Playing With Trouble

by Chanel Cleeton

“My parents were furious. It was one thing for Kate and Matt to date when he was the heir apparent to the Ryan fortune. When they thought he had a future that fit their mold. But Matt’s parents freaked when he joined the military and they cut him off. And my parents didn’t like the narrative of their eighteen-year-old daughter engaged to an enlisted soldier.”

  Angry red spots colored Jackie’s face. “That’s bullshit.”

  “It was horrible. Kate had a huge fight with them and things have never been the same.” My voice shook. “Matt deployed to the Middle East at the beginning of Kate’s freshman year.”

  I still remembered that horrible day. My phone ringing. My sister’s voice, numb, as if the life had been ripped out of her. Remembered holding her while she sobbed in my arms, animal-like noises coming from her mouth. Could still see her holding that folded American flag in her small, pale hands.

  “Matt died in Afghanistan.”

  No matter how many times I said it, it never got easier.

  “We didn’t get a lot of information. He was Special Forces and his mission was classified. There wasn’t even a body to bury.” Another sob escaped.

  Jackie shook her head, tears running down her face. “Oh my god.”

  “A part of Kate died that day. She’s so unhappy. It’s like she’s a ghost, going through the motions. Sometimes I think her anger is all she has to hold on to.”

  “I can’t even imagine.” Jackie wiped at her eyes. “If I lost Will . . .” her voice trailed off. “I can’t imagine surviving something like that.”

  Because I trusted her more than anyone besides Kate, I told her the rest of it. The parts I’d never spoken, that kept me up at night with worry and fear.

  “It’s why she wants to work for the CIA after graduation. She hasn’t said it, but I know. She wants to find out what happened to him. It consumes her. She carries his death with her.” I got up and grabbed a tissue before coming back to sit next to Jackie. “I just want her to find peace, but I don’t think she feels like she can unless she gets answers.”

  Jackie’s eyes narrowed and I knew she’d realized the rest of it.

  “Your father is the head of the Senate Intelligence Committee.”

  She always referred to him as “your” rather than “our,” as if she wanted no claim to him, which I couldn’t exactly blame her for.

  I nodded. “Kate thinks our father knows what happened to Matt. And deep down, I think she wants to destroy him.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Election Day is here and all eyes are on a few key Senate races. The race in Virginia is particularly tight. Will Senator Reynolds be dethroned?

  —Capital Confessions blog

  Blair

  My contracts professor scanned the seating chart searching for her next victim—student—to call on.

  “Ms. Reynolds?”

  I stifled a groan. Of all my classes, contracts was probably my favorite, but that wasn’t saying much.

  “Please tell the class the Court’s holding in Lefkowitz v. Great Minneapolis Surplus Store.”

  I stared down at the highlighted sections in my book, each part of the case—issue, rule, analysis, conclusion—highlighted in a different color so the sections jumped out at me on the page.

  I cleared my throat, willing the nerves away. I knew this.

  “The Court ruled in favor of Lefkowitz, holding that the parties showed enough mutuality of obligation to constitute a contract for sale.”

  Professor Larson nodded. “Good. Why?”

  This part was harder. I skimmed my notes on the case. “The Court determined that the offer was clear, definite, and explicit, leaving nothing open for negotiation. Therefore, it was an offer, and acceptance of that offer created a binding contract.”

  “And what is the test of whether an advertisement constitutes a binding obligation?”

  I scanned the blue-highlighted section of my notes.

  “Whether performance was promised in return for something requested.”

  She nodded again and gave me an approving smile. “Very good, Ms. Reynolds.”

  She called on a guy in the front row next and he fumbled a bit as he answered. She was to the guys what Professor Canter was to the girls. Most of the faculty was older, not exactly fantasy material unless you had some seriously kinky fetishes. Professor Larson looked to be in her early thirties and wore plenty of tight pencil skirts and heels. The guys loved her.

  My chat screen lit up with a message from Adam.

  Nice job.

  My “no messaging” in class rule had begun rapidly deteriorating. Law school had a way of making things slide. Caitlin hadn’t drunk caffeine until she came to law school, and now she was rarely seen without a can of Red Bull. Adam read less and less, and had stopped writing out case briefs altogether. Everyone was just trying to get by.

  Thanks, I typed back.

  Want to grab lunch later? he asked.

  I’d been worried things would be awkward between us after I’d turned him down, but Adam was still cool. He, Caitlin, and I studied together and still hung out occasionally. I was just a lot more careful about not spending time alone with him or doing anything that would make him think I’d changed my mind.

  He was a great guy, and some girl would be really lucky to date him. It just wasn’t me.

  Can’t. I have a pro bono meeting to finalize things for the middle school Thanksgiving.

  With Professor Canter?

  Just seeing his name did funny things to my stomach.

  Yes.

  Good luck with that.

  * * *

  I headed to Gray’s office, anticipation filling me, preparing to face him for the first time since our encounter on Halloween.

  I’d spent an embarrassing amount of time getting dressed this morning. I’d thought about wearing my hair in a ponytail considering his previous reactions, but that had almost seemed too obvious. I’d settled on leaving it down, long and straight, and spent more time on my makeup than usual.

