Break Your Heart (9 page)

I dragged in a shaky breath and wrote back,
Tell me where to meet you.

“T
his place is awesome,” I declared as I looked around.

We had just gotten nestled in a back booth at an old-fashioned diner on the east side of Cleveland, a good half hour from campus. The place was filled with a variety of people buzzing in and out, talking about politics and books and celebrities and breakups and every topic under the sun. On the walls were black-and-white photographs of people I didn’t know. Probably old celebrities. I thought I recognized a 1950s actor though.

Our table was lacquered and gleaming, and the puffy black booth was comfortable. This was a place made for lingering, for conversation. The scent of frying meat and French fries made my mouth water. I bet their burgers were to die for.

Across the table from me, Nick grinned. He had on a gray long-sleeved T-shirt; his coat and scarf were discarded beside him. With cheeks flushed from the cold and a bright smile, he looked disarming. I could scarcely catch my breath. “I grew up around the corner from here. My folks and I ate at this place all the time.”

My hands shook a little as I picked up the menu and attempted to focus on it. I was trying so hard to be cool and self-assured. Nick, however, was completely at ease, not unnerved by me at all.

Was this how Dallas had felt earlier tonight with me? I suddenly felt a little bad over how I’d judged him about his nervousness. No, it didn’t make me like him or want to date him again—it was vastly apparent he and I were incompatible. But maybe I could do with a bit more empathy in general. I had picked up a bad habit of judging people before thinking things through.

There was no alcohol in this diner, so I had to make do with faking confidence tonight. I didn’t want to drink anyway. I loved beer, but sometimes it played wonky with my emotions. I said things I didn’t mean to say, did things I shouldn’t. I needed all of my senses to get through this experience without doing something I’d regret later.

“So what do you recommend I try?” I asked him evenly, studying the burger selection. When I didn’t get an answer, I looked up and saw him staring at me. “What?”

His lips curved at the edges of his mouth. “Nothing.” He paused. “Okay, it’s kinda weird, being here in person with you after we just spent hours talking in email,” he admitted with a faint shrug. “Through email, it’s easier to talk in a way, because of the faceless aspect. And now I feel goofy for having admitted that.” He chuckled.

The fact that he confessed that took away some of my unease. So his confidence was a front too. We were both nervous.

“It’s not goofy. I totally get it. You know, I haven’t done that in ages—just talked with someone that way. Usually I have a quick text or phone conversation. Get right to the point and move on with my day.” There was something much more intimate about how we’d shared our thoughts, in a way that couldn’t be attained in texts.

“Me too.” He cleared his throat and dug into the leather satchel he’d brought, whipping out my thesis paper. “Um, so here. I have a few last thoughts on passages that could be tighter, but you did a great job with your revisions. One last cleanup should have you ready to go.”

I took a few minutes to scan it over. He was right; his feedback had made the paper stronger. I had a feeling I was going to do well—there was hardly any revision left to do at all. I peered up at him as I folded the paper in half and stuck it in my bag. “Thank you again. I really appreciate all your help.”

“No problem. It was my pleasure.” I could tell by the earnestness in his tone that he really did enjoy it.

The waitress came by with our coffee, then took our food orders. I loaded mine with sugar, and we sipped and sat in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t awkward though. Just a comfortable lull in the conversation, filled by the hum of voices around us. I furtively studied his face over my drink. I could see faint laugh lines around his eyes. The stubble on his chin and jaw. The flare of his thick eyelashes. His face was striking.

I remembered that mouth on mine, and my cheeks burned. I looked away. “So did you grow up in the Cleveland area?”

He nodded. “Local all my life. You?”

“Same. I love it here. Can’t see myself living anywhere else. My favorite thing when I was a kid was going downtown during the holidays and seeing Terminal Tower lit up in red and green.”

“I used to go ice skating downtown,” he said with a soft laugh. “On the outdoor rink in Public Square. My mom would freak out because I’d fly on the ice. She was sure I was going to break my neck with my daredevil antics.”

“Are you a speed demon?”

He gave a wicked laugh that shot straight to my lower belly. “Let’s just say I’ve gotten a few tickets in my time.”

