His mouth stretched into a clear smile. He flashed straight, white teeth that were as perfect as the rest of him. I forgot how to breathe. He folded the cotton square up and put it in my palm, closing my fingers over the top of it. "It isn't your fault," he whispered. "Your brother's actions are his own. You can't carry them as if they were your burden."
"No, I should. I knew what kind of temper Seamus has. I was too selfish. You were right—I'm too young. Too immature."
"I never said I thought you were too immature."
"Just too young?" I asked.
Professor Crawford was silent for so long, I was curious enough to stop looking at the handkerchief in my hand and to his face. His silver eyes shone, and his jaw muscles were tight, almost like he was expending great effort holding something back. "Not to learn," he said finally.
What else would I be too young to do?
"Animal Psychology really is my passion," I said. "Not only are there more people like my brother out there, but the people who don't live well with their animal counterparts, they have a tough time. I want to help them."
"You sound like me when I was your age," Professor Crawford confessed softly.
His continual nearness brought new and exciting observations. He had a scar just below his left temple, and I wondered how it had gotten there. He held his hands cupped loosely in his lap. The slender arch of his fingers brought the tiny hairs on my arm to attention. These types of feelings were familiar, almost like when I'd developed crushes in the past. But the intensity of what I felt was entirely new. What was this? Just a stronger crush? Was this how people became stalkers?
"I'm preparing to embark on the next stage in the study I've been working on, focusing on the psychological effects of scent masking on general shifters. I felt just as you do now, probably, standing in front of people who don't understand why I want to study what I do and feeling as though I need to defend my work. Scent masking is a touchy subject, and I can't get shifters to stop assuming I'm trying to take something from them. Shifters are prideful of their senses."
"It's what makes us different than normies," I blabbed without really know why. It felt like a knee-jerk reaction. He said Marco, so I responded Polo.
"It isn't the only thing," he replied kindly. "Shifters are more than any one of their senses."
The blood drained from my face. I was an idiot. The rudest person in the world.
"Your heart just began to pound, Shiloh. Do you need to take some deep breaths?"
That was an endearingly nurturing question and not at all what I'd been expecting. The day before, he'd seemed sharp and stern. But today, he was gentler. Maybe it was because he'd caught me crying and felt bad, or it was because this time I wasn't begging for him to bend the rules just for me. "I'm sorry. What I said was rude. I know we aren't as good as our senses."
Professor Crawford's eyebrows lifted. "Is that what's making your heart pound? Don't worry, I've had forty-two years of being blind. I'm not so easily offended." He chuckled like the whole thing was humorous instead of mortifying. "I do have to be moving on, however. My next class is probably wondering where I am."
I jerked away, having only then noticed how far I'd leaned over toward him. "Sorry, you should go. I'm fine."
He nodded and stood, drawing the strap of his bag back up to his shoulder. "Let me know how things work out with your brother," he said. "And next time, I want you to wear a jacket when you come to school. It's only going to get colder, Mr. Formes."
I bit my lip to keep the puff of shocked air from escaping. Or to keep the questions from pouring out. How did he know I wasn't wearing a jacket? Could he always hear my heart so clearly? Why did seeing him preparing to leave spin me into a panic like I'd suddenly realized I'd come to campus without pants?
I'd been enthralled by the man before I'd met him. Now, I felt like I could very easily fall into the realm of obsession. And I had no idea how to stop it.
Chapter Four
Beckett
The ding of the shop's bell sounded behind me. With my black coffee in hand, I made my way from the coffee shop to the bench that was located just out front. With my cane, I was able to go anywhere in Morningwood without issue. I preferred walking. Places simply weren't far enough apart for me to consider using the car.
But today, I had my assisted mobility device hooked up to my earpiece. The ultrasonic tones allowed me to determine how close an object was and made my walk through Morningwood easier. Not that I needed anything to be easy right then.
For days, I'd thought of nothing but Shiloh. The salty smell of his tears, his soft, gentle voice. I hadn't enjoyed the former but missed the latter. Actually missed him
I'd hardly been around him long enough to miss him. That didn't seem to matter. The amount of time that I'd known the man made no difference in the face of how solidly he'd lodged himself into my subconscious. In the days since our last conversation, I found myself wondering repeatedly what his opinion would be on a matter. I wondered if he would've liked the dinner I'd eaten the night before. When I prepared for bed, I wondered about his sleeping habits. Did he sleep spread out, his limbs all akimbo, or balled tightly? Did he want to be held? Or did he prefer to do the holding, most likely with his arms bound tight around his pillow?
He could have a lover.
I sipped my coffee, never more appreciative of the general public's tendency to do everything in their power not to notice me. I felt exposed in a way that was unfamiliar. Shiloh Formes was a seventeen-year-old student. I had no business wondering how he slept or with whom. Nothing about either of our meetings had been overtly sexual. And yet, I reflected back on both of those times with emotions far more invested than I'd experience if I truly considered him nothing more than a student. But what did that make me?
With any luck, my interactions with Mr. Formes moving forward would be limited and public. I wasn't in the habit of forming emotional ties with my students. But then, no other person had introduced themselves into my world while leaving the same impression Shiloh had.
I growled and set my now-empty cup in the garbage beside the bench. I'd left my house that afternoon because I couldn't stop thinking about how Shiloh took his coffee. I'd searched for a distraction, walking from Predator Point, where I lived, to the coffee shop near the university.
Clearly, nothing was strong enough to push the student from my mind, so the obvious choice was to stop attempting. I wasn't going to indulge in my thoughts, but I wouldn't keep trying not to have them. That just seemed to be a waste of time.
I was a busy man, taking on a research project that could've used at least three assistants. But I worked best alone. I'd never planned on naming a student research assistant when I'd brought it up to Dean Grub. I only wanted him to know that the support for that part of my project had already been ensured. Perhaps hiring an assistant and taking on the task of training them on my system was more of the type of distraction I needed.
Since I was already near the university, I decided to walk straight there rather than to stop at home. Getting to campus so late meant staying until well after dark. I had no classes to teach, but that didn't mean I had no work to do. I mentally mapped my path, deciding on the route that took me past Morningwood Public Library and through the playground that was there.