Language of Love Read online

  Ruby Kiss

  Language of Love

  Copyright © 2020 by Ruby Kiss

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  About the Author

  Also by Ruby Kiss

  Chapter 1

  “I’ve never been so bored in my life,” Lauren drawled from the tiny desk beside mine. The packed lecture hall was hot and uncomfortable. Apparently, this class was quite popular, but I couldn’t help but agree with Lauren’s assessment—it was boring as fuck. The prof was pretty hot though, so that was a plus.

  “I hear ya,” I replied, leaning back in my little seat in an attempt to stretch out my cramping legs. “Why do these desks have to be so small?”

  “More bang for your buck.” Lauren laughed. “More students, less real estate equals more money for the bigwigs to pocket.”

  One benefit to being so crammed in meant we were able to carry on our conversation in relative privacy. The buzz of murmured conversation made it impossible to pinpoint any one person talking around us.

  “Say,” Lauren began as she looked over the course outline on her laptop, “Isn’t this the prof you were going to ask to help you with your language class?”

  Too lazy to open my own laptop, I leaned over to peer at her screen, and sure enough at the top of the outline for this class was the name Professor Julian Quinn.

  “Well look at that,” I said, “I guess those extra language lessons won’t be too bad after all.” I wiggled my eyebrows suggestively towards the front of the hall.

  “Provided he agrees to help you,” Lauren added, raining on my parade.

  “I hope so, he’s supposed to be one of the best linguists in the country—according to Wikipedia—and I could really use the help.”

  “Well why don’t you ask him at the end of class then?” she asked, checking her phone. “We’re just about done now.” As she finished her sentence, we both turned our attention back to the man in question, still droning on about history something or other at the front of the room.

  “Please complete the reading before next week’s lecture in order to get the most out of the subject matter,” he said, his voice rising over the clatter of students packing up their laptops and preparing to make a mad dash for the door. Lauren and I followed suit, although I hadn’t even taken my laptop out of my backpack. First day lectures generally didn’t contain anything of substance.

  As one, the class rose to their feet once dismissed, and I hefted my laptop bag slash backpack over my shoulder. Having been to the bookstore that morning, it was unusually heavy. I struggled through a crowd that was mostly headed in the opposite direction, trying to reach Professor Quinn before he left the hall. He was just slinging a messenger style laptop bag onto his shoulder when I reached the lectern.

  “Professor Quinn!” I raised my hand and shouted to get his attention. He turned, and I was struck for a moment at how handsome he was up close.

  “How can I help you, Miss?” He was the picture of calm professionalism and I silently scolded myself for my impure thoughts.

  “Uhm Lowell, Mackenzie Lowell but everyone just calls me Max,” I blurted out before realizing that my prof probably wasn’t going to call me Max.

  “Well Mackenzie what can I do for you? Did you enjoy the lecture?” He put me on the spot, and I mumbled something unintelligible in response.

  Clearing my throat, I followed with, “Actually I was wondering if you could help me with something.” Having a moment to catch my breath helped me feel more in control now that the shock of his good looks had worn off. “I’m studying ancient languages as a part of my minor, but I’m really struggling with some of the finer grammar points common to a few of them. I read that you were a pretty big deal in the linguistic community, and I was wondering if you would have some time to help me out a little bit?” I rhymed off the speech I’d been rehearsing over the last few days in preparation for this conversation. I knew full well that profs didn’t often give private lessons, but hell I was cute and I figured I might be able to weasel a few out of him with a charming smile and polite demeanor.

  “Private lessons? I’m not sure I have the time for that,” He replied, frowning.

  Uh oh.

  “It wouldn’t have to be lessons in the strictest sense, maybe we could just grab a coffee and I could show you what’s tripping me up?” I smiled, flashing my three thousand dollar smile—dental work was a bitch but it was worth it. Or at least I hoped my parents thought so.

  “Well…” He said, a smile forming on his lips.

  Score! “We wouldn’t have to go far, there’s a great coffee place nearby, right on campus even.” I was rambling now, nervous. His great smile threw me off and I really needed the help if I was going to pull off the marks I needed for my honours degree.

  “Believe it or not…” he hesitated, smirking “Mackenzie, I do actually know the layout of the campus.”

  He was teasing me! How do I react to that, are those butterflies in my stomach? What is happening right now?

  “…I may be able to make some time, say six o’clock tomorrow evening?”

  Oh, he’s still talking. I should answer.

  “Six is great! I’ll see you at The Coffee Bean then?” I thrust out my hand to shake his. Too late I realized his hands were full, so I just let mine drop back to my side awkwardly.

  “I’ll see you there,” he said, and he was smirking again, damnit! “Bring your textbooks.”

  “Right, of course.” I nodded vigorously, I really wanted to get out of this conversation and give my head a shake. The weird awkwardness hung in the air between us, but it was tinged with electricity, or maybe I was just imagining it. Finally, after what felt like years, I gathered my wits, flashed him another great smile and walked out of the lecture hall.

