"Yes, that saggy sofa was one of a kind because it was the location of our first time. I just don't think I can date you without it," I quipped.
"And here I thought things were going well," Ford sighed. "Maybe you'll like the new couch more if you finish nit-picking your perfect story here."
I took the pages he handed me and started to read again. Within a few lines, Ford's lips pressed to my neck and I knew he wasn't listening. I wasn't even listening as the soft yet fiery caress of his lips trailed down to my shoulder.
The pages dropped out of my hand as I turned and met his mouth with my own. Ford's stormy-blue eyes flickered open then burned a deep midnight blue that meant the wave was coming.
We'd been dating for over a year, and spring was just around the corner, but I couldn't help miss the heavy snowfalls that kept us holed up in Ford's apartment most of the winter. Despite all the excitement of my coming graduation, all my mind could focus on was Ford's breath as his lips leisurely teased me.
"I should have finished the story this morning," I murmured against his heated kisses.
"I seem to recall we both got a little distracted," Ford said.
Our lips plunged together at the mentioned memory. Waking up curled against his broad chest made it impossible to get out of bed most mornings. That particular morning, I discovered a ticklish spot just below his waistline and we had spent a long, delicious time exploring to see if he had any more.
My fingers slipped under the hem of his shirt, but Ford caught my hand. "Oh, no you don't. You made me squirm enough this morning."
"I can't get enough of you," I confessed.
It was a long time before the clock chimed and jolted us both out of our languid passion. "Oh, god, do I have to go to the office?" Ford groaned.
"If I have to go to class then you have to go to work," I said. "Besides, that office is what got you your splendid new couch."
"Speaking of the couch," Ford hooked an arm around my waist and swung me back against him. "We really should think about breaking it in. I bet it would be more comfortable after that."
I blushed and shook my head. No matter how many times Ford and I made love, he still managed to make me feel shy and nervous with fluttering excitement. "I can't be late for class. You know who my professor is, right?"
Ford let go and flopped back against the couch cushions. "Yeah, who knew that Jackson would be such a rigorous professor? I mean, I certainly had no idea or I wouldn't have ever suggested you take on a creative writing concentration."
I stood up. "I have to make this deadline or I don't graduate. Now, help me get the characters right."
"No, no way," Ford shook his head. "I'm impressed with how you can handle fiction, but it just isn't for me."
"You figured out the motive behind the science lab thefts. Why can't you help me figure out my hero's motivation?" I asked.
"Probably because I can't even figure out my own," Ford chuckled. "I want you to stay, but I want you to graduate. See? It doesn't make any sense. The world is much better off if I stick to non-fiction."
"See?" I cried. "I should be early to class, not late, because I need Professor Rumsfeld to help me!"
"You really call Jackson that?" Ford asked.
"Yes. Why?"
Ford sat up and caught my hand. "Because I remember you slipping up and calling me by my first name all the time. You don't call him Jackson by accident?"
"He's my professor," I said.
"I was your professor."
I looked down into Ford's midnight eyes and melted. "You were always different, and you knew it. I should have known it the first moment we met, but there were all sorts of rules in the way."
"Not like now," Ford said. He tugged my hand.
I pulled back. "There are still rules, like not missing class just before graduation."
"Fine, just add dedicated to the list," Ford fell back in defeat.
"What list?" I shouldn't have turned around, but he caught my curiosity.