Romance: Yes, Stepbrother!

by Annie Valentine

  Where better, Ren though, than at a university as a college professor? He’d applied and was hired Columbia University in their MFA program for creative writing, and he’d immediately began teaching classes and getting to know his students.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Mador, I have a question about what you just said.”

  Pulled out of lecture mode Ren’s eyes zeroed in on the young woman who had asked the question. Her name was Morgan, Morgan Hill. She was beautiful and she hadn’t needed to ask a question to catch his eye. She was tall, curvy, and she walked with confidence. Today she’d worn her hair up, but he’d seen her wear it down as well, long, blond curls that seemed to move as if they had their own breath moving through each lock. Her eyes were a piercing blue that reminded him of the sky on Mador. She’d been wearing a sweater when she walked in today, but the room was warm and she’d shed it, revealing a white cotton tank top underneath that showed just enough cleavage to draw Ren’s eye. He pulled his eyes back up to meet her gaze. Her crossed legs, clad in jeans that hugged her curves, uncrossed as she leaned forward, having gained his attention.

  He frowned and looked down at his lecture notes. He had moved through six pages already and had been thinking about other matters. As if the question wasn’t distracting enough, now he was having thoughts about Morgan that were definitely not in his notes.

  “Certainly, Ms. Hill. What is your question?” Ren asked, trying to keep his tone patient as he squashed what he was coming to know as the very human feeling of being annoyed.

  Tonight’s lecture was guiding the class through a critique of a professional writer’s story, using the published version and comparing it to a rough draft the writer had given to him. All of the information was contained in the lecture and, since he had written it so comprehensively, there should have been no questions, ever. Yet these humans continued to ask question after question, almost as if they were only asking to get his attention. Of course, that was ridiculous. Everyone knew that the reason one asked a question was to glean new information. So, why did she interrupt, with her curvy beauty, and distract him?

  Morgan, realizing she had actually interrupted the lecture, seemed flustered as she paged back through her notes.

  “I was wondering, uh, a few minutes ago you said… umm… Do you think that the paragraph the author wrote after the supposed final draft enhanced the story? Or was it just another instance of showing something that had already been shown, perhaps to excess, before?”

  Ren smiled. Her question, while an interruption to his lecture, an easy one to answer.

  “Which do you think it was, Ms. Hill?” he asked, turning the question back onto her. He stifled a smile noticing a light flush rise in her cheeks.

  “Um, I don’t know, Sir,” she said. “I guess I think that a lot of it is redundant. I mean, he’d already communicated the point about the dishes being a metaphor for the main character’s deceased wife. I guess I thought that it was kind of repetitive. Then I started thinking that maybe that was the point, to be repetitive, maybe ironically? Maybe it is a commentary on how we live our lives in a constant state of repetition?” The blush continued rising in her cheeks, becoming darker. Ren held up his hand.

  “Easy, there,” he said. Morgan sat back in her chair, an expression on her face that suggested she was more confused after asking the question than she had been before.

  “What do others think? And, remember, when analyzing literature, we’re not looking for a ‘right’ answer; there is no such thing. We’re looking for what we think works or doesn’t work, so that we can turn the same critical eye on to our own writing.”

  Several students offered answers to Morgan’s question, which afforded Ren the opportunity to watch her for a few moments without having to worry about where he was in his lecture notes. He marveled at his lack of awareness of her before today. Of course he had seen her, but he realized he hadn’t really seen her… until now. As the discussion wound down he returned to his notes, clearing his throat and shuffling through the pages, he glanced back up at her once more.

  She was looking at him, a small smile playing on her lips. In one hand she held a pen, and, with the other, she twirled a piece of that beautiful blond hair around a fingertip.

  Chapter Two: Morgan

  “Oh my God,” Morgan groaned. “I don’t ever know what he wants us to write about. I’ve been a writer for my entire life, and I still can’t figure out what will make this guy fucking happy!”

