At Her Own Risk

by Rachael Duncan

  He wants to do well; I can tell. He’s just distracted. I’m not sure by what, but he gets a faraway look while I’m lecturing. Normally, I’d call a student out if I felt like they weren’t paying attention, but I feel like this is something else entirely. A haunted look crosses his face from time to time and it’s like it takes actual effort to shake it off.

  A knock on my door pulls me from my thoughts. “Come in,” I announce.

  The door opens and I try to regulate my breathing as he takes up the entire doorframe. His broad shoulders, trim waist, and five o’clock shadow make him look more mature than his other classmates. It’s easy for me to forget my role in this situation and I allow myself to imagine what it would be like to be wrapped in his strong arms and held tight to his hard body.

  “Hi, Ms. Reeves,” he says as he sits in front of me.

  Nothing like formality to pour a bucket of cold water on my fantasies and bring me back to reality.

  He’s your student.

  “Hi, Jonathan. How are you?”

  “I’m good.” Just like class, his responses are short and clipped. If he’s going for the brooding type of look, he nails it.

  “So, what’s going on?” I give him a reassuring smile, hoping he feels more comfortable asking questions. Judging by his stiff posture, he’d rather be anywhere but here.

  He lets out a frustrated sigh. “This paper you assigned . . .” He reaches into his backpack and pulls out a notebook and the paper I handed out with the instructions for the assignment.

  “What about it?”

  “I’m struggling with it.”

  To get a better angle, I pull my chair around my desk so I’m sitting on the end. Being this close, I can smell his woodsy cologne, making me want to bury my face in his chest.

  Stop it!

  “Which part is giving you problems?”

  “Mostly the length.” His hand runs through his dark brown hair that is short on the sides and long on top.

  I arch my eyebrow. Great, another college freshman complaining about an assignment. This is why I need to get my PhD, so I can teach upper level courses instead of the type of classes meant to thin out the herd. “Four pages is not that long, Jonathan.”

  His lips press together, clearly picking up on my disapproval. “Look, words aren’t my strong suit. Obviously,” he adds. “I’m a cut to the chase kind of guy. I make my point and move on. The rest feels like bullshit.” His eyes widen a bit as he searches for a reaction. “Sorry.”

  I wave off his slip and direct his attention to the handout I gave him. “Each of these bullet points are topics you need to expand on. You should be able to write four to five good paragraphs on those alone. If you get stuck, try to come at it from a different angle.”

  My focus pulls up quickly to meet his eyes, which are focused on my lips. With both of us huddled over the worksheet, we’re closer than I initially realized. I forget how to breathe as neither of us moves. I know this is dangerous and wrong, but I can’t force myself to back away.

  He’s my student.

  The thought is fleeting as my gaze moves from the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen down to his full lips.

  His breath becomes more labored as it lightly fans across my face. I notice his jaw ticks and I know his restraint is being tested.

  “I need you to back up.” His voice is deep and raspy, and it hits me right in my core.

  I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Then we might have a problem.”

  Add to your TBR list: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/35703139-untitled

  To see where the series all began, turn the page to read the first two chapters of Lydia’s story in Calculated Risk.

  Calculated Risk

  Lydia

  THE LOUD RATTLING draws attention from those around me, but I pretend I don’t see them staring and judging. Why wouldn’t they put down smooth floors in this place? The square tiles make the shopping cart vibrate and rattle uncontrollably no matter how slow I walk up and down the aisles. I place one hand on top of as many bottles as my spread-out fingers will reach while steering with the other hand to minimize the clinking noise. Unfortunately, I’m only able to touch four of the nine liquor bottles, so the stares continue as I make my way up to the cashier.

  Yes, I need a cart in a liquor store.

  This is what my life has come to.

  But it’s not all for me. We were all assigned tasks for this weekend, and mine happened to be the liquor store run. Now I know why. As I pass a little old lady, she takes one glance at my cart and looks back up at me with a raised brow. She doesn’t have to say a word because her thoughts are written all over her pruned-up face.