  The next day passed by in a blur of classes, course outlines, and map reading. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the new campus I was on. Doing a year at NYU seemed like a great idea when I applied and so far, it wasn’t terribly disappointing.

  The culture shock, however, was a different story. Lauren, my roommate for the year, was great—I couldn’t have asked for better—no number of maps and directions was going to make me feel comfortable on a campus I’d never seen before. It would take time, but that was okay. It had taken time to get used to the campus at home, and I wasn’t so uncomfortable in new places that I felt weird—just out of place.

  I was glad when I had stopped to talk to Professor Quinn that I had known of at least one half decent place to suggest a meet-up. So far, I had figured out where my classes were, and where to get a good coffee. The basic essentials of any university student.

  At 5:45, I stood outside The Coffee Bean, trying to decide what to order.
I had worked enough customer service jobs to know how annoying it was to have someone take up valuable counter space deciding on their drink order. The Coffee Bean was self-aware enough to place an almost full menu on a chalkboard outside; which I immensely appreciated.

  I decided on a mocha frappe. It was still warm enough outside that I could get away with one without freezing my insides, and they were my favourite guilty pleasure. Although I did order them whip cream free, it wasn’t the calorie-saving measure everyone thought it was. I genuinely didn’t like whipped cream on my drinks thanks—pumpkin pie, yes, liquid coffee and sugar, no.

  I stepped through the doorway and joined the line snaking from the front counter practically back to the entrance. I was concentrating so hard on remembering my drink order that I didn’t even notice Professor Quinn step into line behind me.

  “Hello, Mackenzie,” he said in his ridiculously sultry voice. No one should be allowed to sound like that every day. Especially not while doing something as innocuous as standing in line for coffee.

  “Hi,” I stuttered. Oh man, I was going to have to get over this schoolgirl crush ASAP if I expected to have a professional working relationship with this man. I took a solid step forward to put some distance between us. He slid easily up the line behind me, close but not too close. I fidgeted awkwardly standing there, knowing he was right behind me.

  Why couldn’t Professor Quinn have turned out to be a sixty-year-old stuffy academic? While he wouldn’t have been nearly as much fun to look at, I wouldn’t be in this situation right now, with a rapidly building attraction to my prof.

  My turn came to approach the counter, and I cleared my throat in an attempt to not sound nervous and ridiculous. I gave the shorter version of my name to the barista to write on my cup and stepped to the side, which of course resulted in Professor Quinn standing right beside me as he ordered his own drink. I shifted my weight from foot to foot as we did that awkward shuffle sideways down the counter, following the line as people retrieved their drinks and made their way out into the seating area.

  I sidled up to the large end of the counter just as the barista approached with a shout of “Max?” She glanced around, and past me to see the professor standing there too. “Is this yours?” she asked.

  “Hmm? No,” he responded, “I believe it’s hers.” He pointed at me and I blushed furiously.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” I said, ducking my head in embarrassment and grabbing the frappe. I glanced sideways at my companion and he flashed that damned sexy smirk again. I was so screwed. “I’m just gonna…” I trailed off and gestured with my cup towards the tables. Then I hightailed it away from him so I could compose myself at the table, under the guise of getting my books out.

  I slid into a booth, and shoved my bag in between myself and the wall. The large windows looked out over the sidewalk that was still very full of students and likely would be until well into the night. I learned quickly after moving here that they don’t call New York the city that never sleeps for nothing, and that was doubly true for the campus of NYU. Students, teachers and other staff were constantly milling about. If I woke up and looked out the window of my dorm room at 2 am I would see almost as many people as were out now, at barely 6 pm.

  Professor too-hot-to-be-real sat down across from me in the booth, startling me out of my daydream. I reached into my bag quickly and pulled out a small stack of linguistics books and a notebook.

  “Notebook? Not a laptop?” he asked, looking amused.

  “Yes,” I replied, lifting my chin in defiance. “I prefer writing to typing—I like to take notes by hand. Something about the feeling of the paper I guess.”

  He smiled in response to my slight attitude. I couldn’t help it. I had been fielding questions about my preference for pen and paper since I started university. I had a laptop of course, but I guess my old-fashioned attachment to handwritten notes struck most people as rather odd.

  “I agree,” he said, causing me to do a double take. That was not the answer I was expecting.

  “Really?” I raised an incredulous eyebrow.

  “Yes really,” he replied, chuckling. “If I didn’t need to use my computer for so many administrative duties, I would do a lot more of my work with pen and paper. As it is, I still carry a notebook myself.” He patted his laptop bag that sat on the bench beside him. I relaxed against my seat a little, relieved that he understood. “Now then, what is it you’re having trouble with that you needed this one on one caffeine-assisted study session?” he asked with a nod towards my stack of textbooks.