“I drive like a grandma,” I replied primly to cover up my very vivid sexual reaction to his laugh. “And I’ve never gotten a ticket.”

He raised a brow. “Interesting. For some reason, I would have pegged you for a risk taker.”

“Oh, I am,” I agreed with a laugh. “But not in something that could kill me.”

“So what do you take risks in?” He leaned forward, gaze hot and hard on mine.

My pulse picked up. My lips parted and I licked them. He dropped his eyes to look at my mouth, and his pupils flared.

We were both thinking about that kiss, I knew it. That damn kiss that haunted me. All. The. Time. That had been a
huge
risk.

“Well, I’ve dated some douche bags I really shouldn’t have,” I said breathlessly, making him bark out a laugh the way I’d hoped it would. That eased the sexual tension a touch. I swallowed. “Um, plus I learned how to shoot a gun when I was sixteen.”

That made him blink. “Why?”

“Dad wanted me to know. He likes to hunt occasionally. When I was a kid I begged him to take me, but he made me wait.” I paused. “I’m an excellent shot, if you can believe it.” I hadn’t been to the range with Dad since I’d started college, actually. I made a mental note to hit him up for another trip. I didn’t want my shooting to grow rusty.

“I do.” There was more than a little admiration in his dark eyes. “I bet those math skills come in handy.”

“Surprisingly, it’s more intuition than math. You learn how to feel the shot. I’ll take you to a range sometime.” When I realized what I said, I stopped. Gave an awkward laugh and waved my hand in the air, rolling my eyes at myself. “I mean, you know, if that was something you wanted to do. I don’t want to assume anything—”

“It sounds like fun, Megan,” he interrupted with a toothy grin.

Our food came out. I thanked the waitress warmly—I knew how difficult her job was—and started chewing on a fry. The conversation fell quiet again, leaving me alone with the loud thoughts in my head.

What were we doing here, really? After our talk in his office, I thought that would be it. That I’d let go of this silly crush at some point and move on. But we’d spent hours talking in email, getting to know each other. And now we were here . . . because he’d asked me. Those weren’t the actions of an uninterested man.

It made it harder for me to think about him as just my professor. I didn’t think there was any way for me to go back now.

I inhaled my burger; the pasta earlier hadn’t filled me up. It was good, as was the coffee. I could see why he’d suggested coming here. In between bites, I peered into the inky blackness outside, punctuated by streetlights and the occasional car sweeping by on the street.

A few snowflakes started to fall. It was quiet, picturesque. What a lovely night. I realized it was the early hours of Valentine’s Day. I hadn’t expected to start it off like this—sitting across from Nick after spending hours talking. My heartbeat kicked up a notch.

“You’re not exactly what I thought you’d be,” he said, drawing my attention back to him and off my musings.

“What did you think I’d be?” I wasn’t sure what to make of that statement, but I wasn’t mad or anything. Mostly curious.

“You’re mature for your age. You have fun, but there’s a deep, resonant side to you I hadn’t expected.”

“We aren’t that far apart,” I pointed out. “And I am twenty-one. I’ll be twenty-two this summer, actually.”

He dropped his gaze to his plate and chewed on a fry. I sipped my coffee and wondered if it was immature for me to point it out. Ugh. My usual self-confidence was all but gone around him.

“Do you like teaching?” I asked randomly.

“Love it.” His answer was immediate. “It was my calling.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with my master’s degree,” I told him. I dipped a fry in ketchup and ate it. “I’ve been hoping something will come to me this semester. I mean, I have options. I just don’t know what
my
calling is.” I paused. I hadn’t admitted that out loud to anyone, even to myself.

Math interested me. I was good at it. But I didn’t know what would make me passionate. What industry or job I could get into that would satisfy me. Sometimes having so many options could be overwhelming.

“There’s nothing wrong with that. I changed my major in undergrad—was going to go into psychology, actually.” He shook his head. The light above caught in his black hair and cast it in a golden glow. He was so effortlessly handsome that it took my breath away. Everything he did, from the way he stroked his perspiring cup to the easy smile he bore, was magnetic. I’d never seen a man so comfortable in his own skin.

