“I know … but it’s still a helluva good idea. Well, I’m going to—oh my God! I totally forgot! Did you hear who was on campus today?” She says in a rush and from the excitement in her voice I’m really hoping she says Brad Pitt or something but I have a feeling I know exactly who she’s talking about.

“Who?”

“Hawkin—come-to-momma—Play. What I wouldn’t give to play him,” she murmurs as if she’s fantasizing doing just that. “I guess he’s doing some kind of seminar that I’m going to have to crash just so that I can—oh shit! A cop’s behind me, call you right back!” She ends the call abruptly, not willing to risk another ticket for talking on her cell phone and driving without a Bluetooth device. Guaranteed she’s most likely lost the last one she bought like she did the five before that.

I lean back and exhale, thankful for the momentary break in conversation so that I can figure out how exactly to tell Layla about my run-in with Hawkin. And then I wonder why my immediate reaction is that I don’t want to confide in her. Don’t want to knock him off the pedestal she’s set him on even though it’s not warranted. Just because he has a voice begging for sin doesn’t mean he’s the stellar guy she thinks he is.

Besides, it’s not like I’m going to see him again anyway so why am I even stressing over it?

My phone rings in my hand and startles me so much I answer it without looking. “That was quick, Lay!”

A masculine chuckle fills the line. “I’m anything but quick, but the lay part I can make sure of.”

What is it with men and everything being turned into sexual innuendo today? And of course as much as I want to roll my eyes, my lips form an involuntary smile.

“Luke? How—”

“You told me I was focused on the wrong numbers … so I found the right ones,” he says and I can’t help the little flutter in my stomach from the thought that he went the extra distance—like he always seems to do—to try yet again.

I emit a nervous laugh, unsure how to really feel about his continued pursuit. I fall back to my standard use of sarcasm whenever I’m uncomfortable. “Oh, how sweet of you! Were things going so well for you that you needed some rejection so you searched me out?”

“Charming as always,” he replies, humor in his voice so at least I know he took my comment how it was intended.

Unlike a different asshole from earlier today who couldn’t take a hint to save his life.

“You know you can’t resist me.”

“The answer’s still no, Luke.” I know he can hear the fondness in my voice.

“Don’t believe I asked but thanks for shooting me down … again,” he teases.

“And again and again.” I laugh. “How’d you get my number?”

“I have my ways,” he responds, and I have a gut feeling that Rylee is meddling here, handing him my phone number on the sly.

“Are those ways going to end up with my brother’s fist in your face?”

“If it did, would you come kiss it and make me feel better?”

I sigh into the line in response to his relentless pursuit. “Hm. Probably not. I’m not very gentle.”

His laugh is deep and rich and full of suggestion. “You’re such a goddamn tease, you know that? Maybe I like it a little rough.”

“Walked right into that one didn’t I?” I chuckle, feeling a sincere smile on my face for the first time since meeting Hawkin earlier today.

“Sure did.”

It dawns on me that he might be calling for a real purpose, and that I’ve made an incorrect assumption. “So … what can I do for you?”

“You sure you want me to answer that?”

“Give me the PG version,” I state.

“Ah, now that wouldn’t be any fun now would it?” The line falls silent for a beat. “How about we go out sometime?”

One of these days the man is going to wear me down to nothing until I relent. We’ve been following the steps of this dance for so long.

“You sure are tenacious…. I think you need to find a hobby or something to occupy your time besides racing.” It’s so fun to tease him, and in fact it makes me miss Colton and our constant banter.

“Tell me about it. We’ve got a three-week lag until the next race. I need something to chase now since there’s not a spoiler in front of me, so once again I’ve set my sights on chasing you.”

“Well there’s your problem, Mason.”

“Problem?”

“Why you’re having a little dry spell on the track.”

“A dry spell?” He coughs the words out.

“Yep. You can’t cross the finish line in first place if you’re always chasing. You need to figure out how to lead, cowboy, then you just might have a chance at taking the checkered flag.” I hear his laugh and know that I’ve had enough of cocky, overbearing men today. “Maybe next time, I’ll say yes. Good-bye, Luke.”

“I’ll take that as a maybe,” I hear as I end the call.

I immediately dial Layla. “Did you get a ticket?” I ask when she answers.

“Thank God, no.” Relief floods her voice.

“Good because I’ve reconsidered. Ready to go get liquored and laid?”

“Well, at least one of them,” she laughs out.

“I’m aiming for both.”



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.