Read Online Definitely, Maybe in Love by Ophelia London - Free Book Online

this chair at another—”
    “She’s joining me.” He pushed out the chair with his foot. “Have a seat, Spring.”
    “Jeez, be a caveman, why don’t you?” I muttered under my breath as I walked toward the table, confused, but cold and famished. Stupid rain.
    I sat across from him, ordered my breakfast, and pulled a paperback from my bag, preparing to ignore our close proximity. Not that we were exactly strangers anymore. Classes had been in session for three weeks—I ran into him practically every day, though we usually didn’t speak. All those things Alex told me on our date were hard to forget. I didn’t trust this guy…I barely liked him.
    “What are you reading?” he asked.
    I peered at him from over the book I’d been using as a shield and lowered it an inch. “ Huis Clos, suivi de Les Mouches ,” I answered before flipping off the French-to-English switch in my head.
    His eyebrows twitched. “Jean-Paul Sartre?”
    I put in my bookmark and placed the paperback on the table next to my poppy seed muffin. “Are you taking French?”
    “No, no.” He took a bite of the bagel in front of him. It had some kind of pink spread on it.
    For some reason, I found that extremely odd. Was it strawberry? Henry Knightly ate strawberry cream cheese?
    “I’m studying Latin,” he continued. “It helps with the law terminology. Plus, it’s a dead language.” He eyed me, kind of deadpan. “I’m trying to resurrect it.”
    “Single-handedly?”
    He exhaled what could have been a laugh, then took a sip from a tall, silver travel mug. “If that’s what it takes.”
    While he checked something on his phone, I watched him from across the table, wondering why he was in such a talkative mood. We hadn’t exchanged this many words since the party. I also wondered where he was off to so early. I knew most post-graduate courses were taught in the afternoons to accommodate students who had jobs. Knightly did not have a job.
    He wasn’t wearing a complete suit today, just dark gray pants, a white shirt with blue pinstripes, and a gray-and-black-striped tie. A dark gray jacket was draped over the back of his chair. Most professors didn’t dress up as much. To me, the formalness of his attire went hand-in-hand with the formal attitude that he wore like so many argyle sweaters.
    I stirred at the contents of my turquoise over-sized porcelain mug, staring down at the brown liquid swirling around like a whirlpool.
    “Some weather,” he observed.
    “Yeah,” I answered.
    “What class do you have this morning?”
    I hated small talk. Why hadn’t I grabbed my food to go? Why was there still a friggin’ monsoon outside and why’d I leave home sans umbrella?
    “Statistics,” I said, nibbling around the edges of my muffin.
    “Nothing after that?”
    “Why are you asking about my classes?”
    “Because you’re sitting right in front of me and it’s polite.”
    “Oh, you’re polite now?” I couldn’t help blurting. “Run over any pedestrians lately?”
    Something in his expression seemed pleased by my outburst.
    I took a breath and looked down at my plate. “I guess I don’t thrive on chitchat like some people.”
    “You might be out of practice.”
    I lifted my chin. “And what? You’re the grand master of communication?”
    “How would you know if I am or not? We don’t know each other very well.” His eyes were wide with amusement at whatever he was thinking about saying next. “Don’t you think it’s time we remedy that? I know I’d be willing to do something about it.”
    My teeth stopped moving mid-chew. His eye contact didn’t waver, causing the temperature under my collar to heat up a degree or two. In a parallel universe, I might have thought he was flirting with me. But that seemed as probable as discovering spotted owls living in Trump Tower.
    I swallowed and quickly picked up my novel, letting the bookmark slide onto the table. I held the book in front of my face, staring blankly at the