by K. V. Rose
But Riley refuses to ride in Caden’s flashy rental to school. And I don’t think the dude has ever stepped foot on a bus until now, so she’s at least got him by the balls as much as he has her.
“I’m taking the bus.” She turns in the water, glances over a tan shoulder at me. “There’s no need for you to come. I can survive the dangers of public transportation on my own.”
A few hours later, she’s beside me in my rental. And she hates it. We’re almost at her university and she’s still bitching about it. I don’t really care. I don’t like buses. It’s not snobbery, it’s practicality. Too many unknowns on a bus.
In my line of work, I can’t tolerate unknowns.
I pull up to the curb and she’s already got her hand on the door handle. But the doors won’t unlock until I unlock them (thanks, Mercedes) and I’m not done with her yet.
When she yanks the handle and realizes that, she turns to glare at me. Her hair is piled high in a bun on her head and even though Caden has given her cards for all of his accounts, she’s still wearing her own old clothes: black tank top, threadbare jeans, a backpack with a rip near the top.
“What?” she snarls at me.
I glance beyond her, through the tinted windows at the people heading to classes, coffees in hand, the stained-glass window of the campus chapel. I know the entire layout of this small, private university. It’s a safe school. Renowned for its prestigious reputation. In fact, I’m probably the most dangerous person here right now.
I don’t feel too good about that in some ways. In others, I definitely do.
“Be careful. Eyes peeled. I’ll be right here to pick you up, Little Girl.”
She flips me off and I laugh, unlock the door for her. She hops out and slams it, walking away without looking back.
Yep. She’s definitely Caden’s match.
I watch her until she disappears. When I go to put the car in Drive, someone behind me lays on the horn, as if they can’t drive around me. I could go now. I can’t see Riley anymore. But I don’t move. The blonde girl in the black BMW behind me blows the horn again. She has her window down and I can see her throw up her hands.
She has no idea how much patience I have. Caden Virani is my best friend, but that motherfucker operates on a too-tightly wound string. I used to, too. Back in the day when I got in fist fights nearly every week after school. When my adoptive parents threatened to send me back to the orphanage when I came home with black eyes and split lips.
But now...I can be very, very patient.
I roll down my own window and watch this girl. She’s cute, but so, so pissed.
So pissed, in fact, that she gets out of her car. I can’t hold in my laugh as she stalks over to me in heels and a long, blue dress.
“What the hell?” she snaps at me when she reaches the driver’s side door.
But she pauses when she takes me in, some of her bravado slipping away. I know what she sees. People have told me I “look mean” my entire life. I don’t know if that’s racism—I’m half-Canadian, half-Puerto Rican with tan skin, but most people assume I’m either Middle Eastern or Mexican, because people fucking love assumptions—or if “mean” has a look. And there’s the tattoos, which some girls love, and some find intimidating.
This girl doesn’t really look intimidated. She just looks unsure.
She pulls off her sunglasses, her ocean-blue eyes narrowed on mine. She’s definitely not unsure about the fact that I’m pissing her off.
“You know,” I say calmly, forearm resting on the door, “you could just go around me.”
She rolls her eyes, leans in closer. She has a small freckle above her pink lips.
“Or you could not park where it clearly says, ‘No parking’.” She points a manicured nail at the sign beside me.
I don’t look at it. I already saw it.
“Brilliant.” I nod, put the car in Drive. “Might wanna back away from my window, or I’ll have to drag you along with me.”
Her eyes narrow and she doesn’t move. “Is that a threat?”
I shrug. “Could be.” I’ve done worse.
I swear I see her fight back a smile. But finally, she moves away.
“Have a great day, asshole.”
I sigh. “That’s the best you got?”
Another car lays on the horn at the both of us now.
She glances over at them, scowling.
“Oh look,” I say calmly, “it’s another you.”
Her blue eyes cut to me. She smiles. “There’s no such thing.” And then she turns around and walks back to her car, giving a short wave to whoever is honking at her.
Before I have time to move, she pulls around me. Good thing, too, because it gives me time to memorize her license plate.
