Knowing Jack

by Rachel Curtis

  Four: You won’t want to tell your family about your relationship, and he’ll never let you tell your friends.

  Five: Sneaking around is exciting at first, but it gets old really quickly.

  Six: He’ll get cold feet eventually and decide it’s not worth the risk.

  Seven: He’ll break your heart.

  Eight: Even if neither of you tells a soul about the relationship, the secret might still somehow come out.

  Nine: If he’s young, he won’t have tenure yet, so it will be easy for the university to not renew his contract because fraternizing with students is against their policy.

  Ten: Everyone will hate you for getting their favorite professor fired, and you’ll end up being trailed by a bodyguard as annoying as Jack.

  ***

  I’m running only fifteen minutes late when I leave my apartment and find Jack lurking in the hall.

  My heart is hammering now, but it isn’t because of the surge of attraction I felt for him back in the bedroom.

  I have to go to campus now, after a reprieve over the summer. It’s not like I go to a big university where I can stay mostly anonymous. Stonegate is a small, private, liberal arts college—the kind where the student body is easily roused in support of a cause.

  Dr. Carter Ames, brilliant anthropologist and charismatic teacher who was unfairly fired thanks to the bitch who ratted him out, is their current cause.

  The people who still like me say I’m stupid for not transferring to another university for my senior year. They’re right, of course.

  It is stupid. But I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m not going to slink away in defeat.

  I haven’t done much that’s very brave in my life, but I’m not a coward about everything.

  “You ready, princess?” Jack asks, straightening up as soon as he sees me.

  “Yeah.” I’m not ready. Not even close.

  He stands silently while I try to pull myself together.

  It’s not going to be that bad. My best friends go to different colleges, so I haven’t lost anything that’s truly important to me. So what if people don’t want me here? All I have to do is go to three classes and then come home.

  “Nothing happens on the first day of class anyway. No reason you have to go today.”

  It takes me a moment to realize that Jack is actually trying to be nice.

  I square my shoulders and glared at him. “I never skip class.”

  He chuckles low in his throat, and I’m momently dazed by how attractive he is. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  My phone rings then, and I pull it out of my bag to check it. I used to love to get texts and calls, but that all changed six months ago.

  Now I get this twist in my gut whenever I hear the chime. Someone else is going to say something nasty to me. Someone else is going to show how much they hate me.

  It’s a relief when I see it’s my mom. I connect the call as Jack and I walk down the stairs of my building. “Hey, Mom.”

  “Hi, sweetie. Is it too early to call?”

  “No. I have a nine o’clock class.”

  “Okay. I just wanted to say hi and check on you.”

  One of the worst things about this whole ordeal is knowing my mom is so worried. Knowing she thinks her little girl was taken advantage of by a selfish, manipulative man. Knowing she doesn’t understand why I came back to Stonegate this year. Knowing she feels helpless and has to force herself not to nag me too much.

  “I’m fine, Mom. I really am.”

  “The bodyguard is with you, right?”

  “Yes. Of course. He seems to know what he’s doing.” I slant Jack a look out of the corner of my eye. He’s holding the stairway door for me and pretending not to be listening in on the call.

  Of course, he’s listening. How could he not?

  “Okay. Good. Call us this afternoon and let us know how the day went.”

  “I will.” Last semester I talked to my parents only a couple of times a week, but I know this semester they’re going to be calling every day. I can’t blame them. I did this to them—as much as I did this to myself.

  “Do you want to talk to your dad? I’ll put him on.”

  I know they’re both sitting on their patio, eating breakfast and reading the paper. That’s what they do every morning.

  “I don’t need to—”

  Before I can get the words out, my dad comes on the line. “Hi, sweetpea.”

  “Hi, Dad.”

  My parents had me when they were both in their forties. I was a surprise, and I’m their only child. I don’t think they always knew what to do with me as I grew up—sometimes they treated me like a mini-adult instead of a child—but they tried. They always really tried.

  “You need to be looking out for anything that seems suspicious,” my dad says now, without any segue. “Even if you don’t think it’s important, tell me anyway. And tell your bodyguard.”

  “I will.” I don’t have a clue what my dad thinks he can do from a hundred miles away, but there isn’t any reason to argue with him now.

  “Your bodyguard is doing a good job, isn’t he? And he’s treating you respectfully?”

  I think about Jack leering at my boobs.

  “Yes, he’s fine. He seemed fine when you met him, didn’t he?”

  “I just wanted to make sure.”

  We’ve stopped in the landing of the stairwell that goes down to the building’s garage, and for some reason it all hits me out of the blue.

  The absolute hardest thing I had to do was tell my dad about Carter. I couldn’t even do it. I told my mom and then she told my dad. I wouldn’t have told them at all, but the news was already out, and they would have found out from someone else—which would have been a lot worse.

  My dad still thinks about me as his baby, and I can’t imagine how much it hurt to know his baby was fucking her professor. And I’m making it even worse for him by staying at the college, where he thinks his baby’s life is in danger.

