His back was to me, offering me a nice view of his long legs and leather-clad torso.
Straddling the bike, he kicked up his stand and drove off into the sunset like a troubled hero from one of those movies I watched too much—. This guy, he was nice, but he wasn’t ” “Look at you.
I spent the next several minutes arranging my laptop on the table in front of me, organizing my pens, notepad, and the two paperback novels I’d already re-read (and highlighted, and flagged) as a prerequisite for the class. Loneliness and self-sacrificing despair were staples of all great classic novels.
If three years of college had taught me anything, it was that professors hated being interrupted by cell phones. “Hiya, I’m Taylor.” I turned to my left, encountering a bright-eyed brunette with her hand outstretched. “I’ve been trying for two semesters, but it’s always full.” “I know,” I enthusiastically agreed.
Somewhere in the rebellious recesses of my mind, an annoying little voice that sounded suspiciously like mine reminded me that twelve months had passed since my last date. But rest assured, the most terrible and terrifying thing has already been written (the most terrible thing being the word “hi”, because—in this circumstance—it is also the bravest). As mesmerizing as his eyes were, I couldn’t help but notice the rest of him—the . He continued, “I think you sent me that email accidently. And no one tried to set me up with an Anna.” My mouth dropped open in despair and a rush of intense embarrassment. We played Pokemon Go together and assembled a puzzle for our first date.
And since we are dealing with matters of the soul, I will tolerate no disruptions.” Professor Kroft’s entirely too attractive voice was the only sound in the room.
I started reading a really good book by a new-to-me author who wrote alternate reality versions of Bronte novels and spent the next few weeks immersed in her backlist.
” I nodded tightly, not understanding why she sounded so muffled or why my heart sounded so loud between my ears. ” I shook my head, completely perplexed by how hard I was taking artsy Lucas’s alteration in love-life luck.
If that author guy taught a course in classical Russian literature, that actress lady would leave her dancer husband for him.” “You mean Natalie Portman?
Professor Kroft talks about classical Russian literature for a living.
“I’m not who you think I am.” My eyebrows pulled low, evidence of my confusion.