Falling for Your Madness Read Online Free Page A
Author: Katharine Grubb
Tags: Romance, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Fiction & Literature, Romantic Comedy
moment.”
Our food came. I let it sit there. “Why are you doing it this way?”
“As I said before, this is how it must be done. I am a peculiar, eccentric man. You and I will argue over my rules more than once, I am sure, but they cannot be bent. I will exasperate you, baffle you, and perhaps drive you batty, but this how I want it done.”
“Who are you? I know you’re David, but who are you ?” I don’t know why I was so bold. Perhaps it was because of his audacious plan. Perhaps it was because I saw something in him, something beyond eccentric. I needed to see more.
He was happy with my question, I could tell. “I am Professor David Julius Arthur Bowles, employed by Boston College in the department of English, where I teach English literature. I was born March 1, 1982, precisely at noon. I grew up on the North Shore with my father, aunt, and sister. I have an undergraduate degree from Harvard, a graduate degree from Yale, and last year, I was awarded my doctorate from B.C. Go Eagles!”
I laughed.
“I am 30 years old and live in one of those romantic old brownstones on Commonwealth Avenue with Merle. When we are sweethearts, you may know my precise address. I am six feet three and three quarter inches tall. I weigh one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. I have all my teeth. I am in excellent health. I have no need for corrective lenses, although I am reading constantly. I credit this to either impeccable genes or magic. I have an excellent credit rating. I have been neither arrested nor married. The only phone I have is in Merle’s keeping, and it is for professional purposes only. Did I mention that you can never call me? All of my day time is committed either to teaching class, grading, reading, or research. All of my evening time is committed to taking classes in Bartitsu or fencing, which I have done since I was fifteen years old. And in the summer, I ride. Oh, and I am left handed.”
“You’re from the North Shore, so you’re not British?”
He smiled a wide smile. “By bloodline I am. By citizenship I am not. All of my favorite things are British.”
He was absolutely insane, but I couldn’t help listening to him. “So the accent is fake?”
“Hah! My father, who is crazier than I am, if you can believe that, insisted that though I was schooled in the States, I speak the Queen’s English, complete with the accent. It’s a sloppy, Americanized one, but it’s an accent nonetheless. He always said that if I did, I would undoubtedly be a hit with the ladies.”
I was giggling. “Are you?”
“It would be ungentlemanly to say so.” He winked at me, which convinced me that he was! There was a twinkle in his eye. It looked otherworldly. Not in a scary way. More like he was beckoning me to an adventure. Then it was gone. Maybe I was just seeing things.
“Now Laura Adamsky. I know a little from Julie and Brandon, but I want to know, who are you? Who are you?”
He made me feel confident. I wanted to say my answer exactly the way he said his. I had never been with a man who made me step up my game, like I was meant to follow him.
“I am Laura Elizabeth Victoria Adamsky, I . . .”
He held up his hand. “Excuse the interruption. But, Elizabeth Victoria? Did you know you share your name with two very important Queens of England?”
“I did.” And then I realized, “David Julius Arthur? You don’t do too badly in the name game either.”
He looked surprised. He laughed and looked little flustered, as if I had caught him off guard. It was obvious to me that I had said the right thing. I didn’t know why it was right, but he was glad I had said it. I was too. “Good observation.” David leaned in closer to me. “Please continue.”
“I was born April 14, 1987, to Paul and Kathleen Adamsky of Libertyville, Illinois. You already know that I am self employed. I am five feet six inches tall, but I will not
Our food came. I let it sit there. “Why are you doing it this way?”
“As I said before, this is how it must be done. I am a peculiar, eccentric man. You and I will argue over my rules more than once, I am sure, but they cannot be bent. I will exasperate you, baffle you, and perhaps drive you batty, but this how I want it done.”
“Who are you? I know you’re David, but who are you ?” I don’t know why I was so bold. Perhaps it was because of his audacious plan. Perhaps it was because I saw something in him, something beyond eccentric. I needed to see more.
He was happy with my question, I could tell. “I am Professor David Julius Arthur Bowles, employed by Boston College in the department of English, where I teach English literature. I was born March 1, 1982, precisely at noon. I grew up on the North Shore with my father, aunt, and sister. I have an undergraduate degree from Harvard, a graduate degree from Yale, and last year, I was awarded my doctorate from B.C. Go Eagles!”
I laughed.
“I am 30 years old and live in one of those romantic old brownstones on Commonwealth Avenue with Merle. When we are sweethearts, you may know my precise address. I am six feet three and three quarter inches tall. I weigh one hundred and ninety-eight pounds. I have all my teeth. I am in excellent health. I have no need for corrective lenses, although I am reading constantly. I credit this to either impeccable genes or magic. I have an excellent credit rating. I have been neither arrested nor married. The only phone I have is in Merle’s keeping, and it is for professional purposes only. Did I mention that you can never call me? All of my day time is committed either to teaching class, grading, reading, or research. All of my evening time is committed to taking classes in Bartitsu or fencing, which I have done since I was fifteen years old. And in the summer, I ride. Oh, and I am left handed.”
“You’re from the North Shore, so you’re not British?”
He smiled a wide smile. “By bloodline I am. By citizenship I am not. All of my favorite things are British.”
He was absolutely insane, but I couldn’t help listening to him. “So the accent is fake?”
“Hah! My father, who is crazier than I am, if you can believe that, insisted that though I was schooled in the States, I speak the Queen’s English, complete with the accent. It’s a sloppy, Americanized one, but it’s an accent nonetheless. He always said that if I did, I would undoubtedly be a hit with the ladies.”
I was giggling. “Are you?”
“It would be ungentlemanly to say so.” He winked at me, which convinced me that he was! There was a twinkle in his eye. It looked otherworldly. Not in a scary way. More like he was beckoning me to an adventure. Then it was gone. Maybe I was just seeing things.
“Now Laura Adamsky. I know a little from Julie and Brandon, but I want to know, who are you? Who are you?”
He made me feel confident. I wanted to say my answer exactly the way he said his. I had never been with a man who made me step up my game, like I was meant to follow him.
“I am Laura Elizabeth Victoria Adamsky, I . . .”
He held up his hand. “Excuse the interruption. But, Elizabeth Victoria? Did you know you share your name with two very important Queens of England?”
“I did.” And then I realized, “David Julius Arthur? You don’t do too badly in the name game either.”
He looked surprised. He laughed and looked little flustered, as if I had caught him off guard. It was obvious to me that I had said the right thing. I didn’t know why it was right, but he was glad I had said it. I was too. “Good observation.” David leaned in closer to me. “Please continue.”
“I was born April 14, 1987, to Paul and Kathleen Adamsky of Libertyville, Illinois. You already know that I am self employed. I am five feet six inches tall, but I will not
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