  Lush.

  I resist rolling my eyes and give her a tight smile instead. At twenty-five years old, I like to have a little fun. So sue me. Although, looking at my yoga pants, ratty T-shirt, and messy bun, maybe she’s entitled to make her assumptions.

  “Did you find everything okay?” the cashier asks as I place each bottle on the counter.

  “God, I hope so. I’m not sure my liver can take more than this,” I joke. She doesn’t laugh. I keep quiet until she puts my bottles in a box, since a bag won’t work apparently, and tell her to have a nice day.

  Once everything is loaded into the car, I send the girls a group text.

  Me: Well, now everyone thinks I’m the town drunk.

  It’s not long before they all chime in.

  Charlotte: hahaha

  Scarlett: It’s for a good cause!

  Paige: In 24 hours you won’t care what those people were thinking of you!

  Me: Yeah, yeah.

  After sarting the car, I put it in drive and head home.

  With my sunglasses on and the top down, I bathe in the warm sun as I cruise along the street. A small smile pulls at my lips thinking about this weekend. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten out of town and had some fun. With the way my work schedule has been, I’ve had little time to breathe, let alone relax.

  Pulling through the gate of the apartment complex, I make a pit stop at the mailboxes to see if I have anything important waiting for me. It’s doubtful, but you never know. I thumb through the envelopes of bills and junk before stopping on one.

  Seth Lee is typed across the middle, taunting me. My cheeks heat in anger and my heart beats a little faster as my nostrils flare with each draw of air in through my nose. I know it’s just one of those dumb, generic credit card applications, but it still pisses me off. I rip it in half angrily before throwing it in the trash can nearby. You’d think enough time has passed that the mere sight of his name would have little to no effect on me, but I’m not there yet.

  Balancing the box of booze on my hip, I manage to unlock the door to my apartment before entering. A loud meow sounds at my feet.

  “Hey, Spartacus,” I greet. He responds with another meow.

  I set the box down before bending over to pick up my huge, orange tabby. When I say he’s huge, I mean it. I swear this cat was bred with a saber tooth tiger. When the vet is impressed with the size of his head and teeth, you know he’s big. His purr meets my ears as he nudges my chin with his head. It’s the only affection I get nowadays. “I missed you too, buddy.”

  With Spartacus in my arms, I walk us to my bedroom so I can start packing. I set him on my bed, despite his protest, and retrieve my suitcase from the closet. A long sigh escapes my mouth as I look around my room like a magical elf is going to materialize and pack for me.

  “Alright, we’ll start with the easy stuff first,” I mutter under my breath. Walking over to my drawers, I open the top one and pull out a handful of underwear and throw it in my bag. After I’ve got my pajamas in there, I’m back to square one with not knowing what the hell to bring. Bars and clubs aren’t my scene, so this is a little foreign to me.

  My hands are on my hips while I stare at the row of clothes hanging in my closet, hoping something will jump out at me.
I hear my phone ding from where I left it on the bed, so I walk over to check it and see another group message.

  Scarlett: Make sure everyone is drinking plenty of water tonight. Hydration is key for tomorrow!!

  I love Scarlett dearly. We’ve only known each other for about eight months, but we clicked instantly. She’s hilarious and has this drinking thing down to a science.

  Me: Yes, mother.

  Scarlett: You’ll thank me later. <3

  Heeding her advice, I go to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water. This weekend is going to be a complete shit-show.

  And I can’t wait.

  Lydia

  THE DRIVE DOWN to Myrtle Beach only took us about three hours, but since we left after work, we didn’t get in until eight o’clock. Fortunately, we were all ready and just needed to touch up our makeup and change our clothes.

  That’s what I’m doing when I hear Scarlett yell, “Shots, shots, shots!” I shake my head as I run my hands through my loose, hazelnut curls one more time. Exiting the bathroom, I see the girls already pouring liquor into tiny plastic cups. With lemon and lime wedges and salt laid out all over the desk in the corner of the hotel room, it’s starting to look like a frat house in here.

