that assignment you foisted on me.”

Ah. Well, I can hardly blame her for being mad. Especially, now that I think about it, since I’m in a bar right after leaving her with a single day to complete an assignment that would take most students at her level at least two weeks to puzzle out.

Mad is good, in fact. She needs to be mad. That way we won’t risk any kind of repeat of this morning’s . . . activities. “That’s all right,” I say. “If you’re finding it too challenging, I can reassign you something a little more your speed.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I can handle it. I just plan to make sure it’s done correctly, and not left in a haphazard mess because someone didn’t want to spend the time it deserves.”

The Grease wannabe from earlier slides up behind Harper to rest one hand at her hip as well, his fingers curling around hers in a gesture that’s far too familiar. “Everything all right here?” he says, staring me down.

I stare right back, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to punch this kid right here. “Perfectly fine, not that it’s any of your business.”

“Jack?” Drew shoots me a what the fuck? look, the hand holding his beer drifting toward the counter like he can sense my fight urge rising, and he wants to be ready to either back me up or hold me off, whichever the scene calls for.