The Professor's Girl | 18+ | COMPLETE |

+ chapter 17 +

Kahlan held up the bag he was carrying, and I could see the top of a wine bottle sticking out. "I know you were upset today," he said. "I don't know if it was me, or something else, but I've heard these things help."

I took the bag, struggling to pick my jaw up off the floor. There was a bottle of red wine – and not the cheap, bottom shelf brand I usually bought – and a half-quart of Ben & Jerry's ice cream. I picked it up, genuinely emotional at the sight of the delicious dessert.

"This is my favorite," I murmured. My eyes were actually teary. Crap. All my worry and waiting and build-up and here he was at my door with ice cream and wine.

He smiled, looking rather proud of himself. "Good. Now I know I'm unexpected. You don't have to invite me in. I can leave and we can still talk on the phone."

"No, no, for god's sake, come in, Kahlan," I opened the door for him, quickly shutting it again and sticking out my leg to prevent Charles from making his escape. I was glad he was actually getting to see my apartment clean for the first time. At least this proved I wasn't a complete slob.

"Do you want some?" I said, as I searched for my wine cork in the kitchen drawers. For something I used almost every other day, I somehow managed to misplace it just as often.

"Sure," he said, leaning against the kitchen doorframe. He was wearing a tight button-up with jeans and casual black Vans. Not the kind of meeting attire I was expecting.

"What kind of meeting were you in?" I said, glancing at his shoes for emphasis as I poured us both a glass.

"It was with one of my professors," he said, accepting the glass I offered with a smile. "I actually have classes on Mondays and Wednesdays myself."

I didn't know why it had never occurred to me to ask about his own classes. Somehow it had never really solidified in my mind that a professor would still be taking classes like all the rest of the undergraduates. He followed me to the couch, where Charles promptly decided to inspect his lap and then curl up on it. I was worried he would be upset about cat hair on his clothes, put he clicked his mouth in the universal "kitty sound" and scratched under Charles chin.

"My cat likes you," I said incredulously. "And he really doesn't like anybody."

"Getting the cat the like you is on par with getting the mother to like you," Kahlan said, as Charles leaned appreciatively into his hand. "Maybe even more so. You don't usually have to live with the mother."

I bit my lip, knowing what I had to tell him. I took a deep, burning gulp of the wine, and blurted out, "My ex saw us in the parking lot last night!"

Nice one, Liz. That had admittedly not been how I was intending to tell him. He looked confused at first, then he frowned. "So he saw you with another man. That's none of his business."

"He's in your class," I said, and his frown deepened. "He had to have recognized you. I saw him, and he looked so . . . angry."

Kahlan swirled his wine in his glass, pinching his lower lip between his fingers. "Hmm. I see. And you think he was angry enough to tell someone? I thought he left you of his own choosing?"

"He did," I said, exasperated at the situation. "He's just . . . he's possessive. He's that kid that won't want a toy until someone else is playing with it."

Kahlan raised an eyebrow. "Is that the kind of sociopaths you usually date?"

I blushed, feeling more than embarrassed. "I was too stupid to accept that while I was with him," I said tightly. "I didn't know . . . I mean . . . I knew. I just . . . I had spent so much time wanting it to work . . ." I shrugged uselessly.

"Don't call yourself stupid," Kahlan said sternly, reaching over to tuck my hair behind my ear. "Or I'll put you over my knee." Seeing that illicit a nervous but relieved giggle out of me, Kahlan turned himself on the couch to face me more fully. "Don't blame yourself. We both chose to do this, knowing it was probably really stupid. If your ex decides to go to someone at the school about it, we'll deal with that when it comes. He has no proof. It's one sociopath's word against ours."

I put my head down, staring at my curling toes. "So you . . . you would be fine with . . . still spending time with me? I mean, with still doing . . . what we've been doing?"

He looked confused as he continued to stroke my hair. "And why exactly would I let your ex scare me away from you?" he said. "A boy like that doesn't frighten me."

"School officials should," I said, still hardly able to look at him. I hated that I was so scared. I hated that I absolutely dreaded that he could walk away. I hated that I knew I would have to let him if he did. "They would fire you, Kahlan. You could be kept from graduating. What if they expelled you?"

"That's for me to worry about," he said firmly. "Not you. Doing this was my choice, knowing the risks. I felt you were worth it anyway."

I wanted to ask him what exactly he'd meant when he said I was worth it. Surely he meant the sex was worth it, the gratification, the pleasure. That's what this was about. Still, it made me smile to hear that. I pressed my face against his hand, which had begun to toy with my ear.

"Come here," he said, and leaned back on the couch. Charles politely gave up his spot, and I laid myself down against Kahlan's chest. Feeling his warmth and his arms around me made all the anxiety that had plagued me for the entire day melt away. I suddenly felt exhausted, and my eyes fluttered closed. I spent a few minutes just absorbing the closeness, relishing it. Then Kahlan's fingers began to stroke gently along my arm and I practically melted.

"That feels so nice," I moaned into his chest.

"You're so tense, little girl," he said disapprovingly. "Have you been worried about this all day?"

"Yeah," I mumbled sleepily. "I couldn't focus in class. I wanted to tell you. I just . . . I thought that you . . ." I buried my face against his shirt, muffling my words. "I thought you wouldn't want to see me anymore."

He fingers paused in their caresses. I wanted to whine at him to keep going, it had felt so nice. What the hell was wrong with me? Why did this man make me weak in the best of ways?

"Is there something more you want from me, Liz?" he said slowly, as his fingers resumed their heavenly ministrations. "I know you said you wanted this to be casual. That you weren't ready so soon after your last relationship for anything requiring an emotional commitment. But I want to make sure . . . that you're alright."

I played with the buttons on his shirt. The little voice inside was beginning to frighten me. It was screaming for things I didn't want. Or at least, that I had thought I didn't want. I wished I could ask for a retraction of that question. But he was silent, waiting for my answer.

"I'm okay," I lied. I was glad he wasn't making me look at him. "That's still what I want."

He didn't pause, or accuse me of lying, or demand I rethink my answer. Instead he said, "Just know that I don't want to leave, Liz." He sighed, as his fingers tugged lightly at my hair. "This is happiness for me."

I tucked my head down and pressed it more tightly against him. The last thing I needed was for him to see all the emotions I had denied having suddenly welling up in my eyes.