"Take care of yourself, Atticus," she whispers. And then she's gone.
Chapter 27—October
Avery
"So then I said cheating isn't sexy and I only do sexy, so he could fuck off."
I nod, half listening to Kelly as I watched the show on TV. "And he said, it wasn't cheating because they were taking a break and ATTICUS!"
My head jerks up, so quick my neck snaps. Kelly frowns at me. "Did you hear anything I said?"
"I heard Atticus," I say.
"Damnit, Avery. I'm having a crisis, here."
I sigh. "Kelly, you have a lot of crises. Joey cheated on you—or rather, he cheated on his girlfriend with you. You dumped his ass and sent evidence of the affair to said girlfriend. Did I miss anything?"
Her eyes are full of hurt. I want to scream—there is no right response here. And she's right, I'm being a shitty friend. "You know, Avery, I've been there for you through four years. I get why you are so fucking distant with everyone, especially the guys. I get that Atticus was special and he's got you all fucked in the head. I'm trying to help. But you might remember I'm going through my own shit."
I don't respond. She waits, giving me the time to. And I don't. Because there's nothing I can say that will make my behavior, my fucking apathy, any better. I've been a shitty friend, and she's finally called me on it.
With a curse, she grabs her purse and stalks out of the loft. She'll find a boy to bring home, and I'll listen to them fuck. That's her passive aggressive punishment for my lack of caring.
She still wants me to find my own rebound sex, and I'm still adamantly ignoring that suggestion.
I look at the stack of mail on my bed, the bills for my phone and my car insurance, the checks from my students for the month of October. A letter from my bank.
And three thick envelopes from Duke, Rutgers, and North Carolina.
I haven't opened them. The first one—Rutgers—arrived three days ago, the other two yesterday. I haven't told Kelly, haven't told Jeff. Even though they'd both be excited and ready to celebrate—or commiserate by getting drunk with me.
I haven't told anyone. Because when I pulled the Rutgers envelope from my mailbox three days ago, all I could think was I wanted Atticus to know.
I wanted him to hold me while I opened the letter, or open it for me while I hid my face in the pillow.
I want, so fucking badly, to share this with him.
My fingers rub over the back of my phone, over and over, until my thumb is sore.
When I dial, it goes straight to voice mail. "You've reached Professor Atticus Grimes. Feel free to email me about this, and I will get back to you shortly."
I close the phone. Snatch my keys off the bedside table and grab my purse.
Dane's house is quiet and dark. Not surprising—it's Friday night. I see Dane at Speakeasy a lot on Friday nights. Always with a different girl, always with that half smile that tells me none of them are more than a quick screw.
Sometimes, I wonder if the meaningless sex is worth it. Of all our sorority sisters, Kelly is the only one to get close to seducing him. She danced with him for hours, making out on the dance floor. But when last call came, he brought her back to our table, and smiled at me sardonically. "Your friend, Avery."
Everyone wanted an explanation, after that. I'd mumbled something lame and managed to piss off half of them.
I didn't really care.
The key is still under the mat, and I let myself in. The house is dark, and I stumble over a pair of discarded shoes on my way to the couch.
"Who the fuck is she?"
A shrill voice wakes me up, and I blink blearily at the harpy standing over me, half dressed.
Dane appears in the kitchen, and for the first time, I see him startled. "Avery?"
The harpy is glaring at me, and I give her a half laugh, "Believe me, sweetheart, I'm not here for that."
Dane mutters a curse and grabs her. "Bedroom or front door. Now."
She looks enraged, and he leans in to kiss her. I've watched him kiss before—Kelly, on the dance floor—and I've got to admit, the boy has a killer technique. The harpy gives me another venomous look and stalks to the bedroom.
"It takes a special lack of self-confidence to deal with your shit, Dane. I commend you for being able to find that on a dirty dance floor."
He grins. "How is your roommate? That is who I was dancing with last month, wasn't it?"
"Just as self-destructive as ever," I say blandly. "Thanks for not screwing her."