  “Here you go, Lydia,” Scarlett says as she hands one to me before raising hers in a toast. “To a night we’re sure to forget.”

  “Cheers,” the rest of us say in unison before throwing the shot back.

  My throat is on fire. In fact, it feels like I poured kerosene down it. I can hardly breathe as I cough out, “Damn. What was that?” I know I didn’t buy anything at the liquor store made out of lighter fluid. Paige and Scarlett both cringe while making disgruntled noises as well.

  “It’s just a little something I brought from my stash at home,” Charlotte tells us.

  “What was it?” I ask, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I search for something to chase it with.

  “Everclear,” she states.

  “Are you insane? I’m not trying to die this weekend.” I grab a bottle of water and chug it, which helps soothe the burn, but my mouth still tastes like gasoline. I definitely was not prepared for that.

  A few more shots of something less potent, and we’re ready to go. The four of us grab our purses and are about to walk out of the door, but I run back in to get something out of my suitcase. Rummaging in the front pocket, I locate the object I’m in search of and slide it over my left ring finger. My hope is no one notices, but as soon as I step into the elevator, Paige is the first one to call me out.

  “Tell me that’s not what I think it is.”

  I roll my eyes and let out a sigh. “Can you not make a big deal about this?” I sound defensive even to my own ears, which gets the interest of the others.

  “Big deal about what?” Scarlett asks, leaning around Paige to look at me.

  “The engagement ring on her finger.” Paige crosses her arms over her chest.

  “You’re still doing that?” Charlotte asks, sympathy in her brown eyes.

  I turn away from them and face the front of the elevator.

  After that jerk broke my heart, I couldn’t let go of the hurt. As much as I tried to forget, it was impossible. I vowed I’d never let something like that happen to me again, and the only way to ensure that was to appear attached.

  “Lydia??” Charlotte presses. There’s no judgment in her tone, only concern.

  “I promise I’m good, guys. You don’t have to worry. I just want to go out and not be bothered by some sleazy guy looking for a hookup. I’m using the ring as repellant.”

  Scarlett gives me an arched brow before the elevator doors open to let us out.

  “Maybe you should try to move on and see what’s out there,” Paige suggests while we walk to the front of the resort to catch the Uber car we called beforehand.

  I try to reign in my annoyance, I really do, but this conversation is getting old. I know it’s been about a year and a half, but I can’t put myself out there again. At least not yet. Instead of reiterating this to them though, I choose to remain silent and slide into the front seat of our ride.

  Alcohol is a funny thing. It’s merely a bottle of liquid with no real power sitting on a shelf at a bar. Contained it’s useless; consumed it makes you feel like you can conquer the world. The latter is where I’m at right now. After more shots than I can count and three different bars, I haven’t got a care in the world. It’s a nice and welcomed change from my day-to-day life this last year.

  “Let’s get another drink!” Charlotte yells to us over the music. We’ve just walked into our fourth stop for the night. After checking out the layout and locating the most important points—the bar and bathroom—we make our way over to the right side of the room and get a drink.

  Now that it’s getting later, the crowds are starting to thicken. The dance floor is full, and the music is pulsating in my ears. It brings a small smile to my face as I feel the beat in my body.

  We’re almost to our target destination when a guy elbows me right in the boob as I try to skirt around him. He turns around and all I can do is hold my boob in my hand as I grimace slightly. He presses his lips together in an attempt to not smile before our eyes meet.

  “Ow, that was my boob!” I inform him. Honestly, I’m exaggerating a bit. You can blame that on the booze.

  “Sorry, are you okay?” he asks, leaning in closer. His scent hits my nose and the first thought is I want to bathe in whatever he’s wearing. It’s a light, woodsy smell that encompasses all things masculine. I’ve never smelled anything so delicious. That scent, mixed with the alcohol I’ve had, is a heady combination.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I manage to say once my brain stops focusing on wanting to sniff him.

