Sweet Ache

Chapter 5

QUINLAN

Campus is buzzing from the combination of a break in the relentless heat and students finally settling in for the long haul of the school year. It’s comforting to me and hell do I need the feeling because once again I’m heading to the department offices, but this time I’ve been summoned.

And somehow it has to do with Hawkin’s seminar.

After biting the bullet and accepting the fact that I was going to let her down, I was finally able to talk Carla into getting someone else to cover the rest of the series, starting with today’s lecture, so now I’m worried why all of a sudden she needs to talk to me about something we decided upon five days ago. Did another student—or Hawkin himself—report my insubordination in the last lecture and it’s just now trickling down through administration?

I don’t know what to expect but I can’t deny that my nerves are humming and I’m mentally chastising myself for my inability to just shut my mouth.

When I head toward Carla’s office at the end of the hallway, laughter sounds from within and she waves me in upon seeing me approach.

“Professor Stevens, you wanted to see me?” I hate that my voice sounds unsteady as I stand in the doorway, partially obscured by the half-opened door¸ but there’s no way that I can mask it.

“C’mon in Quinlan,” she says as I push the door open, my eyes meeting hers.

“Quinlan?” Hawkin’s voice hits my ears before I see him sitting very comfortably in a chair opposite her desk. He says my name in a tone that’s both a question and a statement at the same time.

Shit.

My body jolts with awareness from being back in his proximity. I’m sure it doesn’t help that even though I’d dropped the lecture, I’ve spent a shameful amount of time on the Internet checking him out, watching his interviews, and the band’s music videos. Learning about the band’s history and antics before researching him personally. I scanned his dating history, which can only be described as an ever-revolving door of women who are more than willing to brag about him and his abilities even after splitting up. I admit I allowed myself to be hypnotized by his voice.

Purely out of curiosity.

But hell if the sight of him in the flesh—the lazy smirk and bedroom eyes laden with secrets—doesn’t cause all my research to rush back and clog the space between us with the hint of desire and possibility.

And that’s before he even utters a word beyond my name. In silence he still exudes arrogance and sex appeal—I don’t think that’s something he can help—with his nonchalant posture and the easy expression on the sculpted lines of his face. But he also looks dead serious, which ratchets up my discomfort with the situation when all he does is nod his head and then glance over to Carla and raise an eyebrow.

Yes, it’s her office but clearly he’s running the show, and I’ve just been told not so subtly that my opinion in whatever matter is being discussed is of no importance.

How come they were laughing moments before and now they are both so somber? I glance back and forth between the two of them, his eyebrows asking the questions his voice doesn’t. Quinlan, not Trixie? Really?

So I focus on Carla. Hawkin’s too distracting, and if I answer his questions honestly I might just have to face a few truths I’m not ready to. That he irritates me, unnerves me, turns me on, and turns me off all at the same damn time. He makes me want when I don’t want to. Tempts me to go back on my decree of never dating anyone like my brother again.

Because there is just something inherently sexy and clichéd about a man who can play a guitar, and, damn it to hell … it’s making me want to go back on those same promises to myself.

It’s not worth it. Think of your brother, think of how you’ve observed too many things during his single, playboy days that have made you shudder when it came to the women he dated. At least Hawkin’s not a race car driver—he’s got that going for him.

Carla’s cheeks flush under my stare, and she quickly averts her eyes from mine. Apparently he’s worked his effortless charm on her for some reason, and the question I fear is for what purpose?

And if he’s won her over, why am I the only one he’s treated differently with his flippant comments and unwarranted attention?

“I called you in early because Mr. Play asked if you could spare some time to show him the PA system and overhead setup before today’s lecture.”

My head must snap up because she looks at me strangely. Does she not remember our conversation several days ago when she agreed that I was off his service? “I’m sorry?” I ask, confusion laced with disbelief in my voice.

“Well, I know we discussed that you needed to drop assisting Mr. Play’s seminar here because of your course load, but …” And the way her voice fades off tells me that he has definitely worked his magic charm on her.

“I told her I couldn’t do it without you or the cool tricks you had to make class more interesting.” I don’t even want to turn my head to look at him because if I do, I’ll risk either sarcastically commenting that he’s full of shit or falling momentarily comatose to his good looks.

I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of either of those reactions.

Plus, I know he’s bluffing but I’m not exactly sure why. We were hostile toward each other, not flirtatious, combative not friendly…. So why would he request me when he could most likely have all of those things I’m not with another TA?

Sure he’s attractive and could probably serenade a pair of panties to fall off without a person even knowing it, but if our first meeting was any indication, he knows I’m sure as hell not going to let that happen.

