Shuffle (Ruby Riot #2) (9 page)

Chapter Sixteen

FLEUR

Inside the converted Victorian house, I pause for breath and sit on a wooden chair between the two offices. As the days passed, the likelihood of Nate apologising about Friday night dropped. He has my phone number; a texted apology would’ve helped. Not that I’d accept it. I close my eyes and blank the replay of my humiliation, allowing my disgust to rise instead. Okay, maybe he was drunk, but his behaviour was inexcusable. I helped him, and he mocked me.

The worst thing about the situation is I care. When Will accosted me at the beginning of term, he was at least complimentary. Even though Will pissed me off, I don’t hope he’ll be castrated by a mob of pissed off girls as I do with Nate.

I’m confused. The Nate I’ve spent time around is a world away from the foul-mouthed misogynist from a few nights ago. Don’t they say alcohol brings out the ugly side of your personality?

Smooth, Nate but you’ve revealed your true colours. He knew exactly how to manipulate me into getting what he needed. But he doesn’t get what he really wants on top of that.

The door opposite me opens and Shaun looks out. The moment he sees me, he smiles. In response to Anne’s question the other day, this man is the one who does things to my lady parts. Or should I say, would like him to. Intelligent, charming and what was it Anne called Jax? Sex on a stick. I fight a smile. Yes, I could lick him.

His heavy brow puckers. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” I switch on a bright smile and he indicates my hands.

“Then why are you gripping your bag until your knuckles turn white?”

“Oh?” I loosen them. “I’m –”

Crap. Where the hell did the tears come from? Shaun steps back. “Fleur... What’s wrong? Come in.”

I follow him into the room, swiping my eyes with a sleeve. My head beats faster as I attempt to control the deluge of emotion ready to spill.

“I’m fine. It’s okay. I just... had an argument with somebody.”

“I expect they lost.”

I sniff and return Shaun’s smile. His goddamn sexy smile to match his goddamn sexy accent. “Of course he did.”

“He. Makes sense.” Shaun indicates the corner of the room. “I’ll make you a drink. Coffee?”

“Tea, please.”

“Hmm. I only have weird flavours that Samantha stashes in here.” He pulls a tin from a shelf next to a small kettle and peers inside. “Do you like herbal teas?”

“Not really.”

“Me neither. They taste of hot water and paper.”

“That’s okay. I only stopped by to bring your book back.” I drag the heavy tome from my bag and set it on his desk with a thump.

“Ah! Don’t tell me you’ve read this already?”

“Absolutely. Every word.”

His eyes sparkle. “Favourite chapter?”

“The last one?”

Shaun rubs my arm. “See, you’re smiling again already, even without the fancy teas.”

Hand on my arm. On my bare skin. Smooth fingers shooting lightning through my body at the place his hand rests a moment too long. My breath catches in my throat and I search his face for a sign this was deliberate.

Shaun’s flecked green eyes don’t hold back his thoughts and I’m caught sharing my own. He knows. He’s recognised the girlish fumbling with my bag, the way I trip over my words with him the days we meet.

Shaun’s noticed me.

“I tell you what, why don’t I take you for a coffee,  I mean tea, at Sip,” he suggests.

Sip, the coffee shop far enough from campus we won’t be seen. A thrill runs through me, filling my stomach with excitement at the illicitness. Shaun Hennessy is asking me for coffee.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure, Fleur.”

Suddenly the space between is charged with the power that tripped from his fingers to my skin before. Are we about to cross a dangerous line?

No, somebody who has an ounce of respect for me and doesn’t only look for what he can get is interested. In me.

“Okay.”

Shaun leans past me and grabs his phone from the table. I catch his subtle, clean scent, the one I associate with time alone with Shaun in this room and could associate with more. If more happens.

“I think Samantha must be an anarchist,” he says as we step out of the building into the bright autumn day.

“That’s a weird thing to say. I didn’t realise she was political.”

“No, the tea. Anarchists only drink herbal tea.” He smiles down at my confused look. “Because all proper tea is theft.”

