The Weight of Words (The WORDS Series) (27 page)

There were some stunned gasps around the room as he told us about poor Mary. Julie looked at me, shocked. I grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

“Now, I realize some of you may have known Miss Langford quite well, while others may not have,” Professor Brown said. “Regardless, I’m going to afford you the opportunity to grieve appropriately. There will be a memorial service at St. Basil’s Church at the corner of Bay and St. Joseph Streets on Friday at eleven thirty. Anyone wishing to attend is more than welcome to do so. My classes and tutorials will be canceled for the remainder of the week. We will reconvene next Monday, but we’ll have to double up to stay on course. After we finish our study of
Antony and Cleopatra,
we’ll pick up
Othello
on Wednesday.”

He then turned to Daniel, inviting him to speak.

“Thank you, Professor Brown,” Daniel said, standing but remaining in place behind the table, his eyes flitting briefly across mine. “I apologize for my absence on Monday. Professor Brown tells me he gave you an extension on your
Hamlet
analyses. I’m prepared to accept them any time between now and next Monday. Are there any questions?”

I looked around the room. No one spoke up. Cara was gazing at Daniel appraisingly, though. Apparently Julie and I weren’t alone in our appreciation of the
GQ
effect.

“Well, then,” Professor Brown said, “if there’s nothing else, we’ll end there. You’re welcome to stay to make plans for Friday and ask us any questions you may have. If you need to speak to someone, you may make appointments at Student Services with the counselors there. I look forward to seeing some, if not all, of you on Friday.”

Julie squeezed my hand again. “How awful,” she said.

“I know. It’s pretty hard to wrap your head around.”

“You knew already, I guess?”

“Yes, Dean Grant told me this morning.”

At least that one wasn’t a total lie. I was starting to despise myself.

“So do you want to go to the memorial service together on Friday?” Julie asked.

“Sounds like a plan.”

She stood and slid her books into her bag. “What are you up to now?”

“I think I’ll head to the Hart House Library for a bit. I have a lot of reading to catch up on. If I try to do it at home, I’ll probably fall asleep. I need to talk to Professor Brown for a minute first, though.”

“Okay, no worries. We’ll sort out timing for Friday?”

“For sure. I’ll be in touch.”

I pulled on my jacket and maneuvered out of our spot in the second row. Professor Brown smiled as I approached.

“Professor Brown, Daniel,” I said. “I hope this isn’t going to sound presumptuous, but I was thinking it might be appropriate to find an alternate venue for the Friday seminar.”

“Oh?” Professor Brown looked at me expectantly.

“When I was in the ninth grade, there was a boy in my math class who had leukemia. He stopped attending at the end of October, and he died a month later. For the rest of the term, the tension in the room was unbearable. His empty desk was too awful to look at. There was always this elephant in the room, and that was a classroom of thirty students. I don’t know how we’ll feel in that small tutorial room looking at Mary’s empty seat.”

Daniel looked at me with undisguised admiration.

“That’s a valid concern, Miss Price,” Professor Brown said. “You’ve always been so intuitive.” He turned to Daniel, clasping his shoulder. “What do you think, my boy? Are you up to the challenge of finding an alternate space? You might have luck with some of the small meeting rooms at Hart House.”

“Absolutely,” Daniel said, smiling warmly at me. “Miss Price is right. I think changing venues is wise. I’ll get right on it as soon as we’re finished here, sir.”

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll be heading out then,” I said, snagging one last good look at Daniel and his chiseled jawline.

Shaven or unshaven? This was a tricky one and deserving of some further exploration. With my tongue, of course
.

I slowly walked to the neighboring building, half wondering if Daniel might try to catch up with me. After all, it seemed we were going in the same direction. I peered over my shoulder occasionally as I crossed to Hart House, but he was nowhere to be seen. The thought of not seeing him for two days was depressing.

In the reading room, I claimed the red leather couch facing the bay window. I glanced around as I dug in my bag for my book. Most of the room’s occupants were studying, but one guy was curled up on a sofa by the unlit fireplace, snoring softly. I wished I had time to flake out and nap as well.

I was pulled from my reading after about ten minutes by the sound of my phone buzzing in my pocket. My heart thundered as I checked the display. It was a text message from Daniel!

Have I told you that I love those pants you’re wearing,
my poppet? -D

I quickly typed a response.

How did you get my number? Where are you? -A

He answered almost immediately.

Jeremy has his uses from time to time.
Say, that’s a sturdy looking bookshelf over there,
don’t you think? -D

Bookshelf? I whirled around. He was here? What the—?

I scanned the room, and there he was, sneaky bastard, sitting in a wing-backed chair facing the side wall, his newly-trimmed locks in plain view above the chair back. His leg was dangling over the left arm of the chair, a sex-boot taunting me shamelessly.

I dropped back onto the couch.

What are you doing here, sailor? -A

Booked that meeting room for tutorial then I thought
I’d swing by the library while I was here.
I overheard you tell Julie you were coming here.
Do me a favor? Lose the sweater and
go look out the window? Please? -D

I smiled. I knew these pants did great things for my ass!

