by S. L. Scott
Each one will find success in the field they choose to pursue, or they’ll rest on their ancestral connections.
I never noticed the obvious while on campus. I wasn’t paying enough attention before, and the name never meant anything other than the last name of the woman whose opinion does matter. Beatrice Cristley is not only a generous benefactor to the school, but the name is everywhere—Cristley Hall, Cristley Foundation, The Cristley Scholarship. All accredited to Cruise’s mother, and three generations of Cristleys who attended the school prior.
Kingwood and Cristley, two of the most prestigious surnames to have when walking on these hallowed grounds. It’s kind of ironic considering Cruise said he and his friend were too busy rebelling to appreciate the legacy embedded in the history of this school.
I beat forty-five other candidates for this position. I don’t know what won them over, but it feels a lot like charity by the way the staff and students look at me. Sometimes I’m even on the receiving end of a condescending comment in reference to my suburban upbringing.
Who knew that, to them, the middle class equals needing a hand up by the wealthy? I ignore it while inwardly rolling my eyes and trying not to judge these well-to-do rich kids the way they judge me.
With my sandwich sitting on a piece of wax paper in front of me and my Diet Coke almost empty, I check the time. Seven minutes of freedom before the students return from lunch.
My finger has been hovering over the enter key for a good sixty seconds, John Cristley Jr. taking up the search box on the screen. I haven’t pushed the button, but when I do, the records populate the screen.
Every grade he ever received.
Every tardy.
Every mark.
Every absence.
Every time Cruise was called into the office is in this file. I should feel guilty looking up his school record, but I don’t. I feel closer to him. I also feel a sense of pride for the man that has come into my life like a hurricane and swept me right off my feet.
I study his grades.
B.
Only one.
Ever.
Cruise made a B in Advanced Trigonometry his sophomore year. For a rebel bucking the system he was bred into, he sure didn’t bother to hide how intelligent he was. Giggling, I shake my head. He’s a true mystery of a man.
The bell rings and I close my laptop. With my hours clocked for the day, it’s time to pack up and head to campus for class. I cross the grounds and turn the corner to the staff parking lot, and then stop in my tracks.
Black leather jacket.
Sleek black helmet.
A motorcycle of shiny chrome and slick black detailing. One of the nicest Harley-Davidson motorcycles I’ve ever seen. But it’s the man sitting on top that commands my full attention.
The helmet is pulled off, revealing my knight in badass sexy leather armor. “I’ve got to give you credit,” I start. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
Swinging his leg over the bike, he sets the helmet on the seat and comes to me. With his hands on my waist, he leans back to take me in starting at my feet and working all the way to my hair. “How do you always look so incredible?”
I can feel my cheeks heating, and squeeze my planner to my chest shyly. “Most people don’t find sweater vests and button-down shirts sexy.” I shrug nonchalantly, pretending to play off the compliment, but bat my eyelashes.
“Sexy as fuck, Dove.” Pulling my middle against him, we kiss. Like every other time our lips meet, the rest of the world fades away.
Coming back down from his heavenly lips, I look up. “What brings you by?”
“I wanted to see you one last time before I left.”
“That sounds ominous. Should I be worried?”
He laughs. “No, no need to worry about me. Nothing more than me wanting to kiss those cherry lips again.”
“I’m investing all my money in this gloss if it brings you around for more kisses.”
“It’s not just the lips—”
“John?”
I hear his mother’s voice. I open my eyes and see her staring at us. “Uh oh,” I say quietly.
Cruise reaches down and takes my hand before turning toward her. “Hi, Mom.”
“I wasn’t expecting to see you again today.”
The way he shifts shows the awkwardness he feels. “Well, actually, I came by to see Do—Clara. She was teaching today and I was heading out, so I wanted to stop by and give her a quick”—he glances to me—“hi.”
His mother adds, “And a kiss by the looks of it.” Her eyes dart between mine and her son’s as she walks closer. “I didn’t know you two were seeing each other. I didn’t even know you knew each other.”
“We are,” Cruise replies while his arm slides around my waist and I slip mine around his middle. “It’s serious. I’m quite taken with her.”
Like ice cream on a hot day, I melt into a puddle of mush. I couldn’t even conceive the feelings he evokes from me and here he is in all of his hot goodness, weakening me in the knees, and making my heart skip a beat or ten. His hand tightens around my ribs, causing me to look up. “I l—”
“We should have lunch, Ms. Eckerd.” His mother asks, “How’s Saturday for you?”
I find myself pointing to my chest. “Me?” All the heartbeats Cruise made me skip come throbbing back nervously under his mother’s attention.
I’m quickly put at ease when she smiles though. “Yes, I’ve been meaning to ask you to lunch for some time. I’m hearing wonderful things about you here at the school, but hearing how much my son is smitten by you, I’d like to get to know you better.”
“I’d like that, too. Thank you.”
“I’ve got your email and will contact you by Thursday.”
“I look forward to it.”
She turns her attention to Cruise, and asks, “Will you call me when you get back from New Haven?”
He releases me and kisses her on the cheek. “Yes.”
It’s good to see this side of Cruise. I thought he was gentle with me, but I can see a softer side of him with her as well. It makes me realize that he just respects women in general. Sure, he cares about us, but I know him well enough to know how he treats us is an example of how he treats others.
My feelings are blooming and are starting to blossom beyond the I care about you phrase we shared. I feel him inside me, taking over the weak parts and being the bond that holds me together. Every day, every hour, I feel stronger just from knowing him.
