"You were expecting Freud?" Paige raised an eyebrow. Her friend Emily had said Dylan was more than just eye candy, but this wasn't a promising indication.
"More like Jung, but yeah," Dylan said, his green-flecked gaze not wavering from hers. "Don't get me wrong. I am enjoying Psych as a class, but I was expecting a lot less neuroscience and a lot more dream interpretation."
"Is there something in your dreams that needs interpretation?"
Dylan smiled. And was he blushing? "Nothing I care to say out loud, or that is difficult to interpret."
He did have it bad. Emily hadn't been able to sit quietly during lectures, so Paige had banished her to the back of the auditorium, where she had spent the first several weeks of class chatting up Dylan, whom Emily had described to Paige as "a gorgeous English major, and the only person I have met who is as smart as you."
Not if he thought Psychology was about Jung and Freud instead of William James, B.F. Skinner, and the cognitive revolution.
Emily had failed in her seduction of Dylan, she said, because Dylan couldn't keep his eyes off Paige – he would watch her furiously take notes or ask questions from the front row. The only way Emily had been able to get Dylan to talk her at all was when she had told him she knew Paige, after which he began a friendly interrogation. Was Paige as smart as she seemed? Did she have a fun side? Was she seeing anyone? "Yes," "Yes, but be careful what you wish for", and "No, because she is too picky", had been Emily's answers.
Paige had to admit Dylan was gorgeous. She had blinked and stammered for a few seconds when he corralled her after class this morning to suggest this study session, but she had never let smiling Irish eyes and a tight butt distract her before. Cute guys were always coming up with excuses to study with her. Usually they just wanted someone to do their homework for them, or they liked what they called Paige's "naughty librarian look" and thought she might be an easy conquest. Paige had only accepted Dylan's invitation because of Emily, who had insisted she had to meet this guy.
So much for Emily's credibility. Not three minutes into their study session in his room, and he was going on about Jungian archetypes and Freud's theories of the subconscious.
Lit majors.
Paige had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes. "No, this is real Psychology," she explained. You won't find Oedipus Complexes, the interpretation of dreams, or the use of word association games as a way to explore the subconscious."
Dylan leaned forward. "What's wrong with word association games?"
Paige really did roll her eyes now. "They aren't psychology. They aren't science. No one has ever been able to match anyone's answers on a word association to anything psychologically predictive or useful."
The corners of Dylan's mouth twitched. "Maybe they just aren't doing it right."
"Emily said you are studying English Lit. You think James Joyce and Shakespeare give you some special insight into how the human mind processes words?"
Dylan shrugged. "Maybe. Want to find out?"
Emily hadn't said he was this arrogant. Paige removed her glasses and placed them in the case in her purse. If he wanted to make a fool out of himself, she wouldn't stand in his way. "Fine. Can we get back to studying when we are done?"
Dylan nodded. "I think we should make it more interesting, though. No repeats, only single words, five seconds to answer. If you break the rules, or I am right and you decide you learn something useful about psychology, I get to take you out to dinner on Saturday."
"Now we see what this is really about."
Dylan's smile made her blood rise both in anger and... something else. Paige decided she would go with the anger – the better to wipe the smile off his face. "What if
you
break the rules, or I don't learn anything useful?"
"You get to take me out to dinner?" he asked hopefully.
"Or I just leave you at home sitting on your ass." At worst she would get a free dinner. Most likely, she would just put him in his place, and he would go home with his tail between his legs.
He seemed to accept her terms. "I'll start."
She nodded.
"Man," Dylan said.
"Woman," Paige replied.
"Beautiful."
"Flattery."
"Truth."
"Lie."
"Down."
"Pillow."
"Bed."
"Sleep."
"Pajamas."
"Uh...nightie."
"Sexy."
"Desire."
"Lust."
"Want."
"Need."
"Have."
"Possess."
Oh my.
Paige felt flushed, and decided she needed to steer the exchange to safer ground. It was her fault, anyway, for shifting in this direction with "nightie". Fortunately, "possess" had more than one meaning.
"Haunt," she said.
"Ghost."
"Spirit."
"Ethereal."
"Angel."
"Devil."
"Um... Sin."
"Tempt."
Dammit, they were back here again. He had noticed Paige's discomfort when their exchange had veered romantic and sexual. His smile was a dare. Paige accepted.
Let's see if he can take it as well as he dishes it out.
"Tantalize," Paige said.
"Torment."
"Beg."
Dylan shook his head slightly.
"Appeal."
"Please."
"
Merci.
"
"Uh... French."
"Kiss."
"Lips."
"Moisten."
Paige flicked her tongue, reflexively obeying his command.
"Taste," she said.
"Flavor."
"Sweet."
"Nectar."
"Hunger."
Oh God, yes.
Paige could see it in his eyes, and wondered if Dylan saw it in hers.
"Devour," he said.
"Savor."
"Consume."
"Purchase."
Would he see where she was going?
Dylan paused, and appeared to be thinking.
"Clothes," he said.
Yes!
"Shirt."