  “He’s cocky,” Morgan’s roommate, Ann, said as she poured some wine into a couple of wineglasses and pushed one toward her.

  “It’s two o’clock,” Morgan said, staring first at the wine, then at Ann, then back at the wine. The two roommates were sitting at the kitchen bar of their apartment in St. Anthony’s Hall, graduate student housing on Colombia’s campus. Morgan loved a glass of wine as much as the next person, but still.

  “It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Ann said, and rolled her eyes at her own cliché. “Seriously, drink it. I think you get so nervous around Dr. Mador because he’s the most gorgeous human on the planet, and it’s hard to talk to him. I mean, that hair… seriously.”

  Morgan rolled her eyes and nodded, lifting the wine and toasting the air in front of her.

  “And you think boozing myself up before class will help me out,” Morgan said, taking a long sip of the wine. Before Ann could answer, Morgan added, “and I think you are absolutely right.”

  Knowing that classes begin at four o’clock, the two roommates polished off the bottle of wine before grabbing their books and heading out. Walking toward the English building Ann split off, heading toward her own class, waving to Morgan and promising to meet her right there after class. Morgan, still feeling lightly buzzed from the wine, walked into classroom. When she saw Dr. Mador, her breath caught in her throat.

  He was, by far, the most sought after professor on campus. His undergraduate classes filled regularly, and there was always a waiting list a mile long. Because Morganas in the graduate program, she hadn’t needed to fight for a spot, but she’d heard that a number of English major undergrads were planning to apply to the MFA program because they’d heard they could receive a lot more one on one attention from Dr. Mador. Morgan rolled her eyes in spite of herself and continued to watch Dr. Mador as he prepared for class.

  He was tall, well over six feet, and it was obvious from the way he walked and carried himself that he worked out. He wore casually dressy clothes, usually a dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to just below his elbows, the top two buttons undone to reveal a sliver of smooth, toned chest. He typically wore jeans, and today was no exception. His hair was slightly slicked back, but, being later in the day, more of his hair was falling around his ears and forehead than was staying in place with the gel.

  Morgan sighed quietly. There was no way on Earth she had a chance with Dr. Mador. None of the women in class did. First, there were rules about such things at the University. Second, no one knew anything about Dr. Mador’s personal life, not one detail. That was part of the mystery that surrounded him. No one could even nail down whether he was single, married, straight or gay. Though the inclination was to believe he was straight, Morgan couldn’t have said for sure if that was because people actually believed it, or because the only people who tended to give a shit about his sexuality were the women who wanted him so badly to be straight that he might take them right there, bend them over the podium and have his way with them.

  Morgan felt a flush rise in her cheeks as Dr. Mador glanced up. He was about to start class, and she watched as her classmates realized it was four o’clock and calmed their conversation. She settled into her chair. The class was good; it was interesting and informative on its own, but she really enjoyed having three hours of non-stop time to watch Dr. Mador work. She let his voice flow over her and thought about ways that she might get his attention. Ways that wouldn’t paint her as a juvenile, brown-nosing, teacher’s pet.

  She’d thought a
bout asking him out to coffee before class. She’d thought about asking to talk to him privately about her goals as a writer. She was already a published writer, even at her young age of twenty-eight, but the majority of her experience had been, so far, in journalism. She was the editor of the University magazine, and she had an impressive journalist portfolio. Yet, she wasn’t fulfilled with her journalistic writing. She loved making things up—creating whole new worlds and placing people on them, putting them into perilous situations then watching them try to get out using whatever resources she created for them.

  Her decision to pursue her MFA in creative writing had come as a result of that desire… but it had been a costly decision. She had given up an internship with the New York Times in order to enroll in her MFA classes this term. The internship coordinator had tried to impress on her that internships with the New York Times didn’t happen every day. Didn’t happen ever, as a matter of fact, and if she was going to give it up, she was going to kiss her career as a journalist goodbye. Although it had nothing to do with her writing, it would be a black mark on her record for life; no one would want to hire someone who made such poor decisions as to pass up the internship of a lifetime.