He shrugs. "What are you doing here, Avery?"
"Where is he?"
His gray eyes narrow. "It's been two months since he left. Why do you care now?"
"Does it matter?"
Dane hesitates for a heartbeat—long enough for me to get nervous—and then he shrugs. He walks over and grabs a business card from his desk and hands it to me. I glance at it, and my heart skips a beat.
"Why did you dislike me so much, when I first got here?" I ask, and Dane's eyebrows shoot up.
"I didn't care about you. I still don't, really. I care about Atticus. You could hurt him—in ways Nik never could, you could devastate him. You still could. But he's made his choice, and I'll respect it." He stares at me, and I think he's going to say something else, but instead, he jerks his head a little. "Get out of here. You've done enough cock blocking for one night."
I smirk. "Have fun, Dane. Be safe."
His laughter, like liquid sex, floats on the air behind me. "Oh, little girl, I always have fun."
I pack a bag and leave a note. It's not a lot, and I'll probably still end up with a furious email in the morning, but, for now, it'll do.
Then I send a quick email to my tutoring students for Saturday, and I get on the road.
It's about ten hours, which means I'll get to him in the really early morning—nine-ish.
When I first heard that Atticus was leaving, taking a sabbatical for the semester, I didn't think anything of it. It was a little strange, but it meant that the sorority girls wouldn't be trying to fuck him, and I was all for that. Then I heard he was actually leaving. I spent two months ignoring his absence, two months trying to date, trying to be happy and enjoy my senior year. Two months wondering where the hell he was and why he hadn't called. Why he left in the first place.
Two months, and every day brought a text. Every fucking day, despite me never responding.
I look at the address again. All this time, he'd been holed up in the one place I said I wanted to go. The place Josh was going to take me for our honeymoon.
I'm chasing a dream, and I know it. But Atticus still wants something—his incessant texting has shown me that much. And for the first time, I allow myself to wonder if he left to prove to me that he would.
I didn't want this. Didn't want him to give up his career for me. But I can't ignore how much I miss him. I'm tired of fighting how much I miss him.
With my thoughts swirling around me, I drive through the night.
Chapter 28
Atticus
Coffee is so much better when someone else makes it for you. If living in the middle of nowhere has taught me nothing else, it's that. I squeeze my eyes closed as the sun peeks through the curtains, and groan. My head is pounding—I had way too much vodka last night.
I fucking hate Fridays. Hate thinking about where she is and what she's doing. Who she's with.
It's too early to even think about that. I roll over and check my phone, unsurprised to find it blank—no texts messages. Just like yesterday. And the day before.
A noise at the front door makes me stop, listening. I had a bear stop by a few days ago, and I wonder if he's come back, but this is too rhythmic and insistent. Bears are pretty harmless—relatively—but they aren't known for rhythmic knocking.
I pull on a pair of jeans and stumble to the front door, wishing I'd remembered to set the coffee pot.
Avery is standing there, looking exhausted and holding two cups of coffee and a ba
g of food. For a moment, I think I'm still dreaming. I have to be dreaming because there is no fucking way she's here.
I even look around for the damn bear, because wouldn't it be a bitch to sleepwalk into that fucker?
"Are you going to let me in?" she asks. Her voice is husky, scratchy with sleep, and tense, but still tart—like she can't quite believe I'm making her wait.
"What—what the hell are you doing here?" I ask, stupidly.
"Atticus," she says, stepping toward me and nudging me out of her way. "Let me in the damn cabin before a bear eats me."
I start laughing. Not because it's funny—it's not. But it is. And I'm too hung over to deal with mirages.
Her hand comes up, brushes across my cheek, trailing fire in her wake. It settles me, grounds me in this reality. I have no freaking clue why she's here, but she's real. Her touch is real. And it wakes up every part of me that was sleeping.