  “Let me make it up to you and buy you a drink.” He flashes me a smile that I’m sure has every woman before me fall at his feet. Not tonight though.

  I shake my head slowly. “Thanks, but I don’t take drinks from strangers.”

  “Smart. Well, what do you want to know? My favorite color is blue, I love me some pie, and I can’t stand cats.” He looks up at the ceiling like he’s thinking. “I think that covers the basics.” When his focus comes back to me, it’s hard not to smile at the playful grin on his face.

  “That sucks because the cat thing is kind of a deal breaker for me.” I shrug and move to walk away, but add, “Plus, your impressive list of likes and dislikes still makes you a stranger.”

  “Look, I’m just a guy in a bar having some drinks with his brother when I elbowed a pretty girl. Have a drink with me?” When I don’t reject him again, he holds his arm out toward the bar. The sober part of my brain tells me to dig my heels in and get far away from this guy. This is how heartache starts. Unfortunately, the slightly intoxicated side of me far outweighs the sensible side, and I find myself following. There’s just something about him that’s got me enthralled, and I’m powerless to fight it.

  Glancing to my left past Mr. I-Hate-Cats, I catch sight of my friends a few feet away. They pretend to be engrossed in the wall behind the bar, but I sense them watching me from the corner of their eyes.

  “Marcus,” he says, extending his hand out to me, bringing my focus back to him.

  “Lydia.” I return the gesture and shake his hand.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’ll have a Yuengling,” I respond.

  “Hmm,” he says as his brows lift.

  “What?”

  “Nice choice, but I would’ve pegged you for a fruity girl.”

  “The only fruit I like in my drinks is in the form of wine. Otherwise, I’m a beer girl.” Well, if you don’t count tonight where the girls have been shoving shots down my throat.

  He nods his approval before waving the bartender down and giving him our orders. When he turns back to me, I take the opportunity to really look at him. He has light brown hair that’s short on the sides and long on the top. I can’t make out the color of his eyes because it’s so dim in her
e, but he has a strong, angular jaw, and his T-shirt perfectly showcases his broad shoulders and muscular arms.

  “You come here often?” he asks.

  I can’t contain the laughter that erupts from me. “Seriously? That’s the best line you’ve got?”

  “What?” he asks, trying not to crack a smile.

  “Of all the cheesy lines out there, you just used possibly the most cliché one known to mankind.”

  “Alright, how about I try again?”

  “If you think you can come up with something better, by all means.”

  He turns his back to me for a few seconds, then faces me again. “Are you from Tennessee?”

  My brow furrows in confusion. “No?”

  “Oh, because you’re the only ten I see.” Before he has a chance to see me holding back my grin, he turns back around to repeat the process.

  This time, he leans against the bar with one arm when he spins around. “Did it hurt?”

  “Did what hurt?” I play along.

  “When you fell from heaven.”

  That one earns him an eye roll before he starts all over again. “Are you Google?” He pauses for effect. “Because you’re everything I’ve been searching for.”

  This is quite possibly the cheesiest man I’ve ever encountered in my life.

  And I kind of like it.

  It’s refreshing and makes me laugh.

  I look over his shoulder to see my friends huddled together, staring at me. Their eyes are wide with matching smiles as they nod and talk to each other. Even with the fog clouding my judgment, I know what they’re assuming. I open my mouth to put their assumptions to rest when Marcus catches my attention again.

  “Excuse me, do you think you can handle twelve inches?” His eyes look me up and down as my mouth falls open in shock. “Oh, good. I’ve only got five,” he says with relief.

  I throw my head back and let out a laugh. I should probably be offended and horrified he just said that to me, but with the look on his face, I can’t hold it in.

  “Oh, God, it hurts.” I clutch my side as I try to compose myself. When I glance back up to him, he’s looking down on me with the cutest grin on his face. “You’re . . . charming,” I say sarcastically, but smile to let him know I’m only teasing.