I’m confused for a moment then catch onto his joke.
Property.
This man... Even his jokes are intelligent. “Very philosophical.”

The polar opposite of a man who says he wants to fuck me.

****

An hour at Sip with Shaun passes in the blink of an eye. Eyes. Searching, green eyes of a sexy Irish guy. As I drink and listen to his stories of his time at Oxford, I’m distracted and confused. I shouldn’t be attracted to this man. I am, but we’re semi-taboo. He’s not strictly speaking a professor, but he does teach and he is my supervisor.

I veer the direction of our conversation towards twentieth century European History, and my dissertation. This is his research area, the reason we’re partnered, and the respectful attention he gives my interpretations boosts my confidence. I
can
complete a Doctorate of my own and bury myself in history books. Anne is horrified at the thought, but I’m happy to stay in academia for life.

What a contrast to my last semi-date here.

We walk back to campus; the butterflies came with me on our coffee not-a-date and they continue their spiralling through my stomach on the way back to his office. Nate’s attempt to drag me back to the other night by confronting me earlier is all but forgotten, eclipsed by an afternoon with Shaun.

“I’m happy for you to use my library,” says Shaun as we reach the edge of campus.

“Your book collection is very impressive, but I can do most of my research online.”

“The youth of today!” He makes a tutting sound.

“Excuse me? You’re two years older than me!”

Shaun nudges me in the side with his elbow. “I prefer books. Nothing like curling up in bed with a nice, big history book.”

“Laptops are warmer on cold winters’ nights.”

“I share my bed; I don’t need warming up.” Shaun looks ahead, hands in pockets.

The butterflies squish under a large, heavy weight. “Oh.”

“Because I have a cat.” Shaun pushes open the door to the building housing his office.

“Do you?”

“Not a girlfriend, Fleur.”

Why are we talking about this? I can’t reply. And by not replying, I’m indicating I’m bothered. I need to speak.

“Or a boyfriend?” I ask, voice light as we head into his room.

Shaun halts and I almost bump into him. Slowly, he turns back. He rubs his long fingers along his lips and doesn’t step away. The energy is there again, pulling me towards him.

“Do you think I’m gay?”

“I don’t know. Makes no difference to me.”

“It doesn’t?”

“No.”

Following what I suspect is a well-practiced smoulder, he says, “If I was gay, I wouldn’t want to kiss you.”

Holy crapballs. Sometimes, we want something so much and suddenly it’s there for the taking. And at that point, what seemed like a really great idea is terrifying and a bad idea. Like bungee jumping. Or skydiving.

Or kissing your kind-of tutor.

To my relief, he doesn’t edge any closer. Possibly, because my expression has transformed into one of a horrified teen whose lust for her idol became a possibility.

I grapple behind me for the door handle. “I think I should go.”

“Shit. Sorry. I thought…” Shaun drags a hand through his wavy hair. “I’m poor at reading signals. You’re only interested in my brains and witty humour, aren’t you?”

“No. Yes. No. Thank you. Sorry.”

Silly, teen Fleur backs out of the door and shoots out of the building before her rock star of a history tutor can say or do anything to change her mind.

Chapter Seventeen

FLEUR

Anne dumps a bowl of ice cream on the table in front of me and hands over a spoon.

“What’s going on?”

I put down my pen. “Nothing. Studying.”

“All day, every day for the last three? This is what you do when you’re upset. So, what happened?”

“I’m busy, that’s all. I want to work ahead on my dissertation.”

So I can finish it sooner and not be tempted by the wiles of Shaun.

She sits. “Is this because of Nate?”

“Nate? Really? Why would that bother me?”

“He embarrassed you. I know you hate being the focus of attention. Plus, you were starting to like Nate and -”

“I was not!”

“Mmm hmm.” Anne picks up the spoon. “You eating this or can I have it?”

I push the bowl across the table. “‘Mm hmm’ what?”

“You talked about him a lot. ‘In group today Nate said this’ ‘guess what Nate did today’ ‘I wonder if Nate –”

“Shut up!”

“Even Jake noticed.”

Get out clause incoming. “Jake? Your ex?”

