The Girl Next Door

I chuckle as she picks up her briefcase, and we head up the carpeted stairs to the exit.

After we push through the doors and into the corridor, Dr. Hayes says goodbye before turning toward the elevators that will take her to the fifth floor where the English offices are located. With one final wave, I pull out my phone and glance at the screen, noticing a few messages have popped up during class. As I take a step, a deep voice cuts through the quietness of the hallway.

“Hey, stranger.”

I yelp in surprise and nearly bobble my phone when I find Beck leaning casually against the brick wall.

Turns out I wasn’t nearly as successful in evading him as I’d thought.

Damn.

My gaze rakes over him, taking in every little detail. I’m powerless to stop my physical reaction to him. My heartbeat picks up its tempo and a million butterflies wing their way to life inside the confines of my belly.

I grab the strap of my bag and hug it closer, as if that will protect me against him. “What are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to talk.” He stares at me as if trying to sift through all of my private thoughts. “Seems like you’re avoiding me again.”

Doesn’t he realize that I’m always trying to avoid him?

“Sorry, that’s not the case. It’s been busy. Speaking of busy,” I take a hasty step away and point toward my salvation which comes in the form of an exit, “I really need to go.”

The corners of his lips bow upwards as he lazily pushes away from the wall and saunters toward me. “Calm down, Stanbury. All I’m after is some conversation.” There’s a pause. “For now.”

That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

“What do you want to discuss?” Before he can open his mouth, I blurt, “If it has anything to do with Composition, you should probably speak directly with Dr. Hayes. In fact, if you hurry, you can catch her at her office.” I don’t bother telling him that he won’t find her there.

His lips tremble as if he’s amused by my verbal diarrhea. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but you’re the one I want to talk with.”

“Oh.” My shoulders fall.

Well, that’s disappointing.

“You kill me, Stanbury.” A chuckle escapes from his lips. “Most girls can’t get enough of me. And yet, you can’t get away from me fast enough.” He tilts his head. “I can’t be the only one who sees the irony in that, can I?”

I shrug. “I guess you could always make it easier on yourself and find one of them instead.”

He moves closer until his body towers over mine. “You’re right, it would be a hell of a lot easier, but those girls don’t interest me. You’re the one I’m after.”

His candor has me sucking in a breath.

“Wait a minute.” His eyes dance with humor. “Have I actually managed to surprise you into silence? Can’t say I thought that would ever happen.”

It takes effort to shake myself out of the stupor I’ve fallen into. “Beck—”

“Go out with me, Mia.” He pauses for a beat. “Give me another chance.”

Is he joking?

No way.

Even though part of me wants to give in, my better judgment prevails, and I shake my head. “No, that’s not a good idea.”

“And why is that?”

“Because,” I gulp down my rising nerves before forcing out the rest, “it’s just not.”

He presses closer until I have to crane my neck to hold his steady gaze. His voice drops. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Mia. Give me an opportunity to prove I’m not the same guy.”

A chance like that would require me to put my heart on the line, and I’m unwilling to do that.

Not even for Beck.

Or maybe I should say, especially for Beck. He’s the one guy who has the potential to cause untold amounts of pain.

“No.”

My breath catches at the back of my throat when he reaches out and traces the pad of his thumb against my lower lip. It takes everything inside me not to close my eyes and sink into his touch. Instead of doing that, I force myself to retreat, creating a sea of distance between us. My Beck-induced haze subsides, allowing me to think clearly again.

“It’s better if we remain friends,” I tell him.

His brows lift. “We’re friends?”

Maybe.

Sort of.

When I keep my lips pressed together, he grins. “I guess that’s a good enough place to start.” He slings his arm around my shoulder and hauls me close. “What do you say we have lunch together?” He gives me a wink. “As friends, of course.”

“Um—”

No. Absolutely not. Every time I’m around this guy, I end up putty in his hands.

“Excellent. I know the perfect place. You like subs, right?”

Not waiting for an answer, he steers me toward the doors that lead outside.

I groan.

What have I gotten myself into?

Better question—how do I get out?