  “Well professor,” I began, only to be interrupted.

  “Please, Julian is fine. It’ll get rather tiresome listening to that ‘professor’ nonsense all evening.”

  “Oh, okay Julian,” I replied, and my cheeks flamed in response to my use of his first name. I decided to do the very mature thing and talk to my notebook instead of looking at him in order to hide my blush. I opened to a page covered in multicoloured highlighter and heard Professor Quinn—oops, Julian—chuckle above my head. I glanced up despite my better judgment, as being personally affronted at his reaction to my notes made me momentarily forget my embarrassed blush. “Something funny?”

  “No, not at all,” he replied, still grinning, “that’s just a lot of colour on one page.”

  “I like to stay organized,” I said defensively.

  “Organization is key,” he said. “Now, why don’t you show me what you’re having issues with?”

  We went through some of the issues I’d been having with translations and interpretations between the classic languages and English for the next hour or so. Time went by faster than I anticipated, and before I knew it Julian was checking his watch—an honest to goodness watch! Who even wears those anymore?—and suggesting we wrap it up for the evening.

  “Well, I have a large stack of papers to grade,” he said, “and not enough department funding for TA’s, I’d better get going. I hope I’ve been of some help.”

  “Oh yeah.” I nodded enthusiastically. “Super helpful, but maybe we could do this again next week? If you have time of course.” I ducked my head and tried to make my request sound as casual as possible by stuffing my books back into my bag in lieu of eye contact.

  “I suppose I could make the time,” he replied and when I glanced up, he was smiling at me, not his sexy smirk from earlier but a genuine smile that changed the way his whole face looked. My heart fluttered in my chest, and I swallowed hard. “We’ll chat after class in a few days shall we?” he continued, and I realized he had been waiting for me to say something. Shit.

  “Yes, uhm yeah sounds good, thank you so much,” I gushed a bit too much in my effort to properly express my gratitude. Mercifully, he got up from the booth at that point and departed before I could get up and attempt an awkward handshake or something. I waited until he was all the way out of the café before I crossed my arms on the table and dropped my head down hard. What the hell was wrong with me? Crushing on my professor was not going to end well.

  Chapter 2

  The next week of classes flew by, partly because I only slept about fifteen hours in seven days. Time slips by much quicker when you’re constantly moving. Graduate study was proving to be a whole different animal than undergraduate, and I was beginning to think I had bitten off more than I could chew with this whole semester abroad thing. Even if I wasn’t abroad in the strictest sense. Canada and the USA were still on the same continent after all, did abroad only apply to schools that are across the Atlantic?

  I reached peak stress levels when Professor Quinn’s weekly lecture came around again. I tried to enjoy it and not be disappointed in myself when every muscle in my body sank into the uncomfortably small seat as he strode into the room. Lauren’s assessment from last week was still on point—he was gorgeous, and I hated that I noticed with every fibre of my being. The hair on my arms tingled when he spoke, which unfortunately for my nerve endings was the majority of the lecture.

 
I zoned out listening to him describe ancient roman architectural choices and their motivations. I wanted to be interested, and I was really—I wouldn’t be studying anthropology if I didn’t have an interest in ancient cultures—I was just so tired. And Julian’s voice was mesmerizing in the most delicious way. I thanked my lucky stars that I had a gracious roommate who I knew would share her notes with me as I tipped my head back against my seat, and my eyes fluttered closed. I drifted into a shallow slumber, while Julian’s dulcet tones floated through my head.

  A sharp jab in my side startled me out of sleep, courtesy of Lauren’s pen. The sounds of everyone around me moving and packing up their things came rushing in and I realized the class had ended. My cheeks flushed in embarrassment that I had actually fallen asleep in class.

  “Did I snore?” I asked Lauren as we shifted out of the tiny seats.

  “Only a little,” she replied with a smirk. “Better hurry if you’re gonna catch professor hottie and schedule another coffee date.”

  “It’s not a date omigod. Don’t say stuff like that out loud!” I gave her a playful shove on my way by and weaved through the thinning crowd to get to the front of the room. I stood awkwardly to the side of Julian’s desk while he put away his own laptop and paperwork from the lecture.

  “I trust you found my lecture restful and are now recharged Mackenzie?” he said in lieu of a greeting and my previous blush deepened to embarrassing levels.

  “I’m so sorry Professor, I haven’t slept properly in like a week and I really do enjoy your class, it’s not boring or anything I’m just really, really, tired and—”

  “It’s fine, you’re far from the first student to fall asleep in my class. My fragile male ego will survive,” he said, and I was grateful for the interruption to my anxiety-fueled rambling. “I assume you’d like to schedule another tutoring session? After you’ve gotten some proper sleep of course.”

  “Yeah,” I replied quickly, and then backtracked. “If it’s not too much trouble.”