  The whole world sucks—and has ever since Carter dumped me—and I’ve made it suck for my parents now too. And my poor parents have done nothing but love me. I’m the one who has made all the mistakes.

  I hate it so much that I almost start to cry. I have to screw up my face to control the emotion.

  I know Jack is watching, but I can’t seem to keep it together.

  “Okay, Dad,” I say when I can talk again. I feel a tear slipping out of my eye, which means I have to get off the phone right now. “I better get going.”

  “Okay, sweetpea. Call us later.”

  I hang up. Can’t look at Jack. It’s all just too embarrassing and vulnerable, and I don’t want to see if he’s secretly laughing at me.

  I just keep walking until I reach my car.

  Jack is just behind me, no doubt scouring the dark corners of the garage for any skulking predators.

  I’m back to normal as I get into the driver’s seat. I look at Jack when he gets into the passenger seat and see not even a tiny trace of amusement. It’s a relief. “Try not to hover too much, okay? It’s going to be awkward enough without you hanging on me all the time.”

  “Hovering is my job.”

  “Fine. But hover as inconspicuously as possible.”

  “I’ll do what I can, princess.”

  “And stop calling me princess.”

  “Whatever you say…”

  I waited for it. Knew it was coming.

  Sure enough, after pausing a beat, he concluded in his low drawl, “…princess.”

  ***

  “You’re hovering.”

  “I told you. It’s my job to hover.”

  So now I’m sitting on a bench in the middle of campus, soaking up the warm sun and trying not to feel like everyone is staring at me.

  Jack, unfortunately, is standing behind the bench, his presence looming just above me.

  “Well, can’t you hover a little farther away?” My tone might be a little snippy, but it’s already bee
n a stressful day, and it isn’t even noon yet.

  “I don’t think so.”

  I can’t see him without craning my neck, but I know he isn’t looking at me. His eyes are searching the wide lawns and historic stone buildings at the heart of campus.

  “Why not?” I twist around to glare up at him, still futilely hoping that my glare is remotely intimidating.

  It isn’t, of course. Not to him, anyway.

  “I don’t like your position.”

  Without thinking, I re-cross my legs and pull down my short tan skirt. My legs aren’t too bad as far as legs go, but they never get tan, so I don’t like to show them off much.

  Then I feel stupid because, of course, the position Jack is talking about isn’t the way I’m sitting. “What’s wrong with my position?”

  “You’re too exposed here. Too vulnerable.”

  “Vulnerable to what? I’m pretty sure a jet isn’t going to whoosh by and drop a bomb on me.”

  “There are six buildings with windows that face our position. I’ve counted a hundred and seven windows where a sniper could—”

  “Oh, please. A sniper isn’t going to—”

  “There are eight different sidewalks that connect to this one. Four come from behind me. If my back is to a threat, then your back is also to the threat.”

  “This is ridiculous. No one is going to come after me with a gun or a knife. The most I have to fear is a rotten tomato from a nasty college kid.”

  “I was hired to protect you. If that means tackling rotten-tomato-throwers, then so be it.”

  I try very, very hard not to snicker.

  “Do they really throw tomatoes in college these days?” Jack adds in a different voice.

  “No. At least, I’ve never seen it done before. I might be a special case, though.”

  The truth is that no one seems likely to pelt me with much of anything but dirty looks this morning. The hostility hasn’t been as bad as I feared.

  Everyone recognizes me. Nobody talks to me. But I went through my first two classes without incident.

  This right now is the hardest part of the day. The long break before my third class.

  Most people are eating lunch—if they haven’t gone back to bed—but I’m sitting on a bench instead. I could go grab something to eat off-campus, but I don’t want it to look like I’m running away.

  I don’t know why appearances matter so much, but they do.

  They mattered when I was screwing Carter too.

  “Did you go to college?” I ask, trying to keep my mind on other things, since thinking about Carter and this mess makes me feel sick.

  “Yeah.” Jack sounds distracted.

  “When was that? Where did you go?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Jack? Did you hear me?”

  “Uh, yeah. I went to college when I was eighteen—the usual age.”

  “How old are you now?” He is so big and rugged that I haven’t had any luck with guessing his age. He might be anywhere from my age to over thirty.

  Again, he doesn’t answer.

  “Jack? Having a conversation with a looming statue is pretty annoying.”

  “I can’t have a conversation with you now. I don’t like your position.”

  He’s definitely going to be stubborn about this. No doubt about that.

  “Well, I’m sorry. I’m not going to do the dining hall.” I can just imagine how awkward that would be—with everyone staring and no one to sit with. It’s a nightmare, and I’m just not going to do it. Besides, I’m not hungry.

  “The dining hall would be just as bad. I’d like to put you somewhere more enclosed.”

  I get a sudden little hot flash at the words, although it’s ridiculous to think dirty thoughts when Jack is obviously in full business-mode at the moment.

  I sigh. “I could go to the library.”

  “Yeah. Let’s do that.”

