Page 17 of Cross My Heart
“It’s OK. Every man—or woman—for themselves.”
I try to make eye contact with the bartender, with zero results. “Clearly, I haven’t cracked the code of getting attention,” I tell the stranger with a sigh.
“You certainly got mine,” he says with a grin. “And I’ll have the bruise to prove it tomorrow.”
“Are you angling for me to buy you a drink, to make up for it?” I ask, amused. It’s been a long while since I flirted with anyone, but this guy seems nice enough.
“Well… Now that you mention it.”
I laugh.
“No, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he continues. “Besides, with your shoddy drink-ordering skills, we’d be here all night.”
“Hey,” I protest lightly, and he grins at me. Definitely flirting.
“I’m Frederick,” he says, and I have to cough to hide my snort of laughter. “What?” he frowns, and I shake my head.
“No, sorry, just something my friend said… I’m Tessa,” I add quickly, and his smile widens.
“Lovely to meet you, Tessa with the incredibly sharp elbows.”
I’m just shaking his hand, when someone slides in by the bar behind me. “Causing more trouble, Ms. Peterson?”
A shiver of awareness rolls down my spine.
Saint.
I turn, and find him leaning there, all rumpled dark hair and a cut-glass jawline. Again, I feel that electric pulse of uncertainty, like a live wire just hitched a spark, but I keep my cool, and fix him with an even gaze. “You know me,” I say archly. “Always disrupting things.”
Saint smirks. His eyes drift past me to my new friend. “Freddie, good to see you.”
“Professor St. Clair.” Frederick’s eyes widen, and he clears his throat. “I, umm, hi.”
“I’m surprised to see you out tonight,” Saint says, giving him a lazy smile. “If I recall, you have a paper due first thing Monday, and based on your recent performance in my seminar… Well, I would suggest you have better things to do that flirt with pretty girls in bars. However disruptive they might be,” he adds, giving me a smirk.
Frederick’s face turns red, and the man practically deflates in front of us. He looks from me, to Saint, and back again. “He’s right. I, um, I have to study,” he mumbles, and then hightails away so fast, he’s practically a blur.
“Really?” I ask Saint, giving him a pointed look. “You had to pull a little power move?”
Saint gives a careless shrug. “What can I say? I care about my students’ academic futures.”
“Sure you do.”
“I’m surprised at you, though,” he adds, gesturing to the bartender with his sharp gaze still fixed on me. Of course, the guy materializes to take his order right away: a glass of some ancient scotch, neat.
He doesn’t offer to get me anything.
“The boy’s still a first year.” Saint continues. “But I guess you like them young.”
I narrow my eyes. “Actually, I do,” I say brightly. "Less attitude, for a start. They don’t walk around, acting like they expect everyone to drop to their knees and obey every word.”
Saint arches an eyebrow, and too late, I realize the double entendre.What it would feel like on my knees in front of Saint, awaiting his instruction…
My cheeks flush, but I pretend like I don’t notice. “Besides, younger men have far more stamina,” I continue sweetly. “They’re insatiable. While with age comes… infirmity. Wouldn’t you say?”
Saint laughs at the insult. “There’s certainly nothing lacking in my… firmness.”
“Oh?” I let my gaze drift lower, over his pressed shirt and black jeans. “Lucky you.”