I turned my attention from my locker and smiled up at him, hoping it would lessen the sting. “I think it would be okay to hang out as friends, but I’m not interested in dating right now. Thank you, though. I think you’re a really great guy, and I’m so glad we’ve become friends, but I’m not looking for anything more.”

I figured I couldn’t have sounded more awkward if I’d tried.

The dimples disappeared and his body stiffened, the easy way he’d slouched against my locker obliterated. “Sure.”

“I’m sorry.”

I was sorry. He was cute. Really cute.

And I wasn’t even kind of interested.

He nodded. “It’s cool. I’ll see you around, okay?”

I forced a smile. “Okay.”

I felt horrible. I didn’t mean to shoot him down; I just couldn’t see him as anything other than a friend.

I walked down the hall, headed in the opposite direction. I waved to a few friends from my section, weaving my way through the crowds to head to the faculty side of the building. I had a meeting with Gray to go over our first pro bono event.

I’d spent a ridiculous amount of time getting ready for today, struggling to decide between dressing up or going for casual instead. I’d settled on a pair of my favorite jeans—Sevens that fit me like a glove—and a pink J.Crew sweater. I’d paired the outfit with ballet flats and my quilted Burberry jacket and spent fifteen minutes trying to fix my hair before I’d given up and thrown it in a ponytail.

We were friends. Just friends.

Friends spent an hour dressing for each other, right?

Right.

Gray

Blair walked into my office, shutting the door behind her, and all of the feelings that had sprung up during class came rushing back to me.

Her sweater was the same color as cotton candy and it made me think of nibbling on her. When she took her coat off and turned to set it down, I saw just how tight her jeans were. Shit. Her ass wasn’t big, but in those jeans it was the perfect handful.

And just like that I was back to hiding my erection behind a desk.

Fuck.

She smiled at me, bending down and grabbing her notebook and a pen, her ponytail swinging with the motion.

“So I’ve talked to a few vendors about providing baked goods for the Halloween carnival. I have a friend who owns an amazing bakery in Georgetown, and she’s agreed to donate cupcakes. I thought it would be cute if she decorated them with spiderwebs, witches, maybe headstones, although that might be a little macabre.”

“Cupcakes?” I asked, struggling to keep up with her.

“Yeah. For the carnival.”

We’d decided that the 1Ls would spend the rest of the year doing various community service projects at Greenwood Middle School. The principal had suggested volunteering at their annual Halloween carnival as a way to introduce the kids to their law school mentors. I was pretty sure her idea had been people handing out candy, maybe wearing a sheet with cut-out eyeholes to look like a scary ghost. Blair clearly had different ideas.

I fought the smile, reaching for my law professor persona to keep the informality between us at bay. Letting my guard down with this girl was clearly dangerous.

“Just out of curiosity, besides the cupcakes, what else do you have planned for the carnival?”

Blair beamed back at me, and I decided right then and there that if she told me I had to dress up like a fucking clown, I’d do it.

“Well, I thought I’d make goody bags so all of the kids would have something to take home with them. And I sent out emails and already have ten 1Ls signed up to volunteer. I have some arm-twisting to do—Halloween is a big party night—but I’m hoping to get to twenty students. They’re expecting about two hundred kids to show up.”

“I’ll offer three points of extra credit on the final exam if students volunteer,” I suggested.

“Seriously?”

“Doing pro bono work is part of being a practicing lawyer. They should learn the lesson now.”

“Thanks,” Blair responded, her voice going soft.

“No problem.” I nodded toward her notebook. “So what else?”

“Well, I have a fortune teller coming—I told her no scary fortunes or anything like that.” Blair frowned and scribbled something in her notebook before turning her attention back to me. “I have a few calls in to some local restaurants to see about getting food donated.”

“You’re going to get restaurants to donate food for an event for two hundred middle schoolers that’s less than a week away?”

Her lips curved. “Let’s just say I can be persuasive when I need to be.”

I laughed. “I was going to go with tenacious, but persuasive works as well.”

She flushed a bit. “I know I’m probably going a bit overboard, but after talking to Principal Miller . . .” Her eyes shone. “Hearing what a lot of those kids have been through . . .” Her voice trailed off. “I just want to give them a special night that they’ll always remember. Do you know what I mean?”

I didn’t want to tell her that I knew exactly what those kids had been through because my childhood probably hadn’t been much better. Her suggestion to have food at the event would make the difference between some students getting dinner that night or going hungry.

My ex-wife had thought charity was paying two thousand dollars a plate to dine with Chicago’s elite. It had been about smiling for a camera and getting her picture on the society page under a headline lauding how charitable she was. Blair didn’t care about any of that. We were less than two weeks away from the election, and she didn’t talk about having her picture taken or making this about anything other than the kids.

“And I also want to have costumes there for those who don’t have any, in case they want to dress up,” she added. “We can make it a cool station or something so they don’t feel awkward about it. I’m working out the cost now—”

“I’ve got it. Give me the details and I’ll sort it out.”

Her eyes widened and I felt my cheeks heating under her scrutiny. Jesus. Fuck.

“It’s no big deal,” I added, my voice gruffer than I intended it to be.

“It’s really sweet.”

Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

“I’m a guy. By definition I am not sweet,” I grumbled.

Her lips twitched. “You’re right. My apologies.” She leaned forward across my desk, lowering her voice to a mock whisper. “Don’t worry, my lips are sealed. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them about what a hard-ass you are, how you eat 1Ls for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

It was the words “lips,” and “hard-ass,” that made me do it. I’d been thinking about those kids, honestly I had, and then she said, “lips,” and my gaze went immediately to her mouth. At “hard-ass,” the erection that had been dissipating sprang back to life as I thought of her ass in my hands. And then she leaned forward, and because my brain was temporarily disengaged, I did the thing I’d been dying to do since I’d seen her this morning.

I tugged on her ponytail.

The absurdity of the motion caught us both off guard, and we froze as I reached out and grabbed a fistful of the swinging hair.

Silky. Soft. Perfect.

I wanted to feel the strands on my stomach when she went down on me, wanted to wrap my fingers around her long hair, holding it like a rope binding her to me.

Her lips parted at my touch, her eyes full of heat. I wondered if she’d kiss me back if I leaned forward another inch, if I gave in to temptation. The breathy sigh that escaped her lips answered my question better than words could have.

We stayed like that for a moment, as if we both knew that moving forward was impossible, but neither one of us wanted to pull away.

And then finally, when the nearness became almost unbearable, I released my hold on her, leaning back into my chair, trying to convince myself that I had more self-control than I obviously did.

She blinked and shifted in her seat, her back straight. I waited for her to freak out, half expected her to get up and leave. But Blair Reynolds never gave me what I expected.