Play Fling (A Stupid Cupid Book) (10 page)

“Good. Thanks.” Could Brooke get any
redder?

Christ. Millie exhaled as loudly as she
could. What books? And why were they talking about books like they
were puppies?

Brooke pointed at the file Elliott held.
“Shope’s?”

Millie knitted her brow tighter. What was she
missing here? How did they know each other again? Class?

Elliott nodded, rolled his eyes. “Yeah. In
fact, I’d better get to his office now or I’ll have to drag this
stuff home with me.”

Brooke’s shoulders drew back. “Oh, sure. Of
course.”

“See you around, I guess,” he said, and gave
Millie a cursory nod before leaving.

Brooke slid into her seat, her finger worried
at her lower lip.

“Wasn’t that the guy we saw last night?”
Millie splayed her fingers on the table. It was sticky. “Evan or
Egon or something?”

“Hmmm?”

“That guy, last night? When we saw
Jason?”

“Oh, yes. Yes, that’s Elliott. He’s my
history class’s teaching assistant.”

“Teaching assistant?” Millie said a little
too loudly. Teaching assistant? Well, praise Jesus! Could that
explain it? Brooke was a consummate teacher’s pet if Millie’d ever
teased one. No wonder she was all ga-ga around the guy. Sure, he
was blatantly attracted to Brooke. What guy wouldn’t be though
after the wonders the makeover had done? Plus, Millie’d managed
some wardrobe upgrade to boot.

“…grades the papers for Shope. He’s the one I
told you Shope is always talking about but never actually shows his
face?”

Uh-oh. “Never shows his face?”

“Yeah. He isn’t in the class itself, just
gets the blame for….” Brooke paused, whirling her hand as untying
the words from her tongue. “Anyhow, that’s who he is. That’s how I
know him.”

“I see.” Bullshit.

“Yes. So.” Brooke’s chair raked the floor.
“I’d better get to class.”

Millie knees weakened a bit. Better to stay
seated. “What about your clothes? You’ve got coffee all over
them.”

Brooke waved. “Oh well. I can’t miss class.
Made it this far without missing one. Why start now? You know?
Besides, it’s good for business. Or it will be. Once we get past
all the gore.”

She was stammering. Millie schooled her
features, on fire or not, and let her friend go. Part of her wanted
to follow Brooke just for the satisfaction of confirming that she
was flat out lying, was in fact skipping class and following
Elliott instead. Liar, liar, panties on fire.

What good would it do?

Liar or not, Brooke Munkle was about to
follow that damned guy back to Shope’s office and make a fool of
herself. But, hey, who was Millie to stop her? Let her go. How much
harm could a little boy-toy self esteem treat do anyway?

Millie had history on her side, years of love
and marriage at her fingertips, embers ready and waiting to be
rekindled. Plus, she knew how to fight dirty. She had AJ and wasn’t
afraid to use him. One little shot of AJ’s love bomb, and Jason and
Brooke would be putty in her cupid’s hands.

Elliott who?

Brooke’s back disappeared from her view.
Millie crossed her arms and set her jaw. Let the game begin.
Collecting her things, she shoved a buck in the tip jar, waved at
the pregnant waitress and plotted all the way home. First things
first, get Elliott’s file and find the dirt.

Everybody had dirt.

Chapter Eight

Brooke’s belly bundled in nerves as she
strode purposefully across campus. She wouldn’t think about why
because she already knew why. She was going to Shope’s office to
talk to Elliott. Probably not her brightest idea in recent history.
The word foolish came to mind. But she’d come decided today that
she would see him even if he didn’t show at the bookstore. Skipping
a seventy-five-dollars-a-credit, plus four not-so-cheap books,
history class, it had better be worth it.

She had practiced what to say all morning,
about her grades. In her head, he hadn’t shown. She’d found him.
And now, she wanted more. She also imagined each answer, each look.
Reality couldn’t compare. Her stomach knotted and her mouth
watered. She could almost see his surprise, he’d take off his
glasses, ask her why his opinion mattered. She’d tell him it didn’t
matter.

Because it didn’t.

He’d ask about last night. Then what? She
didn’t know.