This could be fun.
Two
Professor Dumont is going to kill me. Fall classes just started, and it’s going to be my second day being late.
Because of that asshole in the Mercedes.
I’m supposed to graduate in December. Or rather, I was supposed to graduate in July, but since I flunked last semester entirely, it got moved back.
And Dumont will not care about my near altercation. Dumont doesn’t care about anything except what’s in between my legs and even that won’t let me get away with a damn thing. If anything, it makes shit worse.
I know I’m in deep when I get to the door and it’s locked. I try to catch a kid’s eye beyond the small pane of glass, but literally everyone—male and female alike—is staring at Dumont.
I’m unsurprised. But annoyed. A little jealous. I’m under no illusion that what happens with me and Dumont is exclusive or even anything remotely resembling feelings, but still...I was in his bed last night and now I’m locked outside of his classroom and when I finally get in, he’s going to reprimand me in front of everyone. It’s the only thing I can think of to explain my jealousy. The only thing I want it to mean.
I sigh, pinch the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger, and then knock on the damn door before I lose my nerve.
It’s not that I’m afraid of Dumont. It’s just...it’s been a long morning. And the asshole in the Mercedes with the nice eyes is actually the least of my concern.
I see everyone look toward the door. No one moves. I angle my head, trying to find my best friend, Tess. Because it seems like exactly no one is coming to the door.
I can’t hear Dumont speaking, but everyone is still looking at me, which I assume means he’s trying to punish me.
My cheeks burn with embarrassment, which isn’t my style. I loathe being embarrassed and I rarely ever am. But this asshole...
Tess’s face looms into view and she frowns at me but yanks the door open. Behind her, I hear Dumont sighing.
“Ms. Marshal,” he’s saying to Tess, “I specifically told you not to open the door.”
Tess rolls her eyes, shrugs. “Glad you made it,” she whispers to me. I nod, close the door behind me, and follow her curvy figure back up the steps of the stadium-style lecture hall. All eyes are on us.
I make sure to meet them. As many as I can. Dumont might embarrass me, but I’ll be damned if they all cow me. I’m Ava Culwen. I don’t get cowed.
I slip into the seat behind Tess, who picks up her pen and immediately starts doodling in the margins of her notebook. I’m not sure why she stays in the margins. She doesn’t even take notes. She doesn’t need to. Unlike me, she has a photographic memory. She’s graduating in December too. A year ahead of schedule.
I’m 22. She’s 20. We grew up in the same neighborhood. We’re best friends. Some days, I loathe her intelligence. Because I’m a jealous bitch. Which is why, even though I’m about to get humiliated in front of this senior English class, I kind of don’t care. At least its attention Dumont is showering me with, not anyone else.
Even if it’s the bad kind.
“Ms. Culwen, nice of you to finally join us.”
And now I have to look at him. I meet his gaze and smi
le, thinking of his head between my legs last night. He adjusts his Prada glasses as I hold his stare, and I’m delighting in the fact that I’m unnerving him for once.
He clears his throat. “You know the rule, though, Ms. Culwen.”
I lean forward, prop my fist under my chin. “Which one, Dr. Dumont?” I sigh. “You have so very many.” I flutter my lashes and there’s a snicker among the class.
Beside me, I can basically hear Tess rolling her eyes. She knows about us. She knows everything about me. She doesn’t approve. Which is unsurprising. Tess is smart. What I’m doing is not smart.
Not only is Dr. Dumont my professor, he’s still legally married. Legally, even though his wife moved out. Even though sometimes they try to work things out. Even though he’s still in love with her. Even though he almost called me by her name the last time I gave him a blowjob.
“The one about if you’re a minute late, you forfeit the lecture.” His jaw ticks and he runs a hand through his black hair, then clasps his hands behind his back. He’s tall and lean, and for some reason I think of the asshole in the Mercedes. He was bigger. More muscular. He had tattoos. Dr. Dumont is polished. Mercedes Asshole was…rough around the edges.
