Knowing Me, Knowing You | (S/P)

Chapter 15

September 15th.

On Monday, I make my way through the English Department with a latte in hand and a big smile plastered on my face; I almost feel like an invader inside my own body.

I feel like I've been walking inside a bubble since Saturday night; even when I found out that Danielle stole and ate my mint chocolate chip ice-cream, I didn't let it ruin my mood.

Oh the weird things Nathaniel Rowlins is doing to me. 

We texted over the weekend. He complained about the papers he was grading, I shared comments about the series I was binge-watching, and we mercifully teased each other.

I have to admit it –this was completely new to me. I usually turn anxious whenever a guy I'm seeing texts me, and I even tend to delay the answer because hey, I'm that girl. That being said, with Nathaniel it comes easy, natural. If you had told me a month ago that this would happen, I would had highly recommended you to see a doctor. 

But now...now, I'm glad I'm in the middle of it all. Mostly, I'm happy that we're no longer biting at each other's throat. Well, now that I think about it...

My course of thought is interrupted by the sight of perfection itself. Nathaniel is sitting behind his desk, typing away on his laptop, his frown deep in concentration. His dark blond hair is combed to the back, with some unruly locks falling beautifully over his forehead. There's a big coffee mug next to his left hand, and I know for a fact that he didn't have any sleep finishing grading those papers. 

I cross the door and walk towards my seat right in the middle. As I do so, he looks up provoking our gazes to meet. I try to suppress any kind of reaction when his dark green eyes roam over my body, knowingly. He smiles faintly, and I reciprocate before sitting down. It's going to be such a challenge to act as anything else than a student and a professor in front of everyone else. I guess we will have to find out if I'm Oscar nominee material.

I reach into my backpack and retrieve my journal for my American Short Fiction class, a black ink pen, my copy of Willa Cather's Paul's Case, and start taking notes for my close reading assignment.

There's only been a month since classes started and I'm already swamped up in things to do. It might be a bittersweet feeling, I'm glad I quit my job at the library, otherwise I'd have to pull out all-nighters every week to meet the deadlines. They are not lying when they say senior year it's the real test.

"Good morning class, please open up your books where we left the last time." A familiar husky voice announces before beginning his lecture.

A small pale hand lets a folded piece of paper on my desk, taking away my attention from Nathaniel's interpretation of a certain paragraph. I look to my left to find Abigail looking straight to the front as if her life depended on it.

Please don't be mad at me.

I fold the piece of paper back again and write a short response. I could never get mad at her, not completely at least. 

Abigail's been there for me through thick and thin, and I hope I have done the same for her. In the three years that we have known each other, we have stressed together over midterms and finals, we have binged watched the best rom-coms there exist, we have fooled around singing and dancing in just our underwear, and we have held the other when our hearts were hurting. It's not a lie that she gets to my nerves very often, but I love her so.

Once she gets my note that reads "I can't be mad at my best friend", she looks at my direction sporting one of her finest smiles. I wink at her, which in short means we will watch a movie tonight and eat unhealthy amounts of ice-cream.