“But I don’t know where anything is.”
I take a deep breath and stalk into the kitchen, pulling a water out of the fridge. He groans and pushes his chair back from the table. I don’t want to hear it, whatever he’s going to say to try and make me feel better.
“You know, you could ask. Ask me for anything, and I’ll find it in less than two minutes.”
Atticus frowns.
It’s been like this for two weeks—slightly annoyed, not quite pleased. It’s enough to grate without being completely soul-crushing. But today—fuck it. I grab my purse.
“Look, you obviously aren’t happy with my work. So let’s just go ahead and end this. I’ll find another job for the summer. You can find an assistant to your liking.”
I turn around, and I’m startled to find him in my personal space. His eyes are furious, but he holds himself very still. I can smell the scent of his cologne and soap—hell, this close, I can smell the detergent on his clothes and coffee on his breath.
“My articles on Jean and the influence Pierre had over him.”
I blink, and he smiles, coldly. “Tick-tock, Avery.”
Without blinking, I twist and grab my tablet and access the three articles. His lip twitches, but he doesn’t acknowledge them. “Susan Wiggan’s article on Jean’s view of slavery.”
It’s in the files. I reach over, flip through them, and pull out the stapled papers.
He’s quiet, staring at it. “Your system is a good one, Avery.”
“Glad you noticed.”
Atticus’ gaze jerks upward. “You’ll find, Ms. Emili, there is little I don’t notice.”
“So you’re an ass for another reason?”
He laughs, a noise I haven’t heard much. “Something like that.”
I shake my head, dropping my purse. “I seriously don’t want to stay if this isn’t working, Atticus. And you seem dissatisfied.”
“Why don’t you go get us lunch? We’ll talk when you get back.”
Atticus
I let out the breath I’ve been holding as she stomps out of the house. She’s pissed. And I can’t even be annoyed that she is—she’s worked like crazy. Nik never put this much energy into my work, never took the time to create such an elaborate filing system.
Treating Avery like shit wasn’t fair.
I pull the envelope out from where I hid it under my computer.
Even though I’m the one who filed, even though there is no way in hell the marriage can be saved, staring at the papers feels like a kick in the balls.
I had wanted to prove them wrong—wanted to prove that the high school sweethearts could make a life. We were together for twelve years, all through college when she was a sorority sister and a cheerleader. Got married just before I graduated and we moved for grad school.
That it ended had surprised no one—no one but me.
I pick up my phone and dial the number I will probably always know by heart.
“Hey, baby,” she says, her voice a soft tease. The best voice for phone sex I’ve ever heard—I used to get hard just listening to her talk about the drama in our high school.
“Nik, the papers came in. I need to come by and get you to sign them.”
“I told you I don’t want a divorce,” she says, the sex vanishing as soon as she realizes I’m not calling to fuck around.
“You don’t really get a say in the matter.”
“I don’t have to sign your damn papers,” she snaps.
I bite back a curse. She doesn’t. She can drag it out and make it ridiculous and expensive, but she doesn’t have to sign the papers. “Nikki, it’s time to let it go. No hard feelings. You go fuck all the frat boys you want, I won’t even say anything. Just sign the papers.”
“You need to come home. It was a one-time thing—a mistake. Let it go and come home. I’m sure Dane wants his guest bedroom back.”
I almost don’t tell her. But maybe it’s what she needs to realize I’m done—I’m not taking her back or waiting for the right amount of groveling.
“I found an apartment.”
She’s quiet for so long I think she hung up. Then, “You really are an asshole, Atticus. What about the grant? Huh? How are you going to do all of it alone?”
I’m not ready to tell her about Avery.
“That’s not your business anymore, Nik. I need these papers signed.”
“Fuck you, Atti.”
She hangs up, and I manage—barely—to keep from throwing my phone across the room.
When Avery gets back with BBQ, I’ve changed clothes. She stares at me, one eyebrow raised. “Avery, I’m not unhappy with your work.” She blinks, startled, and I grin. “I’m actually very impressed. You’ve done very well. For the rest of the day, I set up to see some apartments. You can go home, and we’ll start again tomorrow.”
Something flickers in her eyes, and she looks away, playing with the straw to her tea. It’s so dejected, I pause and step over to her, tilting her chin up. Her breath catches. I have to force myself to let her go again.
“Or,” I murmur, “you could come with me.”
She inhales sharply, her chest rising under her thin shirt.
“That’s a bad idea,” she murmurs.
My fingers curve, catching in her hair. Its silky soft, and I can smell her shampoo, clean and floral. My thumb rests on her pulse point, the frantic beat jumping under my hand.
“What are you doing?” she asks, breathlessly. I don’t answer—instead I let her go and step away, taking a deep breath.
“Lock up, and I’ll see you Monday.”
“I thought you wanted company,” she says, and I look up at her. Her cheeks are pink, adorably, but she’s steady, chewing on her lip. Sending her home is the best idea I’ve had today.
I nod. “Come on, then.”
Avery
The first two apartments are awful. I wouldn’t go in them at all, except Atticus looks so terrified of facing it alone, I go to keep him from bolting.
