Teaching Roman Read Free Page B

without a word from the bartender and I threw down my AmEx on the counter as Cassie lifted her glass and clinked it against mine. “To sand, tequila, and bad decisions in the making.”
    Against my better judgment, I raised my glass. Cassie propped her chin on my shoulder.
    “Is that Markson?” she whispered in my ear.
    Her timing was impeccable, because I was taking a sip of water, which wound up spluttered across my chin and chest. She was right. Roman Markson, communications prof and undeniable hottie, was here. At the airport. In the Mile High Club. Right now. I couldn't quite ignore the burst of excitement that jolted through me and landed in my treasure chest.
    “If he didn’t see you before,” she continued with a giggle, “he has now.”
    Fantastic. Of all the people to run into on vacation—a professor—and, of course, it happened while it looked like I was having a one girl wet t-shirt contest. I wiped at the drops on my top and tried to look anywhere but at him.
    That proved impossible though, because Roman was clearly on vacation as well and looking more like a Hollister ad than a communications instructor, right down to the tribal tattoo twisting around his bicep. His five o'clock shadow was more pronounced than normal and he wasn't trying to tame his silky, black hair.
    “Jessica!” Roman said in surprise as he approached us.
    “Ro—Professor Markson,” I corrected myself immediately while a litany of curse words bounced around in my head. He’d caught me staring at him. “I didn’t recognize you.”
    “I’m not dressed for class.”
    That was a perfectly rational excuse and I nodded emphatically as though it was the reason I was pretending I didn't recognize him.
    It so was not.
    I’d only seen Roman outside of class on a handful of occasions. Not that I was meeting up with him or anything. We just bumped into each other every once in a while. I didn’t mind those chance encounters. But in those instances, he’d been in his professor uniform: button down, blazer or sweater vest, laced up oxfords. Standing over me now in a thin, fitted t-shirt and jeans that displayed his impressively muscular frame, the line between teacher and former student was feeling a bit hazier than usual.
    “Vacationing?” Cassie asked, coming to my rescue.
    “Off for the holidays. And you girls? Getting into trouble?” He winked at me, and my stomach flipped over.
    “If I can help it,” Cassie promised him.
    “Can I buy you two a drink?” he asked, placing his carry on on the stool next to mine.
    I tried to look casual and failed miserably as heat rose to my cheeks. “We’ve moved on to water. Long flight.”
    “Mine too.” Roman shifted on his heels and glanced at his phone. “I hate how early you have to be here for international flights.”
    “Going somewhere exotic?” Cassie asked, twirling the straw in her cup.
    “Puerto Vallarta,” he answered without skipping a beat.
    Cassie’s elbow found my rib cage. “No fucking way! We’re headed there, too. Planning to hit the bars?”
    “His family lives in Puerto Vallarta,” I butted in.
    “I’m surprised you remember that.” Roman’s gaze searched my face, his expression entirely unreadable.
    Crap. That sounded totally stalker-y. I just remembered things, especially things about Roman.
    “She has a good memory,” Cassie said nonchalantly. “So you’re going to see your mom and dad?”
    “My grandmother,” he said. “Most of the family has moved away. I’m actually the closest person she has left. The rest of us are scattered all over the globe. My sister’s in Spain.”
    “It’s really nice of you to go see her,” I said in a quiet voice.
    “She spoils me,” he admitted, “and the beach isn’t bad either. Do you like the water?”
    I opened my mouth to answer, but Cassie jumped in. “She loves it. Maybe you could take her swimming.”
    I hated the water. Cassie knew that, and she was clearly up to something. And by something,