My Professor's Secret

36|

thirty-six

"Alex? That was your cue."

Wyatt's sigh cuts through my thoughts again, sharper this time, frayed at the edges from being ignored.

He starts pacing the confines of our secluded corner of the library, script clenched so tightly in one hand that the pages crumple. The place is practically deserted this time of day, leaving nowhere for his irritation to dissipate. It hangs between us, thick and unavoidable.

I couldn't blame him.

I'd shown up nearly two hours late. I'd barely explained. And now, after finally dragging myself here, I still couldn't focus long enough to get through a single scene.

My body occupied a chair in the library. My script sat open in front of me. Wyatt was standing less than ten feet away, but my mind was somewhere else entirely with Trevor.

The feel of his lips against mine. The way his hands settled against my waist as if they'd belonged there. The look in his eyes before he'd kissed me again.

Every memory strikes with enough force to steal my breath. And that was the problem.

I should have been terrified. Maybe part of me was, because every time I let myself replay those moments, the rush of happiness was immediately followed by something darker. Guilt. Fear. The crushing awareness of everything that could go wrong.

Every time I forced my thoughts away from him, they snapped right back to his apartment, where, for a few reckless minutes, I'd forgotten every reason we were supposed to stay apart. Even now, hours later, I could still feel the ghost of him lingering on my skin.

I hated how much I wanted that feeling to stay, and how impossible it seemed to let him go. The consequences attached to us hadn't magically disappeared because we'd finally stopped pretending. If anything, they'd become more real.

After realizing an hour had somehow passed at Trevor's apartment, I'd practically torn myself away before I lost all sense of reason.

Trevor had walked me to the door and wrapped me in one last embrace. Then leaned close enough that only I could hear him.

"No one can know."

The memory sends a nervous flutter through my stomach, followed immediately by a knot of dread. He was right. I wasn't sure how much longer I could act like none of this mattered.

"Alex."

Wyatt snaps his fingers.

I blink.

"Right!" I sit straighter in my chair and lift my script. "Sorry. Just really trying to channel Hester's aura."

"Touche."

The smile that tugs at his mouth is brief and strained.

"I'll start again."

He exhales heavily before finding his place, the movement carrying the unmistakable weight of someone running out of patience.

"'Do not deny that wholesome cup to him, perhaps without the courage for himself to take it in his hands and drink it down this bitter draught presented to thy lips.'"

"I will not name the man."

The words leave my mouth flatly. Lifelessly. The second they're out, regret crashes through me, and judging by the way Wyatt closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, he's reached the same conclusion.

"Can we try more emotion this time?" Wyatt asks, finally abandoning his pacing long enough to drop his script onto the table. The sharp edge in his voice softens slightly. "Imagine being ridiculed in front of your peers. A religious council. An entire town of people who believe they've earned the right to judge every decision you've ever made."