Grabbing my bag and throwing the apple core in the garbage, I saunter to the front door, pulling it open. Holy shit. How does he have such a nice car? Parked in front of the frat house is a sleek, probably expensive as hell, Mercedes SUV. The rims are black and flawless, not a scratch anywhere, and the windows are tinted dark enough that I can’t see Stone inside.

Opening the passenger side door, I’m greeted by his smiling face. He’s dressed comfortably in gray sweatpants and a plain black tee. I swear, I have never seen someone fill out and pull off a simple ass t-shirt the way he does. But fuck if I’m not drooling at the sight.

“Hey.” Sliding into the seat, I toss my bag in the backseat, buckling my seatbelt. His car smells good—fresh and masculine—and the leather interior is black and cream, and in immaculate condition.

“Morning,” he rasps, putting the car in drive, and pulling out onto the street. Voicenotes by You Me At Six is thrumming through the speakers, his thumb drumming against the steering wheel.

“You like You Me At Six?” I ask curiously, because this is a fucking dope song.

“Yeah,” he responds, side-eying me. “Is that shocking to you?”

“I mean… kind of.”

He quirks an eyebrow at me. “And why’s that?”

“I don’t know. You’re just…”

“Old?” he answers for me, causing me to chuckle.

“No. Just… you’re a professor, and I don’t know. This band is sick. It’s cool that you like them. I don’t think you’re old. Are you? Old?”

“I’m thirty-two.”

Laughing, I respond, “Yeah, see. Only ten years older than me.” My hand reaches for the volume, increasing the sound.

“Getting awfully comfortable in my car already, I see.”

“Damn right. I told you, I’m a fun roadtripper.” I flash him my best pretty boy smirk, which seems to be contagious as his lips curl into a grin too. When he smiles wide enough, a small dimple pops through on his left side. I want to bite it.

We talk about school and what to expect with the convention for about an hour before I finally ask questions I really want to know—the ones I’ve always wanted to ask, but have never had the chance since Stone always keeps things professional. “So, you’re married?”

Clearing his throat, he lifts his ring finger off the steering wheel, wiggling it. “Uh, yup. I sure am.”

I don’t miss the way his smile falters as he glances at his ring finger, or the way his body tensed up at the question. Interesting.

“How long have y’all been together?”

He laughs, turning his gaze on me for a moment before returning it to the road. “We’re getting personal now, huh? Are you supposed to ask your professor these things?”