A gust of wind pushed the scent of latte up
to her nostrils. Her clothes were stiff and sticky. Sweating didn’t
help. She should turn the other way and go to class. Certainly her
ego’s bruises weren’t worth missing class, missing attendance
points. Better yet, she should turn around and go back to Millie,
tell her about the whole debaucle, about this childish mission and
all these dumb butterflies. Millie would talk sense into her.

Instead, Brooke kept walking, cooling and
warming. Imagining.

He wanted her to come. Hadn’t she seen the
challenge in his eyes back there in the bookstore?

A student held the building’s front door
wider for her to pass. Warmer air settled around her, and she
wanted her jacket off. But then her coffee would show. He’d already
seen it. Still. Not good. Not sexy. Not that she necessarily aimed
for feeling sexy, per se. Better to be taken seriously.

Her grade was what mattered. An explanation.
Insight as to why she hadn’t gotten this stuff right yet, mattered.
His opinion mattered.

Ugh. She hated that it mattered. She hated
more what a flimsy excuse it was just to see him and how much what
he might do next mattered. A rickety elevator chimed in the hall.
Brooke took the stairs down. Each step seemed louder, her movements
noisier, the hallway she treaded down, too quiet.

He’d probably heard her. Too late to turn
back now. He’d look and see her retreating if she chickened out
now. Why did this feel like a game of chicken anyway? He was just a
guy grading papers. True, a guy who happened to have hit on her in
an unusual and pretty gallant way. A guy who left her dumbstruck. A
guy nonetheless. One opinion among many. Her own was all that
really mattered.

Yeah, right.

Brooke forced herself to get on with it.
Class was already in session. Showing up late would feel worse than
missing it altogether. Only three more doors, all closed and dark
anyway. What if she forgot how to talk? What if he wasn’t
there?

She held her breath and bit her trembling
lip. On a slow exhale, she stopped outside Shope’s closed door. She
knocked. The loud tick of a clock somewhere nearby announced each
passing second. No answer.

He wasn’t there?

Brooke shifted a leg out and knocked again.
She put a smile on. Nothing.

All that preparation and he wasn’t even
there. She would have laughed if not for the heavy
disappointment.

Warm breath grazed the back of her neck.
“There’s no one in there,” Elliott said behind her.

She didn’t startle. A delicious shiver ran
through her instead. She swallowed. All her carefully rehearsed
words left the building. What was she thinking coming here
again?

“Aren’t you hot?” Elliott brushed a wisp of
hair at her neck, sending another, stronger shiver through her.

“No.” Try roasting, sweating, shaking. “Why?”
She forced her eyes to stay open and commanded her brain to
straighten up. Grade, remember? Answers.

He reached around her, slid a key into the
lock. The key turned. She turned. Faced him.

She wished he had smiled. She might have been
able to think, to de-stupefy herself and stop wondering, was he
happy to see her?

He did look pleased and utterly sensual. One
eyebrow up, his lids lowered. Stubble along his jaw framed his
mouth. Full lips. Still no smile. Stepping back helped. Her heel
met the door but she was able to steady her chin and breathe a
little. Silly jacket made her hotter by the second. She fumbled
with the top button.

“You’re cheeks are red,” he said. His hand
threatened to caress one but faltered mid-air.

Brooke shrugged, mouth dry.

He gestured toward the door, making her
realize he’d opened it. Her face bloomed anew as she entered the
darkness. Elliott clicked a light on at the desk. “Please. Sit
down,” he said, but didn’t sit himself.

Smoothing her hair from her forehead, Brooke
picked the chair nearest to the door and tried to compose herself.
Why was she here again? Oh, yes. Her grade. “I have a question to
ask you.”

“Sure,” Elliott said, propping against the
desk’s edge. “Ask me anything.”

Brooke rubbed her lips together. The heat was
making it difficult to think. Maybe she would take her jacket off,
coffee be damned. She unbuttoned it and pulled it open. A small
draft of relief hit her chest. “I’m in Professor Shope’s History
309 class.”

“Yes?”

“But, then you already knew that, I
suppose.”

“I suspected.”

Forget it. She yanked her jacket off. “And
you grade the papers.”

“Yes.” His gaze skittered down her chest then
back up.

The scent of coffee emanated off of her.
Brooke ignored it. “I need to ask you what…that is, why, you
haven’t given me a better grade on my papers.”

Elliott rubbed his chin, stood and sat next
to her. The sofa creaked. “What grade did you get?”

