Mr. Knight/A Jordan Knight Fanfic ✔️

7

7. assonance

By some miracle of the graduate student gods, I finish grading by Wednesday afternoon, leaving me just enough time to proofread and polish the assignment due for Knight's class.

Written late last night, my scene is a lurid imaginary chapter in the lives of two women, both married to men, who've loved each other since they were girls. The finished product is a lot more depressing than I'd originally intended, but I think it's pretty poignant.

I hope he likes it.

It's raining in earnest as I hustle through the stormy night. For the millionth time in two years, I bemoan the fact our apartment is on the west side of campus, the furthest possible location from the English Department. Claire fairs slightly better, though she still has a substantial trek. Nevertheless, our two-bedroom unit is a prized commodity: close to campus, spacious, with high-ceilings, wood floors, and two masters. There's no way we'd give it up. 

Licking wind-driven raindrops from my lips, I tell myself repeatedly that walking is good for my knee. Good for my knee or not, by the time I reach class I'm limping. Not looking toward the front of the room, I lower myself carefully into the seat next to Griffen.

"You okay, Darcy?" he asks softly.

I realize my face is scrunched in pain and forcefully relax my expression. "Yeah, just an old injury. Swift weather change makes it act up."

Griffen leans a little closer, lowering his voice. "Knight seems in a much better mood tonight. He was even whistling a minute ago."

My lips twitching involuntarily, I allow myself a peek. When I find Knight already watching me, my heart gives a heavy thump. His expression, however, isn't anything I was expecting—he looks downright worried. His gaze flickers to my desk, then back up, eyebrows drawing together.

He mouths, Your knee?

Flushing with misplaced humiliation, I nod shortly and duck my head.

"What was that about?" whispers Griffen.

Cursing the ingrained voyeurism of writers, I think fast. "I sent him an email mentioning I might be late because of the long walk and my bad knee. He was just asking if I was okay."

Griffen's gaze is heavy on my face. "That was nice of him. Glad you two have buried the hatchet."

By force of will, I don't physically react to the unintentional innuendo, and I'm saved a response as Knight stands to signal the beginning of class.

Pain makes the first hour and a half feel like ten. At the midway break, all I have energy for is dropping my head to my desk. Students leave to stretch their legs, grab coffee or a smoke, and check their phones. Griffen offers to bring me ibuprofen, and I gladly accept.

When the room goes quiet, I hear footsteps, then smell a mouthwatering trace of Knight's cologne. Cracking my eyes open, I watch him crouch beside my desk and fold his arms next to mine.

"You're in a lot of pain," he says softly. "Can Claire come pick you up?"

"We don't have cars."

"Then can I get you anything? Ice? How about another chair so you can extend your leg?"

"I'm fine, thanks," I say, but pain embitters the words. Sitting up, I make sure the room is empty. "You're too close right now. It's making me crazy."

As I'd hoped, the words sweep away his worry. One of his arms drops beneath the desk, a smile flirting with his lips. Seconds later, fingers trail up my thigh. Gasping, I seize his hand before it can go further.