Secondhand Heart

CHAPTER 2: "Tangled Up"

The alarm clock woke her the next morning and Liz felt her stomach clench at the thought of going to his class. She wasn't prepared to look him in the eye, she didn't think she ever would. How did all the other girls he had slept with handle it? Did they just walk into class with a smug smile on their face, knowing they would get an A on their final essay and not care about having slept with their professor at all?

Liz closed her eyes again. What was the worst thing that could happen if she dropped the class? She would have to try again next year, but would that be any less awkward? Reddington would know it was because of him and how would that look? That she was too embarrassed to show up again? That she was too disgusted? No, he had already been feeling down and Liz didn't want to fracture his ego any more. If only his class wasn't mandatory she could've told him she had taken up too many courses and needed to drop some of them.

When she opened her eyes again and glanced a the clock her heart skipped a beat. She had fallen back asleep and classes would start in 15 minutes. Cussing she jumped out of bed, grabbed the first pieces of clothing she could find and put them on, almost stumbling over her own pants as she did so. She grabbed her bag and quickly glanced at the mirror in the corridor. Ah well, she would just have to deal with looking like crap. Liz flattened her hair as best as she could and broke out into a run.

When she reached his classroom door his class had already started 10 minutes ago. Liz took a deep breath, still panting from the early exercise, and knocked.

"Come in," she heard Reddington's gravelly voice.

Liz opened the door and carefully stepped inside. She dared to look at him only for a second and watched his frown turn into a delighted smile.

"Oh, Miss Keen, I was started to get worried," he said casually.

"Sorry. I overslept," she apologized, her eyes now fixed on the floor. She couldn't bare the sight of him. She had come here looking like a homeless person and he was absolutely dashing, still a little paler than usual but clean shaven and not a single winkle in his shirt.

Unfortunately the only free seat in the room appeared to be one in the first row, right in front of him, that her friend Samar had secured for her. Liz sighed and sat down.

"He looks good today, don't you think?" Samar leaned closer and whispered into her ear.

Liz turned to face her. "Who are you talking about?"

"The Admiral of course."

"Oh, uhm, I haven't noticed," Liz replied and busied herself with unpacking her notes.

"You should have seen him yesterday. He seemed over the moon, like the exact opposite of the day before that."

"Aha," she mumbled in reply, trying to sound as indifferent as possible, "Listen, can I borrow your notes? I wasn't feeling well yesterday."

"Sure thing."

Liz turned her attention back to Reddington, trying to ignore the pieces of information her friend had just given her. He liked her. She had tried to ignore it the day before, but he did and he probably wouldn't mind seeing her again. Liz felt the urge to bang her head on the desk.

"Now that we've covered the basics about gender studies in the past few centuries, I'd like to continue with the depiction and sexualization of women in modern culture," Reddington announced. He turned to the blackboard, an old fashioned one, and wrote down the topic of today's class before asking everyone: "What keywords come to mind when you think about it?"

Liz watched his swift hand scribble down the class's suggestions without really listening. His low voice started to trigger a few memories that she had forgotten about until now. They had been standing in the middle of his living room, shoes kicked off and the song had just ended, yet his hands had remained on her body, holding her steady against his own, hips rubbing against each other. He had bent down and kissed her throat first, that certain spot which had always been her weakness. Liz had giggled when she had felt something hard press against her hips.