“Four B minuses. One B plus.” Her throat
trembled from her quick pulse. “Clearly, you don’t like my
writing.”

“To be honest, a B is the best grade you can
get. Shope’s orders. But,” he leaned in, “does it matter?”

Brooke frowned. “Does my grade matter? Well,
yes, I—.”

“No. I meant does it matter that I’m the one
who gave it to you?”

Sandalwood and musk scented the air. Him. His
cologne. It mingled with the latte, tickling her senses. Less than
two feet separated them. Elliott pushed his glasses up, waited for
her answer. What could she say? What had she rehearsed?

“I don’t know. It’s not that it’s you,
necessarily.” Liar. “You see, I’m a bit of a perfectionist.” He
leaned closer and for a fleeting second she thought he might tell
her a secret. Her skin tingled just imagining it. “I want to do my
best.”

“Interesting,” he said.

The shadow along his jaw. The supple contours
of his mouth. Was he a slow, soft kisser? Demanding and hard? She
licked her lips. “Interesting?”

“A week ago, you wouldn’t tell me your
name.”

Did he talk like that to everyone? She nearly
melted under the soft tone.

Brooke tugged at her blouse but it clung to
her skin. “True.” She could kiss him if she wanted to, she
realized. He wouldn’t move away, not even out of spite. “I thought
you’d be …that is to say, I imagined someone….”

Elliott drew his eyebrows together.
“Older?”

“Not older, but shorter maybe. In truth I
don’t know what I pictured. Some pointy nosed belittling
know-it-all who couldn’t give an A because it would somehow mean
he’d failed?” Her voice sounded breathy.

With a chuckle, he moved back. The air
cooled. “Didn’t like me much, did you?”

“Not really.”

“And now?”

Did want count as like? “I hardly know
you.”

“But you want to.”

Yes. She swallowed. Damn her mouth was wet.
“I want an A.”

A devious smile graced his lips. “What are
you willing to do for it?”

She gasped. His smile widened. Of all the—she
ought to smack him! No. Wait. Was he teasing her? Of course he was
teasing her.

Worse, she liked it. Worse than that, he
moved to sit behind the desk and she longed for the heat charging
between them, his scent overpowering her senses. His nearness.

A knock outside the office jerked her
thoughts back. Straightening, she took in the curvy female
silhouetting the doorframe.

“Michelle,” Elliott said, hurrying to his
feet. “What’s up?”

The petite brunette couldn’t be over twenty
and openly measured Brooke up. Then dismissed her.

“Are you busy?” Michelle said, her voice
frail and feminine.

Brooke ground her teeth. Yes, he was busy.
With her. Michelle walked to the desk, to Elliott, and brushed her
fingers on his shoulder. Picking at imaginary lint, are we? A
reason to touch him? How transparent could the girl get? Like
Brooke was some kind of threat.

Puh-lease. She had no designs whatsoever on a
guy far too young—and too hot—for good sense. The last thing Brooke
needed in her life was love anyway, let alone a love triangle. She
should go. Her heels scraped the wood floor as she moved to do
exactly that.

Elliott stood. “Will you excuse me a moment,
Brooke?”

His tone was all business. The meaningful
look he gave her had her nodding and sitting back down. Sure. Okay.
For a moment. He hadn’t given her a straight answer yet. Plus, what
hurt could there be in waiting while he spoke with Michelle outside
the door. Close enough so she might overhear.

She shouldn’t eavesdrop. She didn’t care what
Michelle had to say to Elliott, or he to her.

“Friend of your mother’s?” Michelle
purred.

Brooke bristled. She was older than Elliott
but not old enough to be his mother or a friend of his mother’s.
Was she?

“She’s a student. I thought we agreed I would
call you later,” Elliott said in a near whisper.

Call her later? All sorts of desultory
conclusions burst into Brooke’s head after hearing the last part.
Was Michelle his girlfriend?

“When?”

“When I can. I said I would and I will. But,
I can’t talk right now.”

Brooke felt all sorts of foolish. She’d
almost thrown herself right into his hot lap.

“I can’t imagine Shope would approve of you
talking to his students without him,” Michelle said, her tone at
once a threat and a plea. The girl was definitely attached. “Who am
I to say so, though? I guess it’s none of my business. I just
thought you might want to finish where we left off.”