"So," she says, as if she's just dropping in and it's not an unusual day in the least bit, "I stopped to get breakfast. I would have cooked, but I'm tired. There's pancakes, bacon, bagels, oatmeal—a little of everything, cause I didn't know what you'd like."
"Why didn't you call?" I ask quietly.
She flinches. So she does realize this isn't a fucking Sunday brunch.
"I couldn't. I didn't know what to say." She looks at me, her eyes huge. God, I have missed her so much. Staring at her without touching her hurts, a physical ache in my chest that takes me by surprise.
"Pancakes. And bacon," I say, and gratitude flickers in her gaze. We're quiet, making plates and sipping coffee. What is she doing here? And why didn't Dane at least warn me—he said he'd give me a heads-up if she came by for my address. But I checked the damn phone, and there was nothing.
"Atticus?" she says, and I blink, realizing she's holding my plate out to me and watching me curiously.
I sit down across from her, and she fidgets, nervous. "How do you like it up here?"
I glance around at the cabin. It's nice—quiet. Lonely. I shrug. "It's been good for getting work done," I say. "How are classes going?"
"Good. I'm on track to graduate. My senior thesis is just about done."
"Heard anything from grad school yet?"
Something flickers in her gaze, but she ignores the question. "Why did you leave?"
"Because I couldn't be with you without being with you," I say without hesitating. "And I thought, maybe if I weren't your professor, you would figure out that we could make it work."
She pales. "Why didn't you tell me that?"
"You didn't ask, Avery. You left me—I told you I'd give it up for you, and you didn't believe me."
She's shaking her head, her blond hair sticking to her lips. "It's stupid, Atticus. Giving up anything for me is stupid."
Anger swamps me, and I lean in to her, invading her space. I can smell the coffee on her breath and the faint trace of her perfume. "I love you. I would give up anything—without you, what the hell is the point?" I demand.
She shudders. "You'll get tired of me."
"If you believe that," I ask, watching her carefully, "why are you here? Why now, after two months? I haven't forgotten you, even after two months of you being gone. Two months and I can still taste you—I still know exactly what you sound like when I slide my dick into you. I know what you look like when you come for me."
Her eyes are heavy, and I lean back, adjusting myself in my jeans. "But you know what I really miss?" I wait for her gaze to meet mine. "I miss your coffee addiction—going to get another cup only to find you drank all of it and forgot to make more. I miss tripping over your ginormous purse and watching you read your vampire books. I miss arguing with you about Jean and Caesar and whatever else happens to catch my attention. I miss your laugh and your smile and your cooking. I miss you."
Tears slip down her cheeks, and I can't stop myself. I pull her out of her chair and into my lap. "Avery, tell me why you’re here," I whisper into her hair. "Tell me that you’re here for us. Because I know it's hard—I know it's fucking impossible, but this? This love can work. We can make it work. I want to fight for us, Avery. They don't get to tell us we can't be together. Only we get to decide that. Is that what you want?"
Her tears are soaking into my shirt, burning against my chest, silent sobs shaking her body as I hold her. And even though I'm dying for answers—even though I want to know what the hell made her drive ten and half hours to get to me, I'm not going to push her anymore. Not right now. Because she's here, in my arms, and I'd begun to think she wouldn't ever be here again.
Avery
I wake up in his bed. I know it's his because his shampoo and body wash have sunk into the sheets, and it smells like Atticus. I don't want to leave.
He loves me. Not just the sex—although, I could feel how much he'd missed that when I'd been sitting in his lap earlier. No, it's more than that—he loves me.
And I love him. I close my eyes and revel in that. In the simple fact that I do love him. Impatience fills me and I sit up. I want to tell him.
Atticus is laying on the couch, asleep. I wonder why he didn't sleep in the bed next to me, but right now that isn't important.
I kiss him gently. He shifts in his sleep, waking slowly. When his eyes open, I smile at him, and his gaze brightens, filled with so much love it makes me dizzy.
"I missed you," I say against his lips. I take a deep breath and say the words that I've wanted to say for months. "I love you."
