A Thin Line Between Love and Danger

Chapter 3

As she examines her hand, she wipes her lips and then draws it back to examine it. Instead of being ashamed of the fact that she has saliva running down her face, she rolls her eyes and tucks the sleeve of her shirt under her thumb. This fact was going to embarrass and humiliate her, I thought. Once she has finished wiping the pool of drool off the table with her sleeve, she slouches back down in her seat and closes her eyes.

I have experience with the college system. The late nights, the partying, the studying, and the fact that you never have enough time for all of it are all things that I am familiar with. On the other hand, this girl seems to be under an extreme amount of stress. I am interested in whether it is because of working a night shift or because of excessive amounts of partying.

The energy drink that I purchased on the way to this location this morning is the one that I got from my rucksack by reaching down inside it. I get the impression that she needs it more than I do.

I am here. I placed it on the desk in front of her and sat down. "Take a drink from this."

As if her eyelids were weighing a thousand pounds apiece, she eases her eyes open in a leisurely manner. After a moment of reflection, she hurriedly took the beverage and removed the cap. As if it were the first thing she's had to drink in days, she gulps down the contents of the bottle in a frenzied manner.

We are grateful to you. I chuckled to myself.

After she has finished the drink, she places it back on the table and wipes her lips with the same sleeve that she used previously to clean away the saliva. In a peculiar sense, her disheveled and sloppily attractive manner is really a tremendous turn-on for me. I'm not going to lie about that.

"Thank you," she replies as she removes the hair from her eyes with a tissue. A grin appears on her face as she stares at me, and then she yawns and spreads her arms out behind her. Everyone in the classroom moves their seats as the door to the classroom opens, which is a sign that the teacher is about to enter the room; nevertheless, I am unable to take my eyes off of her for a sufficient amount of time to even confirm his existence.

Through the use of her fingers, she combs through the individual strands of her hair. When she tosses her hair back over her shoulders, I can smell the flowery perfume of her shampoo, and while it is still somewhat moist, it is still slightly damp. In the same way as the lashes that line her eyes are long, black, and thick, so are those lashes. As she turns her head toward the front of the room and opens her notepad, I imitate her actions and do the same thing.

Spanish is the language that the professor uses to welcome us, and we respond to his greetings with replies that are collectively broken. While he is in the process of providing directions for a task, my phone suddenly lights up on the table that is situated between us. I glanced down at the text message that Murphy had entered into my inbox.

Do you know the name of this sexy piece of as** that you are now sitting next to?

I quickly turned the phone over, hoping that she would not get a glimpse of what I wrote. In an attempt to conceal her laughter, she raises her palm to her lips.

It's a joke. It was read by her.

She utters, "Hot piece of ass, huh?" in response.

"I am very sorry. My close companion... He believes that he is humorous. I am also fond of making my life a living hell.

She raises her eyebrows and then turns her attention to me. It seems that you do not consider me to be a hot piece of ass.

It's the first time I've truly had the opportunity to get a decent look at her due to the fact that she is facing me directly. It's safe to say that I'm head-over-heels in love with this class at this point. I gave a shrug of my shoulders. You have been sitting down ever since I first met you, and I say this with all due respect. It's not even that I've seen your rear end.

She chuckles once more. "Ashley," she adds, and she extends her hand to shake. Taking her hand in mine, I did so. A small scar in the form of a crescent may be seen on her thumb. During my examination of the scar, I rubbed my thumb over it and twisted her hand back and forth many times.

"Ashley," I say again, allowing her name to glide off the bottom of my tongue as I repeat it.

According to her, "this is typically the point during introductions where one would respond with their own name if they were to respond."

When I turn my head back to look at her, she takes her hand away from me and looks at me with a curious expression.

"James," I responded, maintaining the position that I am meant to be in this situation or that. In spite of the fact that it has been challenging for me to refer to Armitage as Murphy for the last six weeks, I have settled into the habit. The fact that I call myself James is another thing. On more than one occasion, I managed to come dangerously close to using my true name.

"I am enamored with the experience of meeting you," she adds with an accent that is almost flawless, directing her focus to the front of the room.

No, I am the one who is enjoying it. Accept my word.

The instructor gives the students the instruction to turn to the individual who is closest to them and mention three things about the other person in Spanish. Due to the fact that this is my fourth year of Spanish, I have made the decision to let Ashley go first in order to avoid intimidating her. Both of us look toward one another, and I give her a little nod of my head. " Las primeras mujeres," I make the statement.

In response, she answers, "No, we'll take turns." You come first. Just go ahead and share a tidbit about yourself with me.

"Okay," I remarked, chuckling at the situation in which she had just taken over. "Estás mandona."

She makes the statement, "That is not a fact; it is an opinion." However, I will hand it up to you.

My head is tilted in her direction while I do so. Were you able to comprehend what I just said?