Okay. I’ll play.
I slowly peeled off my sweater and dropped it on the couch. I stood, pretending to scan the sidewalk outside while stretching my arms above my head. My T-shirt rode up enough to show a little skin. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw him peering around the side of his chair, his gaze intense.

I want you so badly I can taste it. -D

My knees jumped, and I instinctively brought my hand to my throat. I was certain everyone in the room must be feeling the raw sexual energy flowing between us, but no one seemed to be paying the slightest bit of attention to us. I stared at my phone for a moment and then started typing, surprising myself with my boldness.

Tell me, what does want taste like? -A

He read my message and then looked at me again, his eyes smoldering as they drifted down my body, pausing at my breasts and then slowly scanning my legs. His answer was fast:

It tastes like the sweetest velvet. -D

This time my knees buckled, and I had to sit or risk falling over.
Screw you, fifty-seven days!
There was no way. I could feel my cheeks burning. I moved my fingers absently toward my mouth. He quickly typed another message.

Where your fingers are?
I want my tongue right there, RIGHT NOW. -D

Jesus!

I imagined the way his tongue would feel, dipping between my parted lips. My brain was suffering from lust-induced paralysis, and I couldn’t even think of a reply.

He looked around the room to make sure no one was watching, and then he delivered the
coup de grâce
. Leaning on his hand, he subtly placed two of his fingers on either side of his mouth and licked his lips between them, his eyes narrowed seductively as he gazed at me.

If anyone else had done this to me, I might have been offended—disgusted even—but this was
Daniel
. Coming from him, the gesture was undeniably sexy. How often had I read about—and subsequently mocked—swooning women? It always sounded absurd. Well, so much for that. I had officially joined the ranks of the swooners.

I was a puddle.

I closed my eyes, and I’m fairly certain I moaned. When I looked back at him, he was still watching me with unabashed desire. Such brazen lust in both of our eyes, here in the full light of day, surrounded by our unwitting peers.

He typed out another message.

You look so beautiful. How I wish I could come over there and throw you back on that couch.
What I would do to you…-D

I read his words and then nodded at him, too stunned to respond. We stared at each other without moving for the longest time, and then he held up a piece of folded paper. He placed it on the seat of the chair before pulling on his blazer and throwing his bag over his shoulder, giving me one last look of undisguised longing before striding purposefully out of the library.

Authoritative sex-boot footsteps indeed.

I reached blindly for my sweater. Was I supposed to follow him? My phone buzzed again—one last message from Daniel.

I’m tied up for the rest of the day with appointments
and office hours, but I had to see you for a few minutes. Read the note I left you. -D

Disappointed that he was unavailable but eager to read his note, I retrieved the paper he’d left and returned to the couch to read it. It was a typed letter.

Aubrey,

I was up late reading poetry last night. Of course, any time I sit down to read poetry, I invariably end up rolling around in the words of our mutual BFF, the Bard. Given the week we’ve had and the things we’re dealing with, this sonnet seems to be most topical. I hope you like it and wonder if you feel, as I do, the weight of that “world without end hour”…

SONNET 57

Being your slave, what should I do but tend
Upon the hours and times of your desire?
I have no precious time at all to spend,
Nor services to do, till you require.
Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour
Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,
Nor think the bitterness of absence sour
When you have bid your servant once adieu;
Nor dare I question with my jealous thought
Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,
But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought
Save, where you are how happy you make those.
So true a fool is love that in your will,
Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill.
~ W. Shakespeare

I miss you, Aubrey. I really do watch the clock for you, wishing away the hours until I’m able to see you again and dreaming of the day when we can be together.

~D

xoxoxo…

I refolded the paper, pressing it to my lips. How was it possible for someone to be so thoughtful
and
so capable of turning me into a quivering blob of jelly? One thing was for certain: If the next fifty-seven days didn’t kill me, the rapture of finally achieving long-delayed gratification in the days and nights that followed very well might.

I packed up my books. How the hell was I supposed to concentrate after that steamy exchange? When my phone vibrated in my pocket as I was making my way down the stairs, I smiled, wondering if Daniel was hoping for a second round of dirty texting. But no, this time he was actually calling.

“Hello?”

“Hi,” he said. “I’m so sorry about all that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I should think so. I’ve had to pack in my studying. I’m heading home to take a cold shower. Thanks a lot.” I laughed.

He didn’t laugh with me. “No, that was really inappropriate of me. Can you please delete that conversation?”

“Seriously? I’m not going to show anyone. Don’t worry.”

“Please? I’d feel a lot better if you’d erase it.”

“Well, okay. If it’ll make you feel better.”

I heard him take a deep breath—presumably a sigh of relief.

“Thank you. So, will I see you at the memorial on Friday?” he asked.

“Of course. I’ll go straight after work.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you then, poppet.”

“Sounds good. I’ll miss you tomorrow.”

“I’ll miss you too. See you Friday.”

I hung up reluctantly, standing at the bottom of the stairs and taking a moment to reread our exchange. He was being paranoid, but I indulged him, deleting the entire conversation. I supposed he was right. If my phone were to fall into the wrong hands, the consequences could be disastrous. TAs were most likely strongly discouraged from sexting with the students in their classes. This was a most unfortunate rule; Daniel had such a way with words.