Free Body Chemistry by Dara Girard

look at her at first and she wondered if she’d underestimated his temper. Then he lifted his gaze and eyes shining with brilliance and fierce independence blazed into hers igniting an attraction she didn’t know she had. Her heart jolted and she felt her entire body grow hot.
    She stumbled over her next few words. “It’s because you challenge him and he doesn’t take well to that and can be very vindictive. That’s my observation.”
    He made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat, which she couldn’t interpret and continued staring at her in that dark, magnetic way of his. “Just some friendly advice.” She flashed a quick smile, then fled.
    She felt like a coward but that didn’t stop her from running. She could feel his gaze on her and ran until she knew he was gone. Once outside she had felt foolish and tried to convince herself that she’d made it all up, but her body knew differently and she still felt breathless. She decided to sketch and selected her favorite place to do so. She always carried a little sketchbook with her and felt herself relax as she focused on drawing a butterfly resting on a rock nearby.
    “So you think I’m smart?”
    She didn’t dare turn around. She felt him sit beside her. The breathless feeling returned. She focused on her drawing because she didn’t dare focus on him. “Yes.”
    He leaned in closer. The hairs on his arm brushed against her skin. “You’re very good,” he said.
    “Thanks. I like to sketch. It keeps my mind clear. Sometimes I try to draw things from memory to see how much detail I can remember. Reminds me to be observant.” Dear God, she was rambling . She snapped her sketchbook closed because it was clear he wasn’t going to move and she’d have to. She needed to create distance.
    “Do I make you nervous?”
    “You make Dr. Prentice nervous.”
    “I can’t help that.”
    “You can’t be a filmmaker if you don’t know how to work with people.”
    “How did you know about that?” he demanded.
    “I saw your documentary. I would have missed it but my younger brother was visiting and watching TV and turned it on. I really liked it.”
    He shook his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think anyone would watch it. I still got a D.”
    His unhappiness surprised her. She’d thought he would rally against such things as a professor’s criticism. She didn’t want anything or anyone to crush his spirit. She ruffled through her bag, then pulled out a class project that still brought her pain. “My professor gave me a D for this. I cried for days until I realized that he just hated me and not my work.”
    He held the illustration. “This is great.”
    “Thanks.”
    He traced the illustration with his forefinger. “And he made you cry?”
    “I was devastated, but I got over it.”
    “What was his name again?” he asked the question in such a quiet, neutral voice she sent him an uneasy look. Then she looked at his hands, he gripped the paper without creasing it, but he held it so tightly that the veins on the back of his hands popped out. His anger surprised and concerned her. She gently covered his hand, amazed by the size and strength of it. “It doesn’t matter now. I passed.”
    He didn’t look at her, instead he stared at their hands. She quickly removed hers and stood.
    “Where are you going?”
    “I have to go to class.”
    “Can I call you?”
    “Sure.”
    He called her the next day and they were married six months later. She stared at him now. There were no longer frayed shirts or bursts of insecurities, he was a self-made multimillionaire and knew it.
    They sat in his enclosed sunroom, the crisp autumn wind beating against the window as the sign of the approaching winter. Brenda looked at the large table covered with a damask table cloth, candles and a large display of fresh flowers in the middle. It was an effortlessly romantic setting: the sound of the water, the soft lights of the city, and soothing classical music drifting in