  Morgan did it anyway which had led her to sitting in a classroom with nineteen of her peers, watching the hottest professor she’d ever known lecture about intention, repetition in language, and how to critique with an educated eye.

  The wine was making her sleepy, but also bold. She had half a mind to stand up and say, “Dr. Mador, everyone in this room thinks you’re hot. Would you fuck any of us? Would you fuck me?” The inappropriateness of even the thought made her blush again, and she shook her head, trying to clear it. One of the occupational hazards of being a fiction writer was having to deal with certain scenarios popping into mind from time to time and watching them play out, sometimes in three or four different ways. No matter how she envisioned it, asking Dr. Mador a personal question in front of the class didn’t end well.

  Still, she felt her hand raise into the air and heard her own voice say “Excuse me, Dr. Mador, I have a question about what you just said.”

  She felt herself blushing as his chocolate brown, fantastically gorgeous, deep eyes, moved to her. She grew warm all over and shifted in her seat as he answered the question by turning it back onto her. She heard herself stammer an answer that made absolutely no sense, and then felt her flush grow warmer. When he finally turned to another student to ask him to build on her answer, she sat back in relief.

  How could she have even thought about asking this man to coffee? She wouldn’t be able to speak in complete sentences around him.

  When class ended that night, she watched as the usual throng of her peers gathered around Dr. Mador to ask questions and, in her opinion, to fight for his attention. There were two other women in class who were even younger than she was who spent the majority of their class time positively drooling over Dr. Mador, and not even being subtle about it. Morgan could tell that it drove Dr. Mador crazy, but he was too nice to say anything. Every night after class, they would approach him and ask him the silliest questions while trying to sound completely profound. They would stand there clutching their latest stories begging him for a personal critique, even though part of the class was doing group critiques. Morgan rolled her eyes as she walked out of the building.

  Ann was waiting at the sidewalk where they’d parted.

  “How’d it go?” she asked, smiling.

  “Frick and Frack were there drooling all over him at the end of class, so I couldn’t talk to him,” Morgan said. “Not that I could have anyway. Apparently the wine didn’t help; I asked a question then stammered around like I just learned English yesterday.” She rolled her eyes and wrapped her sweater around her shoulders tightly, bracing against the breeze in the air.

  “I think it’s probably not as bad as you think,” Ann said. “But, we should probably have you do the wine experiment again, next Thursday, before class.”

  “I’ve got a story due Thursday night,” Morgan said. “I’m going to either hit the bottle really hard, or else I’m going to need inspiration to strike hard. Like, lightening hard. I haven’t started it yet, and I have absolutely no idea what I’m going to write about. And, this is the story that I’ll have my personal conference with Dr. Mador about.” The more Morgan thought about it, the more stressed out she became. Why did she always procrastinate so much?

  “Maybe you should write a story about a grad student who sleeps with her sexy creative writing instructor. After class, on the desk, Fifty Shades of Grey style.” Ann snickered and made a whipping gesture with her hand.

  “Yeah,” Morgan said. “Yeah, I’ll go ahead and do just that. Great idea.” She rolled her eyes. Ann burst out laughing, and the two walked quickly to their apartment.

  Chapter Three: Ren

  “You can’t leave the planet,” Leif was saying, his voice muffled by the chamber which held him horizontal next to Ren. The restoration chambers were a regular part of the routine for government workers; the Governor had insisted on it to keep his workers happy and productive.

  “I’ve heard that there are more women on Earth than men,” Ren said. “If I can find even just a few…”

  “You’re going to abduct women from Earth and bring them to Mador against their will,” Leif said. “Do you even hear yourself?”