Although why the fuck I care...I don’t. I keep my gaze on Dumont’s.
“I apologize, sir.” I can’t stop my smirk, but God I try. I see Dumont’s lips twitch into a smile but he, unlike me, is successful in holding it back.
I stand up, grab my white Alexander Wang backpack. “I’ll go.”
He frowns, arching a brow and shaking his head as if what he’s going to say next is nearly painful.
“Stay.” It’s a command. He nods to my chair. Tess breathes an annoyed sigh. She actually likes English and learns as she doodles. She’s annoyed I’m interrupting her lecture time which is amusing and admirable all at once. “This once, I’ll let it slide. Don’t let it happen again.”
I want to remind him he said the same thing two days ago. But I don’t push it. Instead, I sink back into my chair and nod.
“You got it. Sir.”
Tess and I file out of class together just before noon. I nod in Dumont’s general direction, but another girl is asking him something about the final research paper—she is clearly a type of planner I will never be—and I don’t want to interfere with, you know, his actual work. Like I’m interfering with his home life.
But just as I’m about to cross the threshold of the door with Tess, he politely interrupts the girl and barks out my name.
I turn, eyeing him. Tess waits.
“I need to speak with you a moment,” Dumont says.
I adjust the strap on my backpack and nod, then look to Tess. “See you at the gym?”
We have a weekday gym date at 7:00 pm every day. We usually eat lunch together too, but clearly, Dumont has other plans for me.
She rolls her big, brown eyes, runs a hand over her chestnut hair and then nods. “Sure.”
I know she’ll spend lunch doing more doodles. She’s an artist at heart. I’m a General Studies major because I have no idea what the fuck I want to do with my life besides drown in fashion, and with my parents’ money, I don’t really have to figure it out just yet.
I swallow, hard, as I always do when I think of my parents these days. Specifically, Mom.
But I push the thought aside and take a seat on the first row, pulling out my phone while Dumont finishes up with this girl.
Text from Dad.
Why don’t you stay with Tess again tonight?
My heart clenches. He thinks I was with Tess last night. Even though I’m 22, I still live at home. My parents’ house—my childhood home—is a mansion. And there’s no way in hell I’m leaving anytime soon. Not with Mom how she is. And sure, technically speaking, I could tell my dad the truth. That I’m staying with a boy. But Briar is a small town and Dad, as mayor, is a big deal. He’d want to know what boy. And if he found out I was fucking my married professor, well...neither he nor Mom need that kind of stress.
I tell him I’ll stay with Tess. And, depending on what Dumont has to say, it might actually be true.
At long last, the girl leaves, and closes the door absentmindedly behind her. I know Dumont doesn’t have a class for another 50 minutes.
I know because yesterday we took those 50 minutes to screw each other in his office. On his desk.
I look up at him. He crosses his arms and looks down at his leather shoes. He’s 38. He does things like wear leather shoes. And a grey vest over a white, tailored shirt. He looks damn good doing it, too.
“What’s up?” I ask casually.
I see a crease between his brows, but he still doesn’t look up. “The divorce...” he trails off, then clears his throat. “It’s getting finalized. Tomorrow.”
Ohhhkayyy...
I blow out a breath. Should I feel happy? I mean, I kind of do, only so I won’t feel so guilty. But why he’s telling me like this...
“How do you feel about that?” I ask, cautiously. He still isn’t looking at me. I twirl my phone on the table, watching the pink glitter of my phone case scatter beneath the gel-like casing. At the sound, he finally looks up.
He smiles. It’s a genuine smile. “Honestly? Excited.” He takes a step toward me, away from the whiteboard at his back. I sit up a little straighter.
“Why?”
His smile widens. He has perfect, straight white teeth.
“It means you and I... We can do things...differently.”
I stare at him, waiting for my body to react. Or my mind. Or something. But for some reason, I just keep staring. Blankly. I don’t know what to say. Or feel. Or think.
His smile falters. “You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
I mean, hypothetically?