  Totally normal professor-student interaction.

  D.C. was in the throes of fall, and I wore my favorite pair of dark brown cords, brown leather riding boots, and a camel-colored turtleneck sweater. On impulse, I’d added a faux fur vest Jackie had talked me into buying a few weeks ago. According to her, it was preppy chic. I worried it screamed, trying too hard, which could eventually be translated to, I want to bone my professor.

  Clearly, I was a little paranoid. And nervous. Definitely, nervous.

  It was the only break I had in my day, so we’d agreed to work for an hour while we ate, going over the final details for our upcoming 1L service project—a Thanksgiving meal for the eighth graders.

  In hindsight, it was a lot to plan last minute, but it had become important to me. I loved the opportunity to get involved and spend time with the people we were trying to help. And I’d always had a soft spot for kids. And holidays.

  Law school had a tendency to consume my thoughts and activities, so it was nice to have a break, to find an outlet that made me feel like I was making a difference and doing good. Right now the service project was keeping me sane.

  I’d stopped at the downstairs cafe after my contracts class and bought a brownie, salad, and bottled water. On impulse, I’d snagged a brownie for Gray as well. I felt kind of stupid bringing him baked goods, and at the same time couldn’t quite resist. Kate had always said I’d mothered her—maybe it was an older sister thing—but for whatever reason, I liked taking care of people.

  And despite what he said, Graydon Canter needed someone to take care of him.

  I stood in front of his office, raising my fist to knock on the closed door. I was more nervous than I cared to admit, not sure if things were even okay between us. We’d only spoken through our school emails, so I had no clue if he was angry with the way I’d left things between us when I’d walked away from him at the carnival, or if he was upset about the jabs I’d thrown.

  Maybe the brownie was a
peace offering. I didn’t know what the hell I was doing anymore.

  The door swung open. I froze.

  Professor Larson stood on the other side, a smile on her face that years of feminine intuition immediately recognized and did not like. A sinking feeling filled me.

  I didn’t know much about her, but thanks to the guys who crushed on her, I knew she didn’t wear a wedding band, and according to gossip, was single.

  By the look in her eyes, she was trying to change that.

  She smiled at me. “Ms. Reynolds.”

  I tried to smile back, my heart pounding, a million emotions hitting me at once. Because Gray and I had kissed, because of everything, I was acutely aware of how inappropriate our relationship really was. We’d been pretty good at keeping it away from the law school, but in that moment, I feared there was something in my face and eyes, something like I saw on her, that screamed how I really felt about Gray.

  And because I felt the way I did, because I liked him more than I should, the sight of Professor Larson—smart, pencil-skirt-and-high-heel-wearing Professor Larson—standing in Gray’s office, wearing a smile that said she liked him, caused a pang in my chest.

  I vaguely registered Gray’s presence standing behind her at his desk, but I couldn’t make my gaze shift to him, worried that if I did, everything would spill out.

  “You did a great job in class today,” she said. “You’re really starting to get the material.”

  Oh god. She was just being friendly and it was a totally nice, normal thing for a professor to say to a student. But it only highlighted the differences between us.

  They were professors. They didn’t fumble in front of seventy-four of their peers. They knew who they were and what they were doing. Well, more than I did, at least. For the first time since I’d known Gray, I felt like a stupid kid playing at being an adult.

  “Thank you,” I mumbled, ducking my head, unable to stand looking at her for another minute.

  She was blonde, pretty, sophisticated. She had to be a couple years older than Gray, but I doubted he would care. Guys my age thought she was hot, why wouldn’t he? I wondered if he’d told her about his past, if she knew or cared. I wondered a lot of things I had no business wondering.

  Fuck.

  And then the pang in my chest got so much worse.

  She turned back to smile at him. “Maybe we can do lunch another day, Gray.”

  She’d come to have lunch with him. She called him Gray. Fuck.

  I thought I said bye to her, wasn’t really sure over the roaring in my ears. I struggled to keep my composure, pushed the sick, sinking feeling out of my stomach. Tried to, at least. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was single. I was his student. We weren’t dating; we weren’t anything.

  He hadn’t done anything wrong, and yet everything about this felt so fucking wrong. Despite the age difference, and his messy past, and the fact that I was his student, it felt like he was supposed to be with me.

  I sat in one of the empty chairs across from his desk, busying myself with taking out my lunch, my fingers trembling. They brushed against the stupid extra brownie and a lump clogged my throat. What was wrong with me?

  I didn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t, but I heard him get up from his desk and close the door before going back to sit across from me.

  I took a breath, reached deep, pasted my campaign smile on my face, and focused on a point over his shoulder, next to his head.

  “Blair.”

  God, that voice. It washed over me, bathed me in heat, curled around, slipping inside, filling me with want and need.

  It wasn’t his normal voice, not the one I heard him use around school. This one was husky, raw, and sent a chill down my spine. I’d heard it before—when he kissed me, when he held me—somehow that made it even worse.

  “Blair, look at me.”

  “I am.”

  Lie.

  “You’re not.”

  Fuck.

  I added campaign eyes to the campaign smile and met his gaze.