“If you get that apartment, I’m working from home,” I threaten as I climb into my side of the truck.
Atticus grins. “Good—the peace and quiet will be nice.”
“You’d miss me,” I say without thinking. He goes still, and I force a smile. “And you’d never find anything without my help.”
“True,” he says. “But you’d get bored by yourself in your apartment all summer.”
I would. I’m already bored. “I’d find something to keep me entertained.”
He smirks at that. I grab my phone—there are two texts from Amelia. Apparently wedding planning is super stressful. Like I don’t know that.
I shut that thought down and tuck my phone into my pocket. “How are your applications going?” Atticus asks.
I make a face. “Slow. I’m having a hard time with my essays. And to be super honest, by the time I get home from work, I just want to veg.”
He frowns, and I wave a hand. “Not a big deal—I’ll get them done.”
I lean over and fiddle with the radio, country music filling the quiet and soothing the tension as we drive across town.
The last apartment complex is nice—really nice. Kelly and I looked at it when we signed a lease sophomore year, but it’s also expensive.
A small woman with perfect hair and a too-bright smile greets us as we step into the office. “Welcome to Sugar Mills!”
Atticus smiles, but it’s a little forced. “We’d like to look at one of your two bedrooms.”
I tune them out as I stare out the window at a massive pool with a glittering fake waterfall. It’s nice, luxurious—he’d be happy here.
“Do y’all have children?”
I freeze then open my mouth to say something. Atticus beats me to it, “No. Not yet.”
His hand snakes around my waist, and I twist to give him a disbelieving glare. He leans down and nuzzles my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he murmurs, “Just go with it.”
Atticus
&nb
sp; I can’t tell if she’s mad or amused. But as we follow the leasing agent to the little golf cart, she puts an extra swing in her step. I grin—this is just what I need. A little harmless flirting to distract me from Nik. She leans into me as we ride through the complex, passing three pools and a deserted playground.
I barely notice—I’m more interested in the hand on my knee, the long, thin fingers dusting down over my inner thigh. I look at Avery, but she’s ignoring me, a polite smile on her lips as she chats with the leasing agent.
Sara stops in front of a three-story building and gives us an anxious look. “You didn’t say—do you have a floor preference?”
“Top,” Avery says brightly, and I jerk her against me.
“You have to come to work every day, Avery,” I murmur.
She smirks. “I don’t have to carry the couch up two flights of stairs.”
Eyeing the staircase, I have to admit something—my research assistant is a devious little devil.
“Oh, god, Atticus,” she says as we enter the apartment. Her voice is breathless, and I harden. All I can think is that I want to hear her like that when I’m buried inside her.
Holy fuck, not an option.
I twist away and walk through the apartment. She’s right, it’s nice. A half bath, large kitchen, sprawling living room with a false fireplace, two large sun-lit bedrooms, and a balcony in the back facing the woods. Tons of privacy.
“I love it. It doesn’t even compare to the others,” she says, excitement making her bounce a little through the empty apartment.
“I’ll take it,” I say as she vanishes into the master bedroom.
“Atticus! You have to see this bathroom,” she shouts gleefully, and I grin.
“Get me the paperwork. I’ll put down a deposit and first month’s rent today,” I tell Sara. Then I follow Avery into the bathroom.
She’s right, it’s pretty spectacular—the shower is huge. But all I’m really seeing is Avery, her pretty face flushed and bright. She grins at me in the mirror, and I step up behind her, ignoring the voice in my head telling me this is a bad idea.
Her eyes go wide as my body presses into her back, and I know she can feel my erection, pressing into the soft curve of her ass. She takes a deep breath, and I lean down, brushing the hair on her neck to one side as I kiss the nape of her neck. She whimpers, twitching against me.
“What are you doing?” she whispers, her head falling to one side.
“Something really fucking stupid,” I murmur, pushing my hips into her. She moans, a soft needy noise. It drives me crazy. My mouth opens on her neck, tracing a path with my tongue. She moans, her arm coming up as her fingers tangle in my hair. One of my hands splays across her stomach, and it takes every ounce of willpower to not slide lower. “Tell me to stop, Avery,” I whisper, nibbling at her ear. She answers by pushing her ass into me, and I groan, biting down on her earlobe.
“Are y’all ready—Oh!”
Even with my eyes closed, I can hear Sara’s embarrassment. And all of the pliant desire in Avery disappears. She’s rigid in my arms. I study her in the mirror—the flush in her cheeks, the spot of red on her neck, the tight, puckered nipples under her thin shirt.
The fury and embarrassment in her eyes.
I let her go, and we follow Sara silently from the apartment.
Chapter 5
Avery
I've been home maybe ten minutes when my phone rings. I know its Ameila, and I honestly don't want to deal with my sister. All I really want is to take a toy to the bath and figure out what the hell had happened today.
And I still have those damn applications waiting on me.
"Hey, Amelia," I say, forcing a cheerfulness I don't feel.
"Why haven't you called me? I've been texting all day!"
I take a deep breath. "I told you I'd call when I got home. I've been at work."