I nod. “I would.” I glance at my phone, flip it over. Right on time, it lights up with another text from Dad, probably an emoji and him telling me Mom is okay but sleeping a lot which is why I should stay away. I’m not stupid. I know she’s not okay. But I kind of want to believe his lies anyway.
“I gotta go. Dad needs me.” Dumont knows about Mom. “Text soon!” I breeze past him before he can reach for me or call my name. I crash into the door, thankfully opening it at the same time, and haul ass down the hallway. I take the stairs down two at a time (something I’ve perfected in heels) and then hit a hard wall when I reach the landing to the English building.
I stumble back, craning my neck up.
Well, well, well.
It’s not a wall. It’s the asshole in the Mercedes. And he’s got his arm slung around a girl with long, light bronze hair. They both face me, the girl’s wide green eyes full of amusement as she looks from me to Mercedes Asshole and back again, as if she’s waiting for something.
I see just how big the guy is now that he’s out of his car, and I can’t believe I had the balls to get out of mine and confront him. He has full lips, a chiseled jaw, and flecks of emeralds in his eyes.
He’s...really hot.
“Sorry,” I stammer, taking a step back on the stairs, nearly losing my balance. I shake my head. “I was in a hurry—”
“Clearly,” he says smoothly, his voice deep.
The pretty girl he’s got his arm around elbows him in the side, hard, which is brave, considering she’s scrawny and he’s...huge.
He jerks his head in her direction. “This is Riley,” he says, and I notice he doesn’t have a Southern accent. I’m not sure what accent he has, but I don’t think he’s from here.
I look to Riley and reach out my hand. She shakes it, then let’s go and looks down. She seems...shy. Or maybe she’s wondering why the hell her boyfriend is introducing her to some random chick.
“And what’s your man’s name?” I ask her, knowing exactly what I’m doing.
She laughs softly and rocks back and forth in her worn Vans. “He’s not my man. His name is Benji.” She nudges Benji again. He sighs and reluctantly disentangles his arm from round her, holding out his tan hand to
me.
I take it, happy this girl isn’t dating him as he grips my hand firmly. I don’t need a relationship, but fuck if I wouldn’t mind some no-strings-attached sex. Especially with this pending divorce Dumont sprung on me.
“Ava,” I say to both of them.
Riley dips her head, her hair scattering in her eyes. She turns to Benji. “See ya later.” She makes to walk up the stairs but Benji reaches out and grabs her ripped backpack, jerking her to a halt.
I frown. What the hell?
She glances back at him, seeming annoyed, which, no shit, I would be too.
“I’ll be right here,” he says to her.
I see her cheeks turn pink and then she nods, smiles at me—although it doesn’t quite meet her eyes—and scurries up the stairs.
“What are you, her daddy?” I ask him as he watches her ascend the staircase. His eyes don’t leave her until I hear the double doors open and close after her.
Then he looks at me. “No.”
He turns to go without another word. I watch him. Watch his muscles beneath his dark blue t-shirt. The way his sweat pants—Tom Ford?—fit his nice ass.
I shake my head. What is wrong with me? My mom is dying, I’m fucking my professor who’s getting a divorce, I’m in my extended stay at this outrageously expensive university, and I’m admiring a stranger’s ass. A stranger who was hanging all over a pretty girl named Riley who seems too nice for this asshole. And maybe she said they weren’t dating, but maybe he wants to be.
He pushes the door open and then glances back at me, cocking a dark brow. “Your next class at the bottom of the stairs?” he asks quietly.
I close my mouth, mortified that it was hanging wide open. Then I scurry off the stairs and head to the door he’s got open.
“No,” I say smoothly enough, “I just didn’t want you to think I was stalking you.”
What the fuck? Why did I say that? It doesn’t even make any damn sense.
We walk out into the August, midday sun and Benji is laughing darkly.
“I know a thing or two about stalking,” he says. I glance at him and see he’s got a lighter in his hand and is digging something out of his sweatpants’ pocket. It looks like a joint. Wherever he’s from—California, maybe?—that must be legal, but here, he’ll actually get arrested. “And you would be trash at it.”