He makes a low noise, and his hand clenches on my hair, pulling me to his kiss. His teeth find my lower lip, biting down, and my knees give way. Atticus catches me as I fall, pulling me across his body. His erection pushes against my belly, and I want to skip all the foreplay. I just want him, moving inside me, reminding me that we're together, despite the odds.
Atticus, however, has different ideas. He rolls us so I'm trapped between him and the couch and kisses me. It's two months’ worth of kisses. He sucks on my lip, angles my head slightly with a tug. An answering surge of pleasure hits between my legs—I love the dominance he displays in bed. It's subtle, but there, and it's one of the sexiest things about him.
My hands come up, fisting his t-shirt at his shoulder, and he pulls away. "Don't touch me. You made me wait for this for two months, Avery. This is my turn."
I shiver, but obey, linking my hands above my head. He kisses me again, slowly thrusting his tongue into my mouth, twisting with my own. He kisses me like he fucks me, with deliberate care. When I'm panting and twisting against him, desperate for some kind of friction, he lowers his head and sucks on my nipple, through my thin tank top, through my bra. I groan, arching against him, and he makes an impatient noise. Yanks my neckline down until my breast is exposed.
His mouth, closing over my nipple, is one of the most erotic things I've ever seen, and I close my eyes, whimpering as he sucks, and then rakes his teeth over the little peak. Bites lightly.
"Get up," he says, his voice harsh with desire, and I do. He jerks me closer with the belt loops on my shorts and flicks the button open. Yanks them and my panties down so I'm standing in nothing but my bra and tank top.
"Take them off," he orders, and I scramble to obey. His fingers slid into me as I unclip my bra and I shriek, my knees giving way. He catches me, pulls me into his lap, latching on to my breast as his fingers pump into me, his thumb rubbing my clit. I shudder, so close to orgasm my vision starts to blur. His lips leave my nipple and I feel the scratchy couch under my back before his lips cover me, his tongue stroking along my slit. And still, his fingers are thrusting into me. "God, Avery. You feel so fucking amazing," he pants, breathing the words against my core. His thumb moves in a quick circle, and I scream, scrambling for something to hold onto, my entire body spasming in orgasm.
He curses, his fingers never stilling inside me, working me through my orgasm, forcing me toward another. I've barely caught my breath before his lips are on me again, his tongue replacing his fingers, and I'm riding the edg
e of orgasm again.
"Atticus," I pant, "please. I want you."
His head comes up, his eyes bright and hungry. He pulls me to the floor, and I land on my ass on the plush rug.
"What do you want, Avery?" he asks, not touching me.
That's the question. The one we've been asking since May. And I'm tired of denying it. I shove him back, and a smile spreads on his face as he falls to his back. Watches me as I straddle him. "I want you. This." I ease down on him, and his groan is like music, it's so sweet. I lean down and kiss him as I ride him, and whisper against his lips. "I want us."
Epilogue
Atticus.
"So how do we make this work?" I ask, playing with her hair. Avery shrugs, the water of the hot tub sloshing against my neck.
"We only have to get through December."
I freeze. "What?"
Avery peeks up at me, a smile on her lips. "Well. I kinda doubled my course load this semester. So I could graduate in December instead of May."
I stare at her, a ludicrous smile forming on my face. She didn't. "Why?"
"Well, there's this really hot professor, and I didn't want to wait until May to chase him."
I kiss her, cutting off her words, my head swimming. How fucking insane must this semester be for her?
"Atti?" she says, and there's a hint of doubt in her voice.
"What?"
"What about grad school?"
I force myself to smile, shrug. "A lot of programs are satellite—you only have to be there for a few weekends. Have you gotten any acceptance letters?"
She bites her lip. "I have three, but I haven't opened them."
"Why not?"
Avery shrugs. "Because I wanted to be with you."
The words are so fucking amazing, so perfect that I want to kiss her. Want to take her to bed and never let her out. Instead, I stand. "Where are they?"
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