  His stare pierced me, cutting through the pretense I clung to.

  Gray

  I’d spent days going over this moment in my mind, trying to mentally prepare for seeing her again. Clearly it hadn’t worked, because all it took was the sight of her pale face, her cheeks two splotches of red, and my heart ached.

  I hated the look in her eyes, the pain in her voice. I’d been so afraid of hurting her, so concerned that I could, and would, break her. But now, seeing what it felt like, even in the smallest, most indirect way, I knew I would do everything in my power to never, ever cause her harm.

  “We had plans to go to lunch. The dean encourages the faculty to get to know each other. She’s new this year, too, so she reached out to me. When you told me this was your only break in the day, I canceled with her.”

  Her gaze was wary. “I thought you might be angry with me,” she said, and I knew she was thinking of the way we’d left things after the carnival.

  I was a lot of things—confused, aroused, angry with myself, but never with her.

  “If I were angry at every person who pointed out when I was being an idiot and a dick, I’d pretty much be pissed off at the world.”

  A ghost of a smile played at her lips again. “I thought you were pissed off at the world.”

  “I’m trying to be better. Someone told me I should get my head out of my ass.”

  Another twitch. “I’m pretty sure those weren’t my exact words,” she murmured.

  “Message was the same.”

  “You could have just told me you had plans. You didn’t have to change them for me.”

  There was no censure in her voice, no anger. She delivered the words matter-of-factly, as if we were both little more than two people working on a project together.

  I gave her the truth, because as dangerous as it was, I couldn’t stand the uncertainty in her eyes.

  “I didn’t change them for you. I changed them for me. I wanted to have lunch with you.”

  Only you.

  Danielle Larson was beautiful, intelligent, and genuinely a nice person to be around. And I wasn’t stupid. I knew she was interested, knew her invitation to have lunch wasn’t just about us as professors. She was a catch. But she wasn’t Blair.

  “I’m not interested in Professor Larson. Not like that. She’s a friend, nothing more.”

  We danced around the line again. I technically didn’t owe her an explanation; she wasn’t my girlfriend, we weren’t dating, and yet, the tie that bound us, the part of me that she held in her hands, that I hadn’t given to anyone but her, demanded an explanation.

  “I’m not interested in anyone else.”

  Only you. Even though I shouldn’t be. Even though you deserve more. Only you.

  Blair’s voice was tight. “She’s an attorney, a law professor. Your age. She’s nice.”

  “She is.” I took a deep breath, and then gave her the promise I couldn’t resist giving. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  She paled even more. “You don’t owe me anything. I know that—”

  “Blair.”

  Her mouth closed.

  “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  I had no illusions about who I was, or the kind of things I’d done. I had some fucked-up mistakes in my past, and I still wasn’t sure I would ever be the man she deserved. But with the words that left my mouth, I knew.

  Whatever this was between us, I only saw her. And until she broke the connection, until it died between us, there would only be her.

  Blair nodded, the move shaky. She was usually so calm, so confident, but the look on her face reminded me that she was only twenty-three. And she’d been through a lot.

  She broke eye contact and reached into her bag before she pulled something out and set it down on my desk.

  I stared down at the brownie, wrapped in clear plastic from the cafe downstairs. I blinked. Stared back at her face.

  “You bought me a brownie.”
/>
  She nodded, a slight flush on her cheeks.

  Gutted me. Every time.

  “Thank you.”

  A soft smile played at her mouth that was at odds with the lingering sadness. “You’re welcome.”

  She started talking about Thanksgiving, and I didn’t know if it was the way she pushed the sadness out and her eyes lit up, or the brownie in my hands, but either way, she wrapped me around her finger and pulled me close.

  And I loved it.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Spotted: Blair Reynolds at Will Clayton’s election party celebrating with her sister, Jackie Gardner. Senator Reynolds might have put this election in the win column, but with his children noticeably absent, there are signs that his forces are weakening. He won the battle, but will he lose the war?

  —Capital Confessions blog

  Blair

  I sat on the couch in the law school lobby, glaring at the ringing phone, willing her to stop calling. It had been almost a week since the election, and my voice mail was flooded with angry messages from my mother. I wasn’t sure what she was more pissed about: that I’d blown off my father’s event, or that I’d gone to Will’s and spent the night hanging out with Jackie. Or that it had shown up in Capital Confessions.

  My phone lit up again, and I stifled a groan as I answered and succumbed to the inevitable.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “I assume you’ve seen Capital Confessions.”

  Trust my mother to jump right into political machinations. No Hi, how are you? for the Reynolds family.

  “I have.”

  Honestly, I was surprised by how much I’d been mentioned in Capital Confessions lately. My breakup with Thom had fed the site for a while, and then they’d focused on Jackie’s paternity, and I’d been casually mentioned in those posts. But now my name appeared on an almost weekly basis. Most of the mentions were tied to my father, but still. I figured at some point the media had to tire of me.

  “How could you?”

  I couldn’t pretend to be shocked. I’d known this moment was coming for a long time. There was a line in the sand between my parents and Jackie, and each time I crossed it, our relationship worsened.