In disbelief I keep staring at Carla, my mind buzzing all the while trying to shove my libido back into hiding. And the crappy thing is that I’m more mad at myself than anything else because I’m standing here like a doormat not arguing my case when normally I’m like a battering ram knocking the door down.

“Quin, there’s no one else available and there’s really not a lot of assisting required beyond class time,” Carla says with a sheepish smile when she finally tears her gaze from his to meet mine. The look in her eyes acknowledging she’s throwing me into the fire.

“But …”

What can I say to that when she’s perfectly right? Sorry Carla but he was a prick and I don’t think it’s safe for the two of us to be in close proximity because one of us is bound to get physical with the other—in some form or another. Yeah, fist or fuck, because that screams professionalism.

When my only response is to nod my head in silent resignation, she shifts her focus back to Hawkin. “See? I told you she’d reconsider. Now, you guys need to get going so you have time for Quin to give you the complete rundown.”

Of course she has no idea the double entendre she’s just given him about me giving him a complete rundown, but I know Hawke catches it. I manage to resist the urge to stomp my feet in frustration and storm out of her office like a toddler. Instead I give her a tight smile before turning and walking out of the office and then the department.

I stand there in the sunshine, waiting for him to get his ass in gear and quit wasting my time. When I finally hear the door open I just start walking and the sound of his boots is the only indication that he’s following.

“I’ve got longer legs than you Trixie,” he chides from a few feet back. “But feel free to keep swinging your hips like that, and I’ll stay right here behind you and enjoy the show.”

I bristle at the comment. At the moment there’s no authority to be respectful of, no damage that can’t be undone.

“A show?” The pitch of my voice escalates as I whirl around to face him—sunglasses on, hair disheveled, and I wish I hadn’t turned around because damn, he’s just that devastatingly fine. I’m quiet for a beat as we both appraise each other from behind darkened lenses. His dark hair, tanned skin, and cocky smirk pull at those parts of me I don’t want to be pulled. “You want to talk about a show.” I grit the words out, trying to push my physical attraction to him from my mind. “Let’s talk about your little performance for Dr. Stevens.”

“I know. I’m good, huh? Sorry, but a man’s got to do what he’s got to do…. Besides, I wasn’t done with you yet.”

My mouth falls lax and I’m momentarily flabbergasted. “Done with me yet?” I sputter the words when I’ve recovered my wits at his arrogance run amok … but I can’t deny the little flutter in my belly at his comment. There’s just something about him aside from the whole I’m a rock star thing that makes me desire him in a way I can’t put into words.

“Yep,” he says casually as he unwraps a Starburst and pops it into his mouth. And I hate that I’m fascinated with watching his mouth suck on the sweet candy. Luckily he speaks so I can distract myself from the captivating sight. “I’m pretty sure you have a usefulness…. I’m just trying to figure out what that is.” He licks his lips. “Well, besides the obvious, that is …” Smirk is handily in place and I hate that ache starting to simmer in my core.

“Why don’t you go suck a—”

“Relax,” he says, angling his head to the side and emitting a laugh as he steps closer to me. “I’m just teasing you. You’re so damn easy to rile up and so hard to resist. Plus you’re even hotter when you’re pissed. I like it.” He shrugs an apology, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans with a sheepish grin that softens all those hard edges and makes me sigh with the contrast of characteristics. He holds a red Starburst out to me as a peace offering. “C’mon, you know you want to be the star to my burst.”

We’ve stopped, my hands are on my hips, and the sun falls around us as he waits for me to react to his innocent little comment. Deep down I know I’m screwed. I feel an urge to smile but immediately realign my defenses. The contradiction he presents, the smooth with the rough, is the one thing that I always fall for when it comes to men.

And I’m not going to fall for Hawkin Play.

“More like the fruit to your loop,” I say with a roll of my eyes before I shift my gaze elsewhere. I have to because he’s one of those guys who when you look into his eyes you can see the ending before you even decide to begin. And hell, I’m all for fun and sex but something tells me the heartache he causes isn’t worth the pain. Then again, he is damn fine.

Lock it down Westin. I shake my head in frustration—at me, at him, over this attraction—and turn on my heel, putting all my effort into getting to the lecture hall so that I can push that image of him standing like that out of my head. Because that look makes me want to walk up to him, fist a hand in his shirt, and kiss him senseless.

I have no shame about admitting it, or even in the idea of doing it because hell, being confident in wanting a guy is a good thing. I never shy away from a man when I want him … but something tells me that this one just might knock me off my feet. And while I’m all for having my world rocked, I’d rather it was not by someone used to playing women like a guitar and then disposing of them once the song’s over.

