The Exception to the Rule (The Improbable Meet-Cute, #1)

I set my phone down and sit at the edge of my couch cushion, back straight, eyes fixed on the wall of my living room, trying to remember every detail of her face.

Large dark eyes, full lips, small, pointed chin. I think she has freckles, but I’m not sure; all I can see now is the way she looked up at me in shock and mortification from the floor of the closet. Her hair is chin length, dark brown, straight, and smooth. She’s on the taller side, but thin, long limbed.

My weakness is tall women.

She played lacrosse. She was raised by a single mother. She has a younger brother.

And since I was sixteen, she’s been part of my life.

I’ve noticed her, of course, but only in the way heterosexual men notice all women who are generally off-limits: fleetingly, without lingering perusal. Because Terra has been off-limits: Still is off-limits. I wouldn’t ever date someone in a class I’m TA’ing. I’m not trying to sound like a moral douchebag; I was sleeping with a peer whose anger at me could have a direct impact on my doctoral research. But Kristen and I are on even footing. First-year grad students are in a uniquely vulnerable situation: they’re all stressed, overworked, fatigued, and hoping that they get picked to work in their first-choice lab after a year of grueling rotations.

But seeing Terra through new eyes . . . a piece of my life clicks into place. It’s a strange, solidifying feeling, and I don’t know how I’ll pretend to not know it’s her. I don’t want to.

I rub my knuckles over my sternum. My chest aches. I want to email right now and ask her where in Philly she lives, whether she’s close to the Penn campus, whether I can come over and meet her in person all over again.

She’s single. She wants to meet me. But, shit, it isn’t so easy anymore.

Because Terra is a student in a class for which I do a majority of the grading.

Terra overheard a private conversation I was having with an ex.

Terra thinks I’m intimidating.

(But she also thinks I’m hot.)

Terra wants to exchange names and phone numbers.

Fuck.





Chapter Eighteen


FEBRUARY 15, 2024

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: February 15, 2024

Subject: Re: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Holy shit. You weren’t kidding. That’s an insane night.

It’s hilarious that you ended up in the closet and heard all of that. I’m sure he’s embarrassed as fuck. Hopefully he was nice about it and didn’t make you feel bad?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: February 15, 2024

Subject: Re: Happy Valentine’s Day!

He didn’t. I mean, he didn’t remember my name, and that was somewhat mortifying, since my group of friends calls him Our Lord and Savior because they all think he’s so hot, but I’m just a first-year. I don’t really expect him to know who I am. He seems like a decent guy. And if I’m being honest, I mostly feel bad for the woman. To have good sex and then lose it? The tragedy! (Not that I’d know.) From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: February 15, 2024

Subject: Re: Happy Valentine’s Day!

Our Lord and Savior . . . I mean, there’s a nickname.

And what do you mean, “not that I’d know”?

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: February 15, 2024

Subject: Re: Happy Valentine’s Day!

I really should not be emailing at 2 in the morning after I’ve had this much to drink. I’m saying so much here after being so appropriate in this email box for so long! But what can I say? I must be a conundrum wrapped in a mystery tied with a puzzle shoved in a pickle jar.

The nickname has a stupid story. Basically we all met him at a department party this fall and called him God until my friend Jamie admitted that, as a lapsed Catholic, the nickname made her vaguely uncomfortable and Elise doubled down and began calling him Our Lord and Savior. And then he became our TA and . . . yeah. Callum (that’s his name) is objectively attractive, but I am excited to see you this summer. If you’re on the same page, that is . . . I notice you didn’t give me your name and number, so I don’t want to cross that boundary until you’re ready.

And by “not that I’d know” I mean that I feel bad for Kristen (that’s the woman’s name) but not so bad that I’m not a little envious that she’s experienced it. Does that make sense? Like part of what she was saying to him felt embarrassingly over the top, but part of it felt really . . . real. And I don’t know if there is any guy from my past, even one who ended things and I still had feelings for, who I would go to and say, “I need this one more time.” Overhearing that conversation made me realize I’ve never really had good sex.

I can’t believe I’m about to hit Send on this but From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Date: February 15, 2024

Subject: Re: Happy Valentine’s Day!

We are totally on the same page. In fact, earlier tonight, my ex approached me and part of what made it uncomfortable was that you and I had finally agreed to go on a date. I felt disloyal even being there. It just sucks that we have to wait until June.

I get what you mean about feeling envious about that. And being raised by my mother and three older sisters, I can’t tell you the number of times my sisters reminded me—whether or not I wanted to discuss it—that it takes women a long time to learn what works for them re: sex. So maybe you just haven’t found a guy who is willing to be patient and figure it out with you.

I want to give you my name and number, but this is a big reversal in our system. Let’s talk about that more when we haven’t been drinking?

C.





Chapter Nineteen


FEBRUARY 16, 2024

Terra

One would think I’d be nervous about the exam I’m about to take, but really, I’m exhausted from not sleeping (alternately studying and rereading C’s email suggesting HE! IS! A! PATIENT! LOVER!) and also dreading seeing Callum this morning.

The more I thought about it yesterday, the more I realized how fucking insane I looked for hiding in a closet. He came out looking like an A+ sex stud, and I came out looking like Gollum curled around her bottle of wine.

There’s no way that this isn’t going to be awkward.

Except . . . it isn’t. I walk into the classroom, compulsively early as always, sit in my seat, and Callum immediately comes over, crouching in front of me. We are the only two people in here, and it feels wildly intimate how close we are.

“Hey. You good?” he asks, and those brown-green eyes search mine, and he gives a tiny, unsure smile. “After the, uh, incident Wednesday night?”

My pulse trips all over itself before sprinting away. He really is so intensely hot; the longer we maintain eye contact, the more worried I become about releasing a spontaneous moan. “Am—am I good? Yes. I’m fine. Are you good?”

He breaks out in a real smile, and it’s devastating. It’s an underwear-shredding smile. The seductive smile of a man who gives good dick. “I’m fine,” he says quietly, eyes flickering past my shoulder as the room begins to fill. “Embarrassed. But I just wanted to check on you.”

“I don’t think you need to be embarrassed,” I whisper, laughing.

“Ehh,” he says, wincing cutely, “it was just private.”

“And I’m sorry that I trespassed on a private moment,” I tell him. “I punished myself by finishing the entire bottle of wine and treating myself to a brutal headache yesterday morning.”

He laughs, low and sexy, like a man who very patiently delivers orgasms every time, and God, I think my brain is melting. C is right. I need a man who is patient, because whatever I’ve been missing must be amazing.

“You ready for today?” Callum asks.

“For today?”

A tiny smile. “The exam?”

“Oh. That. Yes. Very ready for it. Ready to take it, I mean.” I pause, swallowing. Why does this eye contact feel like foreplay? “I’m referring to the exam.”

There’s a twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he stands. “Good.”

And when I get up at the end of class and leave, Callum gives me a small smile and a wave. I really hope I haven’t just completely bombed it, because only two minutes after I finished it, I don’t remember a single question on the test.