Preservation Read Online Free PDF Page B

lead to a dead end. A bad one. Thank God he was an ass. Sort of.
    “It’s solid. Completely solid. Have you considered seeking publication?” Mr. Campbell handed me the papers and then relaxed in his seat, gesturing for me to pull a chair up to the desk.
    “Just recently. A friend of mine suggested it, but I’m not sure...”
    “You’re ready. You’re a writer, plain and simple. You’re young; the world is at your feet.”
    Tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear, I narrowed my eyes and pressed my lips together. “You think? It’s so personal, you know? I’m not sure I could share that with the world. It’s hard enough to have my teachers read it.”
    “What are you in school for?”
    I blinked, confused. He knew what I was studying, knew my major because I was taking his class. “English Literature with a Creative Writing specialization...”
    “Okay, and what do you think about? Every morning when you wake up. When you walk around campus through the halls. When you take a walk or listen to music. What do you think about?” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk. My eyes darted from side to side and landed on his collar, which was slightly opened, his signature tweed jacket casting a shadow across the small part of his exposed chest. I forced my focus upward.
    “Stories. Untold stories that need closure.”
    “You’re a natural-born storyteller, Kate. And this,” he pointed to the papers in my hand, “is great writing. I have a lot of students, and I don’t say that often.”
    “Th-thank you,” I sat there, frozen, unsure as to why I couldn’t think of a thing to say to him other than ‘thanks.’ I was about to flush twenty more shades of crimson when something struck me. “Have you been published, Mr. Campbell?”
    “You can call me Ryan outside of class.”
    “Ryan.” Much better than the Mr. Campbell nonsense . “Are you one of those who can’t do, so you teach?”
    He let out a low huff and pursed his lips, looking down.
    Shit. Really, Kate? Realizing that sounded more like an insult than intended, I tried to redeem myself. “I only meant—”
    “No, I know what you meant,” he deadpanned me, his face suddenly glacial. “I do write, and yes, I’ve been published. Two years ago I had an impressive publishing deal at my feet and personal matters got in the way. Unfortunately the bridge was burned and there was no salvaging the opportunity.” He picked up a pencil and began playing with it, watching it roll over his fingers. “Anyway, I teach because it’s what I know. But I haven’t given up on writing myself.”
    My fingers twitched, draped over my knees. “I didn’t mean to offend you, I’m sorry. I was curious, that’s all. And I’m sorry to hear you lost that publishing deal, but you’re fantastic. You have a wonderful eye,” I shrugged, recalling his earlier encouragement. “You’re young...you have the world at your feet. I’m sure you’ll be accepted elsewhere.”
    He stopped playing with the pencil and raised his gaze to meet mine, his lips parting slightly. “Thank you, Ms. Par—Kate.” We sat there for a moment, staring at one another. Did I cross the line? Is he still offended? It seemed we both needed help in the self-esteem department when it came to writing. I tried smiling to assure him, relieved when his expression softened and he cracked a grin. Then I realized my hand was on the desk, meeting his.
    “Well, I better get going,” I stood, in need of some cool air. He recoiled his hand and cleared his throat. “Need to grab some lunch before my afternoon classes.” Peering into his sexy hazel eyes and imagining what his stubble felt like was not going to advance my education in any way. Besides, he would eventually say something dick-like to deter me, reminding me why he irritated me so much. I was saving both of us time. I reached for my book bag.
    “Ry, ready for lunch?” A tall redhead wandered through the door and Ryan