Night Moves. Julie Kenner
ELLA PRESSED HER LEGS tightly together, determined not to let her imagination get the better of her. Were the fantasy about Tony—or anyone else, for that matter—she might have just gone with the flow. Even better, she might have headed home, drawn a hot bath, then lay naked on her bed and…
But this was Shane in her head, and he really had no business being there. More to the point, she had no business putting him there. He was her best friend, not her lover, and these wild thoughts were nothing more than the product of an active imagination. Really.
It took a more or less superhuman effort—and a Diet Coke from the machine on the first floor—but Ella managed to get her mind off Shane. Or, more to the point, off the vision of a hot and sweaty Shane who was doing absolutely delicious things to her body.
Her Shane wasn’t dangerous. This imaginary Shane, however…
Ella let out a low, involuntary moan, hiding the reaction by taking the last swallow of soda, then tossing the can into the garbage. She headed back to her study carrel, her mind wandering back to her friend despite every effort to shift her thoughts to something less dangerous, like, say, nuclear holocaust.
No such luck, and with a sigh she gave in, accepting the fact that, for whatever reason, Shane was on her mind.
That wasn’t even the problem, actually. He’d certainly been on her mind before. He was her best friend, after all. She thought about him all the time. But thoughts of a hot, naked, sexy Shane…a Shane whose rough fingers touched her and stroked her…
She shook her head, settling back into her seat. That Shane didn’t belong in her thoughts. More importantly, she didn’t know where the thoughts had come from. He was her friend. He had never even been on her nonplatonic radar. Not even one little bit.
They knew each other too well, too intimately, and nothing had ever once happened. In college, they’d slept over at each other’s dorms, camped out in hotel rooms when they’d traveled back to Texas and been in every type of closed-quarter sort of situation. She’d never wanted to sleep with him.
Until today.
No, she corrected. She did not want to sleep with him. And even if she did—a teeny, tiny little bit—she wasn’t stupid enough to go through with it. Shane was too important to her. And so, for that matter, was Tony.
Frustrated, Ella shoved her books aside, then rubbed her temples. As Saturdays went, this one was really not going well.
“I’ve got some Advil in my purse if you need it.”
Ella jumped at the calm voice behind her laced with just a bit of humor. Veronica Archer, her professor for Lit 317, Erotica and the Victorian Society. And her friend.
When Ella spun around, she saw that Ronnie was smiling, and she returned the grin. Veronica Archer was stunningly beautiful and extremely self-assured, but she’d never seemed unapproachable.
“What are you doing among the stacks on a Saturday?”
“Looking for you, actually,” Ronnie said. “I called your apartment and Shane told me you were camped out here working on a paper for my class.”
“You talked to Shane?” Ella fought to keep her voice from squeaking.
“Like I said, he told me you were here.”
“Oh.”
Ronnie’s brow furrowed and she looked over Ella’s shoulder at the open page of text. A slow grin spread across her face. “Well, that explains why you looked so distracted when I walked up.”
Ella snapped the book shut. “Don’t tease me. I’ve got an academic interest only. You should know. It’s your class I’m working on.”
“I’m not teasing. I’m totally serious. You’re the one who told me Tony’s about to pop the question. Is it really that big a stretch to assume the direction your mind is going when reading erotica?”
“Oh. Right. Tony. Yes.” She drew in a breath and told herself to just shut up because babbling really wasn’t working for her.
“Weren’t you—oh.”
Ella closed her eyes and counted to five. “There’s no ‘oh’ about it,” she finally said when she looked Ronnie in the face again. “My mind was just wandering. That’s all.”
“To Shane,” Ronnie said. She nodded sagely. “Interesting.”
“Excuse me? What are you talking about?”
“Admit it,” Ronnie retorted, “you were thinking about Shane when I came up. That explains that little catch in your voice.”
“There was no—”
Ronnie shut her up with a wave of her hand.
“Fine. I was thinking about Shane,” Ella admitted. “My best friend is packing up and moving fifteen hundred miles away from me. I’ve been thinking about him a lot.” As soon as she spoke the words, relief flooded her. Of course! That’s why she’d been lusting after Shane. It was so simple, any Psych 101 student would see it: she’d been feeling frustrated and angry when she couldn’t beg and plead and force Shane to stay in New York with her. So her subconscious was coming up with alternative methods of persuasion—seduction.
It wasn’t lust. It was selfishness. Her id wanted Shane to stay in New York. Her psyche wanted its best friend.
What a relief. And thank goodness she’d taken that psych course, or she might never have realized the source of that absurd daydream. She and Shane, doing it like that. Doing it at all. The idea was ridiculous. Unthinkable.
And so damned appealing.
No! She sat up straighter, determined to keep her thoughts in check. “I’m just bummed that he’s leaving,” she said firmly. “That’s all.”
The teasing expression on Ronnie’s face was replaced by one of genuine understanding. “I know, kid. He said he was heading out on Monday. You must be terribly sorry to see him go.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, I’ll really miss him.”
A beat, and Ella held her breath, wondering if Ronnie was going to shift the conversation back to erotica. Wondering even more if Ronnie was going to push for a more full description of Ella’s recent fantasies.
But Ronnie simply nodded toward the exit. “Let’s get a coffee. I have some news about your internship application.”
And right then all thoughts of Shane evaporated. Ronnie had come here to talk about Ella’s career, not her libido. And work was the one thing that never failed to snare Ella’s full and complete attention.
ELLA STARED AT RONNIE over her coffee, not quite sure she comprehended what her friend was saying.
“I really got it? The internship at the Metropolitan Museum?”
Ronnie laughed and twirled the spoon in her coffee. “You really got it. I bumped into Dean Rostow earlier and he mentioned that he was going to tell you on Monday. I begged a little, and since I wrote one of your recommendation letters, he said I could go ahead and tell you if I saw you.” Her smile widened. “So I’ve been searching the library for hours trying desperately to locate you.”
“Thank you!” Ella flung her arms out across the table to hug her friend. The internship at the Metropolitan Museum—working directly with the curator—was both coveted and incredibly hard to obtain. Ella had been cultivating relationships, hoping for recommendations, since she’d been a freshman undergrad. She almost couldn’t believe that her persistence had paid off.
“Why not?” Ronnie asked when Ella voiced the thought. “You worked much harder than all the other applicants. Why shouldn’t it be you?”
“I don’t know.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I guess I still have a hard time believing how great everything