Knowing Me, Knowing You | (S/P)

Chapter 6

August 28th.

I take off my reading glasses and place them on the desk, next to my large sized latte, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment. I wish I could take a nap right now, right here. A huff leaves me when I glance back at the screen –at the word count that has barely moved in the last two hours.

I close the window and open a different document. The word count on this one hasn't moved in weeks, the blank page with nothing else that 'chapter 1' stares at me accusatively, almost too reproachful. I type 'Alexia M. Saunders' on the title page, before closing it again.

What's the point anyway? No one would want to read it.

I'm in the middle of stretching my arms above my head when something catches my attention. Something unnerving, recognized as chaotic by my brain cells, and definitely something I wish I hadn't noticed.

Mr. Rowlins is standing a few feet away from me, looking like a fish out of water. He has his briefcase hanging from one shoulder and a coffee mug in the other hand. He sweeps his eyes around the room, his upper lip trapped between his teeth.

I glance to the tables around me, all of them full with students surrounded by books and laptops. I'm at a double table, and the sit in front of me is empty. Of course it is, I'm Alexia Saunders from planet I've got the worst luck ever.

When I turn back, he's already a few steps from me.

"Can I sit?" Thanks, but no. I'm forced to suppress a heavy sight. Either I'm reading way too much into this, or indeed Mr. Hot Shot Professor has taken it as a life mission to irritate me in every possible way. 

I did promise I would be nicer to him. Now, if I were to be completely honest and unbiased here, maybe I've been a little rude to him. In the depths of my heart, I know that I have not given the man a single chance since he stepped into the room that first day. 

"Sure." I force a smile and rearrange my books to give him space to place his things.

"Isn't it too soon for this place to be this packed?"

"Better get used to it."

"The ventilation system in my office is making an ugly noise, so I've been demoted to working at the library while they fix it."

"What about the professor's lounge?"

"Too crowded." The irony in his voices makes me laugh. "What are you working on?" He asks, taking a sip from his coffee.

"Oh it's just this paper I have for my French class."

"Right, you said you spoke 3 foreign languages." He remembers that? I try to hide the pleased smile curling my lips.

"Yes, Italian, Spanish and Russian." His eyebrows shot up in bewilderment. "I don't count French since I don't like it and therefore I'm not very good at it."

"Quel est le problème avec le français ?" He asks with a perfect accent. As if there could be anything more presumptuous about him. 

"Non è bello come l'italiano." He holds my gaze a few too many seconds, before laughing softly.

"You are full of surprises, Ms. Saunders."

"What makes you say that?"

"Listen, believe or not, I really needed to talk to you the other day," he's quick to change the subject, shifting in his seat, and I'm a little disappointed that he didn't answer my question. I look at him as in go on.