Anne grabs the bowl and hugs it to her chest. “Yes. So I need this.”

“Like you’re bothered about losing him!”

“I am!” She sucks the spoon. “A bit. The right bits. He gave great head.”

“Ohmigod!” I stare at the laptop, willing myself not to blush.

“You’re funny. I bet Nate could’ve taught you a thing or two.”

“Can we stop talking about Nate?”

“Who is this sulking about then?”

Can I tell Anne? But what is there to tell? She hardly knows who Shaun is since she’s studying economics. “There’s this guy I like...”

“And he doesn’t like you?”

“I don’t know. I mean he said he wanted to kiss me.”

“The bastard!” she laughs. “Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know if I should.”

Anne puts the bowl down. “Is he with somebody else?”

“No. I don’t think so.”

“What’s the problem? Did his IQ test come back too low?”

I throw my pen at her. “No. he is smart. And attractive.”

“And?”

“A postgrad student who’s supervising my dissertation.”

“Aha! Ticks all your boxes.”

“But I can’t, can I? He’s staff and I’m a student.”

“It’s not like he’s some old dude making you sleep with him to give you a decent grade, I doubt that matters. Or is he?”

“He’s not an old dude, and has no influence on my grades.”

“I’ve no idea how the history department operates, but sounds to me like you’ve nothing to worry about.”

“I guess he’s not officially staff.” Shaun lectures occasionally and teaches a couple of classes, but most post-grads do.

“Sounds like you’ve been trying to convince yourself. Who is he?”

“Shaun Hennessy.”

“Never heard of him. I think you should kiss him though. And more.” She waggles her eyebrows at me. “Show Nate that history academics are far superior to rock stars.” With a shake of her head, she scrapes the remaining ice cream from the bowl.

And we’re back to Nate again.

Is Anne right? I’ve avoided Shaun since the other day, but I can’t keep away forever. I have a meeting scheduled with him for Friday, I need to ensure I have plenty to talk about to distract me from the bigger issue at hand. What I’d like him to do with his hands.

****

WILL

I stare at my graded history paper on the table in front of me. Seventy-two percent. Fucking hell. Maybe I have the smarts after all. Pride is mingled with the relief I’m a step further away from failing. Nate’s grade is seventy-three percent; and of course, he behaves as if I’m eating his dust.

I wouldn’t have achieved this without Fleur’s help; that’s a guarantee. Not only has she taught me long-forgotten study habits, but Fleur also manages to teach me to understand things I never have before.

I miss her.

This dumbass, lying idiot misses her.

Raised voices carry from upstairs, the girl’s louder in the argument, and Nate screws his face up. “Why does Jax fucking bother?”

“He’s in love. I guess if you don’t feel passionately about someone, you wouldn’t put up with shit.”

Nate looks at me as if I’m speaking a foreign language and sits opposite me. “Too hard. He’s too young for serious.”

“Can’t always help these things.”

“What things?”

“Falling in love.”

Nate leans across and places a hand on my forehead. “You feeling okay, little bro? You’re not making sense.”

“I meant Jax! And Ruby.”

“And you with the nerdy chick?”

I pull my head away. Yeah, we’re broaching this topic. “Fleur. The one you ruined my chances with.”

“Just a bit of fun, man.”

I grit my teeth. “I’m not arguing with you about what you did, again.”

“You could’ve just apologised. She likes you.”

“Not anymore she fucking doesn’t! I tried to and she told me to piss off.”

“No point worrying then. There’re a shitload of girls interested in Will Campbell.”

Yeah, just not the one I want. Fleur’s moved on from Ethan the douche who made her cry, but not in my direction. The day I tried to apologise, I saw her heading across campus with a different guy, laughing and joking. I think he’s a postgrad, but I don’t pay attention to who’s who in the department. He kept putting his hand on Fleur’s arm, a sneaky kind of friendly touching from a man who’d like to be friendlier. The monster gnawed again and the little voice whispered ‘get a grip’.

“Okay. Where’s this weekend’s party?”

Nate grins. “Which one?”