Page 6 of The Professor's Wife
“I’m not that kind of guy.”
“No?”
“No.”
“What sort of guy are you?”
He went quiet for a few moments, choosing his words carefully. I liked that, too—the way he deliberated rather than spitting out the first charming answer that came to mind.
Finally, he said, “I don’t eat fast food.”
If I had been drinking anything stronger, I might have choked. It still took me a moment to recover.
“That’s your answer?”
“It is.”
I bit the inside of my cheek, playing along. “So, what do you eat?”
He looked faintly embarrassed by the conversation he had started but committed to it anyway. “Something worth waiting for.”
“What happens when you find it? Do you devour the whole thing?”
He gave me an offended look. “No.”
“No?”
“You take your time with something good.”
I laughed, and it felt good.
So good.
His dimples deepened at the sound. “Please tell me your name.”
“Daisy.”
“Daisy,” he whispered, tasting it. “Daisy. Daze. Day.”
I gave him a cheeky look. “What are you doing with my name?”
“Trying to find the one that fits.”
“And?”
“Daze,” he murmured, almost to himself. “That one suits you.”
“Why?”
He let out a startled laugh, as though he hadn’t expected me to ask.
“Because I can’t think straight around you.” He shook his head at himself. “You’ve put me in a fucking daze.”
This man was trouble.
Big trouble.
His words curled around me like smoke—warm and dangerous. They settled beneath my skin, in the places I tried hardest to protect.