His mocking laugh behind me breaks through my thoughts. But I keep walking, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to me, that I can’t take a frickin’ step without him invading my thoughts.

“Quinlan! Stop,” he says. “You’re not going to leave me poor and defenseless against that fucked-up PA system, are you?”

“You’re a big boy; I’m sure you can fend for yourself just fine.”

I hear him snicker beside me and I roll my eyes, realizing the big boy comment I just handed him without thought. “You’re right, on both counts,” he chuckles, and the sound, smooth silk with a hint of strain, hits my ears and my libido in ways I don’t want it to. “But a man likes to have some help every now and again.”

“I’m sure you have plenty of willing candidates.” I’m thinking of the sigher who sat next to me at the last lecture as I keep walking, trying to focus on anything but the man beside me.

“Well, I guess I’ll just have to go back and tell Carla, then….”

I slow my pace a clip but keep moving forward, knowing he has my number. “You handle complicated stage equipment regularly and yet you can’t work a simple audio system?” I snort out a laugh of disbelief. “Sounds to me you’re so busy being pretty that you don’t like to get your hands dirty. Forget where you came from that quick, huh?”

His hand is on my arm and I’m spun around before the last word is out of my mouth. I guess that dig hit a little too close to home.

“Where and what I came from is none of your goddamn business.” Our bodies are close, my eyes behind my sunglasses flickering back and forth from his lips to his eyes as he snaps the words out. He presses his fingers a little tighter on my bicep. “Who are you to judge anyway …? Right, Trixie?”

Even though I can’t see his eyes, I know they are boring into mine. I can feel the anger vibrating off him from the nerve I’ve hit. I don’t say a word because I’ve pushed the buttons—and right or wrong—for no other purpose than to keep him at arm’s length from me.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He finally breaks his silence and asks.

“Who says there’s a problem? Just because you’re intimidated by a strong woman doesn’t mean there’s a problem,” I snip, trying to push this off on him when I know damn well that I’m carrying the chip handily on my shoulder.

“Sweetness, only boys are intimidated by strong women. Men find it attractive, a challenge, so why don’t you pull another excuse out of thin air and see if it sticks.”

I shrug my arm out of his grasp and step back, hating that he’s right in every sense of the word. It’s not like I’m going to let him know it though. “I know your type Hawkin. I know the games you play.” I look across the campus for a moment before looking back to him.

“Who said I’m playing any games?”

“Ha.” I laugh. “Your type always does, don’t they?”

He pulls a hand out of his pocket and runs it through his chocolate-colored hair, jaw clenched in frustration at the bitchiness I’m directing his way. “If anyone’s playing games, I’m pretty sure it’s you considering you go back and forth between hot and cold quicker than a faucet. So like I asked, what’s your deal?” He repeats himself, irritation laced with a trace of sadness in his soothing voice. “You can’t handle me?”

I swallow over the lump of confusion in my throat; the blatant conflict between lust and obstinacy runs rampant within me whenever I’m near him. “I’m not handling anything on you, no worries.”

“That’s what you say now, but I’m patient…. You’ll come around.” He licks his lips, and unless it’s my imagination, I can tell he’s fighting back a smirk.

And I have to give it to him—he’s as relentless as Luke. Almost. But the difference is he has my blood pumping whereas I’ve never felt overly attracted to Luke. I shake my head in an effort to clear my thoughts.

“I just don’t understand why you’re here. Why you agreed to do this seminar … One and one doesn’t exactly equal two on this one.”

He works his tongue in his cheek as he processes my statement. “I thought it would be fun. A change of pace to help me work around some issues I’m having … with a few songs on the new album. A new perspective …” He nods his head and glances over to where someone yells out on the grassy quad area.

The way his voice drifts off, combined with the shifting of his body, tells me something’s off and as much as I know I should leave well enough alone, I’m not buying it. He wants to call me on the carpet, I’m going to match him, challenge for challenge.

“That’s too perfect of an answer, Hawkin,” I say, recalling the image of the Delta Sig girls from the other day and his hand on her ass. “I know your type and if there’s not easy sex, fast crowds, or loose women to get lost in, you lose interest so—”

“What’s wrong with easy sex?” he asks as he falls into step beside me.

“Nothing.” I turn and start walking again toward the lecture hall. “Easy sex is most definitely fun, but why—”

“Whoa!” He reaches out to touch my arm, and I ignore his subtle request to turn and face him. In my periphery, I see him scrub a hand over his shaven jaw and shake his head. “You can’t say shit like that to a guy like me and expect me to gloss over it.”

“Shit like what?” I glance over at him. “Easy sex? Why deny it? Sex is great; sex is fun. You just won’t be the lucky one…. Now, tell me what’s in this lecture for you.”

