Read Online Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy) by Claire Matthews - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Claire Matthews
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after we scarf down two Hawaiian pizzas, we call it an early night. Will and I make our way to the shuttle stop—he can actually walk to his place from The Duck, but he sits with me on the bench while I wait for the bus. We’ve sobered up a bit since we ate our pizza.
“You don’t have to wait here with me, you know. You must be exhausted.” I’m studying him under the harsh light of the shuttle canopy—his tie hangs limply around his neck, and the stubble on his chin makes him look even more rumpled. There are dark circles under his eyes.
“Of course I do.”
“No, you think you do, because your mother filled your head with antiquated notions of chivalry in a male-dominated social structure.”
“Yes, that must be it. I’ll leave you to it, then.” He gets up to leave, and I let forth a giggle and grab his arm. I really don’t want to wait for the bus alone in the dark.
He relents easily, and then we both freeze when his cell phone begins to ring.
“Hey, Rich.” It’s Dr. Lance. I knew he’d call. There’s a bit of silence, and Will turns away from me, sticking his finger in his free ear to hear better. It seems like Dr. Lance is doing all the talking. Will’s nodding, but hasn’t really said much. I can’t tell what’s going on. Is this good or bad? Shit.
“Tuesday sounds good,” Will says finally, and now I’m really confused. What? What about Tuesday? This is driving me nuts.
“All right, Rich, will do. Thanks.” Will hangs up, his back still facing me. I realize that I’ve been chewing my bottom lip painfully.
“What?” I practically shriek. “What’s Tuesday good for? A celebration? A ritual killing?”
He finally turns to face me. “A meeting over at the Provost’s office. Apparently I have to be there when he submits my paperwork for tenure.”
“Omigod! Omigod!” I jump up like a Jack-in-the-Box and fling myself into his arms. Hugging him close, I bury my face in the crook of his neck. He holds on to steady me, his bottom hand on the small of my back, his top cupping the nape of my neck. “I am so happy for you,” I squeak into his shoulder.
After a moment he pulls back and looks into my eyes seriously. I’m still cradled in his embrace. And then he leans down and kisses me. Just like that. It’s so soft; it’s not even really a kiss, just two pairs of lips brushing each other, tiny touches that almost fail to register. God, this can’t be happening, can it? We’ve had too much beer.
Finally, he lifts his head from mine. His eyes are wide. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“S’okay,” I whisper back. And then I reach up and pull his lips back to mine. Harder this time. I hear his sharp intake of air…sense his mouth opening…feel his tongue reach to touch mine. They are very happy to meet each other.
One thought hits me out of the blue: He’s not like Paul at all.
He’s so much better .
Go figure—sweet, goofy Will, all arms and elbows and gangly charm--It’s his kisses that make my knees weak; make my nerve-endings zing; make the blood rush to all the important parts in warm waves of pleasure. As we come up for air, I realize that I’ve slipped my hands under his blazer, and my palms are gripping his shirtfront like two vices. I pull back abruptly—kind of like ripping off a band-aid.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“S’okay.” We stare at each other for a long moment. It looks like Will wants to say something, but we’re interrupted by the squealing brakes of the shuttle bus as it comes to a halt in front of us.
“That’s me,” I say stupidly. My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed a cup of pea gravel.
“Right.” He removes his hands from my waist. I want them back immediately.
“Will…” What the hell am I going to say?
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Luce.” He gives me a shaky grin, and somehow I end up on the bus, although for the life of me I don’t remember climbing the steps or sliding into my seat.
Chapter Eight
To
“You don’t have to wait here with me, you know. You must be exhausted.” I’m studying him under the harsh light of the shuttle canopy—his tie hangs limply around his neck, and the stubble on his chin makes him look even more rumpled. There are dark circles under his eyes.
“Of course I do.”
“No, you think you do, because your mother filled your head with antiquated notions of chivalry in a male-dominated social structure.”
“Yes, that must be it. I’ll leave you to it, then.” He gets up to leave, and I let forth a giggle and grab his arm. I really don’t want to wait for the bus alone in the dark.
He relents easily, and then we both freeze when his cell phone begins to ring.
“Hey, Rich.” It’s Dr. Lance. I knew he’d call. There’s a bit of silence, and Will turns away from me, sticking his finger in his free ear to hear better. It seems like Dr. Lance is doing all the talking. Will’s nodding, but hasn’t really said much. I can’t tell what’s going on. Is this good or bad? Shit.
“Tuesday sounds good,” Will says finally, and now I’m really confused. What? What about Tuesday? This is driving me nuts.
“All right, Rich, will do. Thanks.” Will hangs up, his back still facing me. I realize that I’ve been chewing my bottom lip painfully.
“What?” I practically shriek. “What’s Tuesday good for? A celebration? A ritual killing?”
He finally turns to face me. “A meeting over at the Provost’s office. Apparently I have to be there when he submits my paperwork for tenure.”
“Omigod! Omigod!” I jump up like a Jack-in-the-Box and fling myself into his arms. Hugging him close, I bury my face in the crook of his neck. He holds on to steady me, his bottom hand on the small of my back, his top cupping the nape of my neck. “I am so happy for you,” I squeak into his shoulder.
After a moment he pulls back and looks into my eyes seriously. I’m still cradled in his embrace. And then he leans down and kisses me. Just like that. It’s so soft; it’s not even really a kiss, just two pairs of lips brushing each other, tiny touches that almost fail to register. God, this can’t be happening, can it? We’ve had too much beer.
Finally, he lifts his head from mine. His eyes are wide. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“S’okay,” I whisper back. And then I reach up and pull his lips back to mine. Harder this time. I hear his sharp intake of air…sense his mouth opening…feel his tongue reach to touch mine. They are very happy to meet each other.
One thought hits me out of the blue: He’s not like Paul at all.
He’s so much better .
Go figure—sweet, goofy Will, all arms and elbows and gangly charm--It’s his kisses that make my knees weak; make my nerve-endings zing; make the blood rush to all the important parts in warm waves of pleasure. As we come up for air, I realize that I’ve slipped my hands under his blazer, and my palms are gripping his shirtfront like two vices. I pull back abruptly—kind of like ripping off a band-aid.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“S’okay.” We stare at each other for a long moment. It looks like Will wants to say something, but we’re interrupted by the squealing brakes of the shuttle bus as it comes to a halt in front of us.
“That’s me,” I say stupidly. My voice sounds like I’ve swallowed a cup of pea gravel.
“Right.” He removes his hands from my waist. I want them back immediately.
“Will…” What the hell am I going to say?
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Luce.” He gives me a shaky grin, and somehow I end up on the bus, although for the life of me I don’t remember climbing the steps or sliding into my seat.
Chapter Eight
To
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