Free Fissure by Nicole Williams Page B

did just that. “Emma?” I repeated, wrapping my fingers around her arm. “Partner?  What’s going on up there?” I tapped her temple, eliciting a reaction from her this time. Her eyes blinked a few times, followed by a few shakes of the head, like she’d been caught in a dream and had just woken up.
         I only hoped she didn’t leap to the conclusion she’d woken up to a nightmare.
         “Are you all right? I think you blanked out on us for a few minutes.” I was genuinely concerned. I didn’t need to have the framed certificate on my wall like my M.D. brothers did to know this wasn’t normal, or healthy, behavior.
         Clearing her throat, she ran her hands through her hair in quick fits. “I’m fine. Sorry. I was just getting caught up on my meditation. It’s been awhile and since I just found out I’d be spending the semester with you,”—the corner of her mouth fought the upward movement—“I figured I’d need as many moments of calm as I could get.” She tore her fingers through her hair a few more times before twisting it into a fat bun and stabbing it through with the pencil held between her teeth.
         The woman was a pencil welding, bun stabbing samurai.
         “Why, Miss Scarlett,” I said, flicking my ear at her, “was that an attempt at humor I just detected coming from you?”
         “No,” she said. “That was my attempt at honesty.”
         I put on my most injured face. “ That was an attempt at humor.”
         “Yes, it was,” she said, grinning. “Thank you, thank you very much. I’ll be here all week,” she said, bowing her head.
         “From what I hear,” I said, leaning in again. Pressing my luck, but that’s what I did. “You’ll be here”—even closer. She didn’t back away—“all quarter.”
         Her cheeks colored. Not instantly, but a beautiful, smoldering journey to muted crimson. She was blushing. She was blushing at something I’d said. Something I’d done. I didn’t need to be the ladies man I was to know this was a very good sign. Girls didn’t blush at boys that didn’t make them go, somewhere inside, pitter-patter.
         I very nearly leapt from my desk again shouting praise to the skies.
         “All right, everyone,” Professor Camp called out. “Now that you know who your partner is, the first matter of business is to assign your first project. Other than spending copious amounts of time together, this weekend’s date will be—because I like to think of myself as a traditionalist on the dating front—the man’s choice.” The girls all groaned, Emma loudest of all as she threw me a look and an elbow, like boys were positively hopeless when it came to the date planning department.  
         They were right. Boys were. Good thing I happened to be a man.
         “Word of advice, boys,” he said, pointing around the room, “leave the condoms in your nightstand.”
         “Damn,” I said under my breath, which was promptly followed by a sharp elbow to the side, compliments of Miss Scarlett.
         “This is a project, The Luh-ove Project, not a one night stand,” he said, letting that hang in the air. “Try to go against your hormones hitting hyperdrive at this time in your lives and act accordingly. I don’t need the blame for being the catalyst for bringing an illegitimate child into the world.” Stepping around the lectern, he tapped his head. “Fight nature and think with this, not with this,” he finished, tipping his hips.
         There were a few nervous laughs, but mainly just a lot of faces frozen in varying shades of red.
         “Friday or Saturday night?” I asked her, wasting no time. The professor had just given me carte blanche for dating Emma Scarlett, and I wasn’t going to waste a second of it.
         She looked over at me with an expression that said, eager, much? I shrugged, not denying her silent accusation. I was nothing if not