Amelia makes an annoyed noise. "You shouldn't even be working. Daddy wanted you to come home—and I’d love to have you helping me. You know?"
I did. Planning a wedding was a lot harder than I expected, and Amelia didn't thrive on details. "I'm not coming back to Grovetown," I say patiently. "You know that.'
"It was years ago," she says, her voice uncommonly soft.
It doesn't matter. It wasn't long enough for me to forget. It'll never be long enough. "Is this why you called, or do you actually need something?" I say, my voice harsher than I intend.
She's quiet for a moment then, "I sent you some dress options—for the bridesmaids."
"I'll look at them tonight."
"I also sent some of me in dresses. I thought you might like to see that."
A pang goes through me. I do. I wish, for the first time in forever, that I was home. I wish I could enjoy this time with my sister without it hurting so damn much.
But it does. And I'm better off here. "I'll let you know what I think," I say quickly, "but someone is at the door. I gotta run."
Amelia sees through my excuses—she's my sister. But she doesn't push, and I'm able to hang up.
I sit on my couch, the phone still in hand. How long was I going to do this? Hide from my home? She was right—it was years ago.
And after graduation, what then? Years of empty apartments after long days at work?
Work. I let my head fall. God, I can still feel the burn of his lips, the wet heat of his tongue. I didn't think a kiss could turn me on as much as his had—didn't think it was possible.
And his hand—a few inches south and I'd have come in that bathroom, without ever taking off clothes.
The mere thought has me squirming, more than a little turned on.
I stand and head to the kitchen. A large glass of wine and a hot bath. That's exactly what I need.
My phone buzzes next to my half-eaten dinner, and I lower my e-reader to pick it up.
A text. From The Professor. I grin.
The Professor: Are u working?
He remembered. It makes me ridiculously happy. I thumb a quick response.
Me: No. Just finished dinner.
The Professor: Dane is cooking. I'm bored. You should come over.
I snort.
Me: That would be, and I quote, “Really fucking stupid.”
The Professor: Watch your language, little girl.
I feel my heart sink a little—he didn't address the kiss. I wonder if he forgot. I pour another glass of wine. That's stupid. He didn't forget. But maybe he does regret it. I wouldn't blame him—it was a hell of a kiss, but there are some pretty big reasons why it should never have happened. I swallow a sip of wine and frown.
The phone beeps.
The Professor: Quit that, Avery.
Me: Quit what?
The Professor: Thinking. I kissed you. Now you’re wondering why.
My breath catches, and I wish he was here. I can read him better when he's with me. And I really need more than a dry text message.
The Professor: I kissed you because you’re fucking gorgeous, you irritate the hell out of me, and I'm human. I've wanted to kiss you since I walked into that damn coffee shop.
There's a pause, and I wonder what, if anything I'm supposed to say to that.
The Professor: I shouldn't have. And I won't again. But I don't regret that I did. Do you?
I hesitate. Do I?
No. There are a lot of reasons we shouldn't kiss. And I wish we hadn't been interrupted. But the kiss itself?
I type and send the message before I can convince myself it's a bad idea.
Atticus
Avery: No. Of course not. But it can't happen again.
Damn.
I drop the phone on the coffee table and stalk into the kitchen. Dane is throwing a frozen pizza in the oven. He accepts the beer I extend without comment.
"I found an apartment." I say.
He pauses in the middle of sipping his beer. "Also, the divorce papers came in, and Nik refuses to sign them."
Dane's eyes narrow, but he takes a swallow.
/>
I deliver the coup de grace: "And I kissed Avery."
His eyes bulge, and he chokes on his beer. I smirk, pleased with myself.
"What the hell, dude?" he splutters, when he finally quits coughing.
"Which part?" I ask, nonchalantly.
"The part where you kissed your assistant—who, I might mention, is also a student at your university."
I give him a sharp look, and he glares. "I'm your friend, Atti. I did a background search."
Of course he did. Because, you know, that’s healthy and whatnot. "She's not my student."
"Schematics, and ones that will still end with you fired. And what about her? It's not fair to play with her future like that, and you know it."
"It won't happen again," I mutter, pushing past him.
"Does she know about Nik?"
I freeze, wanting very much to punch him. He's my best friend, my frat brother, the only one who stood with me when shit hit the fan. And I want to punch him.
"I said it won't happen again. My failed marriage doesn't concern her. Let it go, Dane."
He does, and I grab my phone off the table before stalking out of the house. I want to scream—no, I want to fuck. I could. I'm a good looking guy. I could pick up a girl down at Smalls and take her home—hell, I could take her to the bathroom. I could be laid in less than an hour.
But it won't be Avery. And if it's not her, it's pointless—the antsy restlessness will still be here. So why bother?
Avery
There are two vehicles in the driveway when I arrive the next morning. I shut the door of my Lumina with my butt, juggling the coffee and bagels as I stare at the silver Viper and the man leaning against it.
I know who he is—Atticus’ best friend. And he's waiting for me.
Dane Guillot exudes sex. His hair is messy and hanging in his eyes, his gray suit perfectly cut, the blue tie intensifying the icy shade of his eyes. He looks like power and sex. I wonder what he'd look like naked.
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