  Ren sighed. When he was put in charge as the Prime Minister of Procreation and Reproduction, the Governor had given him permission to choose an advisor. Without hesitation, Ren had chosen Leif, his best friend and confidant. Though they had been friends since they were children, Leif was actually five years older. Ren admired Leif as an older brother and as a role model, but he also knew that Leif was not always right. Sometimes, Ren had to remember that he, not Leif, had been selected as Prime Minister.

  Right now, the planet was in trouble. Mador had never had a lot of women to begin with; two boys were born to every one girl, and, with the usual decrease of human life, over the last thousand years, the female situation on Mador had grown dire. Unless some action was taken immediately, Mador would lose its few remaining women, and, with no women around to reproduce and propagate the species, Mador would die.

  “I’m obviously not going to bring them here against their will,” Ren said. “You know me better than that.” He pressed his palms into the soft cushion of his own chamber and felt a pleasant surge of electricity move through him.

  “Well, how exactly do you plan to get them here?”

  “I’m going to ask them,” Ren said simply. “I’m positive I can find at least a hundred women to bring to Mador if I travel to Earth for a few months. I’m hopeful it won’t take longer than that.”

  Leif burst out laughing. “Okay, Brother, you go ahead and try that. See how it works for you. ‘Hey, baby, wanna give up your entire life and move to a planet light years away from your own, which, while comparable to Earth in a number of significant ways, holds no one that you know or love, nor any familiar objects?’ Gee, why not?”

  “Your pessimism doesn’t help, Brother,” Ren warned, and Leif stopped laughing.

  “Sorry,” Leif said. “It’s just… I don’t see how this is a viable plan.”

  Ren never liked to throw his position into Leif’s face, and he avoided it whenever possible. It was getting harder to do in this conversation, but it wasn’t impossible.

  “Well, you know that you and I have the ability to see the same situation from two different angles. And, the bottom line is, what can it hurt? We’re desperate and we’re out of smart choices. If I can get at least a start on solving the Reproduction Crisis, can you imagine what that will do for my career? I may even be able to run for Governor at some point.”

  To this, Leif was silent. Leif knew that it was Ren’s goal to someday be Governor, to be in charge of the entire planet of Mador.

  ***

  Ren remembered this exchange as he sat across from his first blind date of the week. Courtesy of Pl
entyofDates.com, a website that promised a soul mate connection or your money back, Bethany was certainly something, but it wasn’t a soul mate. She was not as her picture had shown nor how she had described herself in the few messages they had exchanged. Rather, she was slight, incredibly thin, and seemed to lack the ability to sit up straight. Ren winced with each gesture that accompanied the story she was telling about her childhood, because, with every hand movement, she slumped deeper and deeper into her chair.

  “So, that’s why I’m in therapy,” she concluded with a dramatic tone. “I mean, honestly, whose parents do that sort of thing? And then talk about it?”

  “I… I don’t know…” Ren said, not completely sure what she had even been talking about.

  “I could really use a cigarette; do you want to join me? Do you even smoke?”

  He arched an eyebrow at Bethany when she asked if he smoked; her tone suggested it was a different type of question from her asking if he wanted to join her. So far, he had been able to handle Earthling communication fairly well, but there were some nuances that he still didn’t understand. He was well versed in being able to answer questions, but sometimes, he was learning, questions were actual questions, and sometimes they weren’t. This seemed to be especially the case with some of the women he’d gone on dates with.

  “No, I’ll stay here,” he said, opting to answer only the first question, but, in reality, answering both. “You go ahead.”

  Bethany rolled her eyes, another gesture that created some confusion for Ren. He understood what eye rolling meant now; he just wasn’t sure what he’d done to warrant it.

  She left the table and he sat back, realizing how tense his body had become from his interactions with Bethany. Once again, his mind drifted back to his conversation with Leif.

  “When will you leave?” Leif had asked. Ren could tell that Leif was slowly beginning to acclimate to the idea that Ren was not asking for his advice on whether or not to go; he had already made that decision.