No wonder I was drawn to him like this. He was what I aspired to be. What I
thought
I’d been until I’d met him. It was easy to be carefree and relaxed around people who didn’t have a deep impact on you.

Something told me he was going to have an impact on me, whether I liked it or not. He already was starting to.

I snapped my mind back to attention on the topic at hand. “Then you can help me with my psychology of stress homework,” I said with a light laugh. “That class is killing me.”

“I took that. It was several years ago, obviously. But I might still have my notes. Want me to find them for you?”

“Really?” I gave him a gratified smile. “I was kidding, but I’d love some help. It feels too abstract for me to really get into it. I keep zoning out and missing things. Which is unlike me.”

Our conversation moved to other topics, flitting here and there. What movies we’d seen recently and loved. What books moved us. Our favorite local restaurants. I quickly realized the impact of his being older than me—older and more well rounded. He’d tried a lot of food I’d never tasted before. He’d read authors I’d never heard of.

I found myself taking out my phone and typing book titles in my notes app. Hearing him speak so passionately about these authors moved me. I wanted to read them and find that passion too. Give us something more to talk about next time.

I wanted there to be a next time. Actually, I wanted tonight to just keep going. I could feel the edges of fatigue slipping in, but I stubbornly fought it back.

When the waitress came by and cleared our plates, then left the bill, he insisted on paying. I tried to not read into it, to just think of it as a friendly gesture. To help reinforce that in my mind, I paid the tip, and we donned our coats and left the diner. Snow came down in huge, puffy flakes, coating the tops of our hair and shoulders. It was still dark out, though the darkness had taken on a soft gray edge.

I glanced at my phone. It was five in the morning. I could hardly believe it. We’d sat up all night talking. And I still felt like I hadn’t reached the depths of his intellect, his knowledge. I craved more.

One night wasn’t going to satisfy this itch.

He tightened his scarf, and we walked toward my car. My heart sank, and I scrambled for an excuse to not go yet. Just a little more time. I saw a park right down the street.

“Wanna walk for a little bit?” I asked with a nod in that direction.

I saw the hesitation in his eyes. Was it because he was tired? Or because he was afraid of being alone with me, especially on a day that was laden with romantic expectations? Disappointment tightened my chest, and I felt my mouth turn down.

“You know, that’s okay. I’ve already taken up enough of your evening,” I said in a quiet tone. I leaned back against my car door and stared at the ground, coated in a thick dusting of snow.

“That’s not it,” he told me. His voice was rough, and I looked up to see his eyes hooded, staring over my shoulder. “I’m just questioning how smart it would be. I’ve already pushed the limits by asking you out tonight.”

My breath came in small pants that puffed in the air between us. His gaze turned to mine, and I felt myself sinking into his eyes. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “About that kiss. I should never have done that. I crossed a line, and it put something awkward here. I wish I could take it back.” The lie bit at me. “Actually, no, I’m not sorry,” I amended with brutal honesty, “even though I probably should be.”

A slow smile spread across his face, and he took a step closer to me. “I love how you just say what’s on your mind. Your candidness is refreshing, Megan. And so rare.” His gaze dipped to my mouth, and I found myself trembling with a hunger that spread through me like warm honey.

Kiss me, kiss me,
I silently begged.

He took my hand in his, wrapped my fingers in the heat of his palm and drew me across the street. We were silent, making our way down the sidewalk into the park. The hush of snow filled my ears. I felt like all my senses were hyperaware, tuned in to his frequency.

I heard the soft rasps of his breath, caught light whiffs of his scent. His thumb stroked my skin and sent spirals of pleasure coursing through my lower belly, to my core.

We padded through the snow to an overhang of trees above us, a perfect canopy that protected us from the falling flakes.

Nick turned me to face him, cupped my face in his hands and drew me forward, a breath away from his mouth. “God, I shouldn’t want you,” he said, and the rawness in his voice nearly undid me. He was as hungry as I was, his anguish clear in the lines on his face, the near anger in his eyes. “I shouldn’t, but I do.”