  We walk to the east side of campus to the library, where I request a private study room. On the first day of the semester, every single one of them is available. No one but me wants to study today.

  Even I don’t want to study. I just want a room.

  The workstudy student behind the desk was in my history class last fall. We always talked about what we’d done over the weekends in the few minutes before class.

  She doesn’t say anything to me today, though. Just gives me a cold look.

  It’s a little upsetting, but I can deal with cold looks. At least they aren’t open confrontation.

  I don’t actually like conflict. It makes me very nervous.

  It’s strange to walk to the stairs and ascend to the second floor without anyone who passes by smiling at me or saying hello.

  I’ve never been a popular girl. My dad makes a lot of money, but I went to schools where everyone’s parents made a lot of money, so nothing about me ever stood out. I made good grades and always had a few friends. I had a boyfriend all through my junior and senior years in high school until we just grew apart, but I was never really chased by a lot of men.

  I’m used to not being the center of attention, but people always seemed to like me well enough, at least to say hi.

  But the world seems to have turned into a cold, alien place ever since Carter was fired.

  Last year, my dream was to be live in Paris and work in a prestigious art museum. I made good grades in every class so my transcript would be perfect. I pleased every authority figure so I could get good references. I work in local museums and got internships over every summer so I could add experience to my resume.

  Today, my dream is for the world to turn normal again, to walk across campus and have some people smile or say “hi” to me.

  As I sit down at the table in the study room and pull out my textbook for my class in Early Christian and Byzantine art, Jack peers out the door into the stacks and then closes it with a click.

  He stands at the door instead of sitting down, but he looks much more relaxed than he did outside.

  I try to read the chapter for Wednesday’s class but can’t even begin to concentrate.

  Instead, I look up at Jack.

  He really is a gorgeous specimen of a man. His hair isn’t long, but it’s thick and always looks rumpled. It’s barely midday, and he already needs to shave again.

  When my parents first introduced me to him, he was wearing black trousers and a white dress shirt, but today he’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt, I assume in a failed attempt to blend in with students.

  There is no way in hell he’ll ever blend in.

  He notices I’m staring at him and raises his eyebrows.

  “So how old are you?” I ask.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  “What? Can’t you talk now? You like me in this position, don’t you?”

  Something flickers briefly across his face that makes me flush hot, but I manfully press on. “So how old are you?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  I’m twenty. It’s strange that he’s only six years older than me. “That’s not very old.”

  “Did you think I was old?”

  “I don’t know. So you weren’t a SEAL?”

  “What?”

  “An ex-SEAL. Or maybe an Army Ranger. Some sort of cool Special Forces powerhouse before you retired and went into bodyguarding.”

  “No. I wasn’t a SEAL, a Ranger, or any sort of Special Forces powerhouse.”

  “Oh. That’s disappointing.”

  “I’m crushed.”

  I may not always be the smartest bean in the pail, but I know sarcasm when I hear it. Jack’s response is definitely sarcastic.

  “So how did you become a bodyguard then?”

  “Family business.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “My dad owns the company. He was an Army Ranger.” He cocks one eyebrow and almost smiled.

  “See. I knew it had to be there somewhere. So did he train you?”

  “Yeah. He’s been training me since I
was five.”

  “Oh.” I think about that—about what kind of cute little kid Jack must have been. “That must have been a lot of pressure.”

  “You could say so.”

  I don’t know what to make of it. His expression is strange. “You seem to know what you’re doing with the bodyguard thing. Is he proud of you?”

  “Not even close.”

  This time, I recognize bitterness in the tone. It bothers me, so I change the subject. “So you weren’t in the military? Have you seen any sort of action at all?”

  “What kind of action are we talking about?” His voice lowers into that textured tone that makes me shiver, and his blue eyes blaze hot for just a moment.

  I blush again. For the record, it’s the curse of having fair skin. There is absolutely nothing I can do about all the blushing.

  Determined not to let his hot looks turn me into a pile of mush, I ask, “Aren’t you breaking some sort of bodyguard code of conduct when you do that?”

  “When I do what?”

  “That. Just then.”

  “What code of conduct am I supposed to be breaking?”

  “I don’t know. Isn’t there a rule about not coming on to your protectees?”

  “You think I’m coming on to you?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Princess,” he says in a drawl that feels exactly like sex, “I promise you’ll know if I come on to you.”

  Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I’m blushing again.

  I’m also gulping. “Okay. That’s good to know. So all those innuendos aren’t against any code of conduct then?”

  He shakes his head and does his hiding-a-smile thing. “Just part of the service.”

  “Do you have a code of conduct?”

  “Keep you alive. That’s the only conduct that matters.”

  It’s strange. I’ve never been a nervous person. Well, that’s not true. I’ve always been nervous about any number of things, but never about my physical safety.

  But, still, there is something strangely reassuring about the knowledge that the only thing on the radar for this big, strong, imposing guy is keeping me alive.

  A girl could get used to feeling safe that way.

  “You can probably sit down,” I tell him. It’s a silly thing to say, but someone needs to say something. The tension is killing me.