He laughs aloud, producing a sound that’s laced with strained desire and disbelief. “Fuck Quin. With statements like that, you’re making me hope it’s you I’m in it for.”

“Keep dreaming, rocker boy.” I roll my eyes even though he can’t see them, although a small thrill surges through me from his comment. What girl wouldn’t want to hear that? Then I have to control my runaway thoughts, reminding myself over and over again that this man wears an I’m going to break your heart warning like a tattoo. “You still haven’t answered my question—why the seminar?”

I’m not backing down on this because something tells me the truthful answer is going to divulge “the something” about him that I need to know. And hell no, I don’t deserve the honest truth from him considering our shaky start, but I know if I keep him on his toes, then he’ll spend less time trying to get me off mine.

“I told you—I’m struggling on the album…. Never got the chance to go to college and the opportunity arose for the lecture so I took it.” I hear the disconnect beneath the words he speaks more.

“My bullshit-o-meter is zinging here.”

“Are you always this combative, trying to be the bad-ass?” He shakes his head. “Lips like an angel, body made for sin, and feisty enough to rival the devil’s fire?”

My step falters momentarily as his depiction knocks any coherent thoughts from my head. And I’m not sure what it is about his assessment that causes that ache within me to begin to coil again. “You like to play with fire, huh?”

This time his laugh is free and suggestive. “Oh Quin, the hotter the better.”

I don’t respond, just keep walking as the air between us thickens with unspoken and yet undeniable chemistry. I can feel the heat of the glances he steals my way but I ignore them, focusing instead on the murmured whispers in the groups of students we pass. And it must be the look on his face or our defensive posture but no one approaches us as we walk the last few feet toward the auditorium where Axe stands, arms crossed over his chest and back against the doors.

We’re just about to enter when Hawkin says, “Hold up,” and walks to the right of the building toward a food vendor cart.

I follow out of curiosity, wondering what could have caught his attention in the midst of our discussion. “What are you …?” My voice trails off as I see the little-boy grin light up his handsome features. Something about the look on his face, pure joy mixed with the hint of shadow on his jaw, has me staring a bit longer than I should.

“Ice cream!” he says, eyes wide as he peruses the list of flavors.

“Ice cream?” Ice cream is what made this gruff rocker turn into an adolescent? “Sweet tooth much?” I ask.

“The sweeter, the better,” he says, giving me an appraising once-over.

“Guess that leaves me out,” I say with a smirk that causes him to laugh.

“I have a feeling you have a sweet spot beneath that tough exterior, Quinlan,” he says as he points to a flavor and motions for me to pick one myself.

“No thank you,” I reply, a little dumbfounded by this new development. I must still be staring, trying to figure him out as he waits for the vendor to press the scoop of cookies ’n’ cream on the cone because he glances over to me and feels the need to explain.

“It’s my vice … my habit.” He pays the vendor, takes the cone, and then brings the ice cream to his lips. Parts deep within me stir as I watch him close his eyes momentarily and savor his first taste. My thoughts automatically wonder if this is what he looks like when he goes down on a woman.

When I refocus after shaking off the image, he’s staring at me. My obscene thoughts must be written all over my face because a knowing smile spreads over his lips. His eyes tell me yes, it’s the same expression.

And now I have to wonder how exactly I’m going to get that look out of my mind.

“I thought rockers were supposed to prefer sex, drugs, and alcohol,” I stutter, trying to deflect his intense scrutiny. And then once the words are out, I see anger flash through his eyes and realize what a stupid comment it was on the heels of his drug charges.

But he pushes whatever it is aside and takes a step closer to me. He angles his head to the side, and licks around the ice-cream cone where it is starting to melt. “I do love the sex and the alcohol … and let’s not mention the drug part,” he says with a strained laugh, “but my daily habit is sugar. My favorite is ice cream.”

“Seriously?”

He takes another lick and then starts to walk back toward where Axe stands guard but stops when we are shoulder to shoulder. He leans in so that his mouth is near my ear and I can feel his breath chilled by the ice cream as it hits my skin. “Are you really going to complain about a man who likes to use his tongue?”

And before I can regain my wits or the blood that has flooded to the delta of my thighs, he walks toward the auditorium’s entrance without another word. I feel like a groupie as I turn around and scramble after him, trying to tamp down the lust after he just knowingly lit the flame.

“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter to myself as Rylee’s have wild, reckless sex comment flickers through my mind.

Because damn it, Hawkin just threw me for an unexpected loop. The throw caution to the wind part of me stood to attention. The skeptical part of me flipped him the bird.

And despite myself, I know who I want to win.