His mother says, “I should get going. The Senator and I are flying to Michigan to help rally for the party tomorrow.” Her hand taps me as if we’re already old friends. “Never let my son go into politics. Once in, they are never really out. I swear it’s worse than the mafia.” She laughs.
It’s amazing to see this side of her. She’s so at ease compared to the uptight personality she always projects in the fundraising meetings. I like her. Another something I didn’t expect to come from this relationship with Cruise. A bonus. She adds, “Be careful on that machine. It worries me sick to think about you on it, but I learned years ago that it was of no use to argue.” Turning to me, she smiles. “Maybe you can change his mind about the motorcycle. Anyway, I’m off. Chat soon.”
“Goodbye.”
When she goes, Cruise takes my hand and we walk back to his bike. Taking his helmet in the other hand, he asks, “How do you feel about the motorcycle?”
“Your mom might think of me as a traitor, but I find it sexy. Will you take me for a ride soon?”
“Do you know how hot it is to hear you say that?”
“No, show me.”
“Fuck, Dove.” He readjusts his . . . package. “I wish I could, but if I do, you’ll be missing class and I won’t be going to New Haven.”
“And the problem is?”
Whisking me around by the hand, he brings me in. I will never tire of his hard body against the softness of mine. “You sound like me now. I’ve already corrupted you. See? You
were warned.”
My face is cupped, large hands bringing me to him until our mouths meet. My eyes fall closed and my hands find his shoulders to hold on to.
Then I push lightly, freeing myself. “You cannot seduce me with your kissy lips and great body. I have a presentation due in class.”
He chuckles. “Kissy lips?”
“Yes,” I reply, pointing at his mouth. “That mouth is dangerous.”
“And by dangerous you mean amazing.”
“That’s exactly what I mean. That’s why I have to go.” I kiss his cheek and then skip two steps back, out of his reach. This man is definitely going to be the end of me in the most delicious ways. “You go take care of what you need to, and return to me sooner.” I take a few more backward steps and then blow him a kiss.
He catches it and shoves the kiss into his pocket just as he swings his leg over the bike and mounts it. Good Lord, dirty thoughts come to mind. “It’s not good for me to feel this much for you.”
“Sure it is. It’s only fair since I just told my mother how taken I am with you.” He pulls the helmet over his head, but raises the visor. “I’ll be back in a few days. If you need anything, call me. I’ll be here for you.”
I return because I don’t like the distance between us. Grabbing the leather lapels of his jacket, I squeeze a kiss through the open visor. “Good luck on your adventure. Text or call me when you can, but most important, don’t forget about me.”
With the sun shining in his eyes, those kissy lips curve up at the sides. “Not even possible. I’ll be thinking about you the whole time I’m gone.”
“Then don’t keep me waiting too long.”
I’m given a kiss while his hands slide under my sweater at the back. “I won’t. Promise.”
I place a kiss on his helmet and slowly back away. It hurts to leave.
I’m in so deep.
We stare into each other’s eyes as he starts the bike. He’s an angel dressed as the devil, making me want to commit sins against the heavens. After a quick wink, he lowers the visor, and then drives off. The Harley roars through the parking lot of the prestigious school, drawing attention from students and staff alike.
They don’t matter to me. All that matters is the man that just stole my heart right out from under me as he rode away.
Inside my car, I click my seatbelt, and turn on some music. I like the company of noise when I’m alone. And I feel alone now. How is that possible? How is it that I’m ready to throw my dreams away in pursuit of his?
I can’t do that.
That’s not what I want and it’s not what he needs. Even though it’s so easy to get lost in the pools of rich caramel of his eyes, I need to stay focused on what’s best for me. I can never let a man control my destiny.
Even a man with perfect kissy lips and a great ass. God, he looks so hot in leather.
Smiling, I do allow myself to daydream about his ass. Surely there’s no harm in that.
Well, other than to my heart that is. Besides his great ass, he’s got one heck of a swoony side. Who knew? Not me. I thought he was a hot guy who could help me in the area of sex, and becoming more experienced.
I thought he’d be the one-night stand to get that out of the way so I could find out if I would ever be able to have sex . . . willingly. I should never have said what I said to my mom the other week. She knows I wasn’t a virgin. And she’s forever felt guilty. Cruise gave me more than the freedom to experience sex without fear or pain or violation. He made it special. Safe. Welcomed. Desired.
I wasn’t supposed to fall in love.
Neither was he.
But here we are.
I owe him a lot more than dinner when he returns. I owe him the full truth before it comes out and destroys the foundation we’re building together.
18
Cruise
New Haven is quaint. Not a word I typically use, but it fits, so there it is.
A college town.
Home of Yale University.
The word may fit, but I don’t. Maybe that’s why I was given away. I wonder if my mother was a student or my father taught here, or the reverse. Maybe they were locals who had nothing to do with the university at all. Seems unlikely since I think most businesses revolve around the campus and serving the college population.
I ride my Harley through the streets, the muffler not as loud as some, but louder than most hear around here by the looks I’m getting.
I don’t mind the attention on my bike, but on me is a different story. I look over at Alex riding like he’s king of the fucking world—smile on his face, hands light on the bar, firmly seated on the saddle. I’m going to have to give him a hard time by how much fun he seems to be having.
He takes the lead and we turn down a street that leads us to what looks to be a park. Old buildings, I assume historical, are sprinkled across the scenery, but it’s a tall white steeple that stands out. Revving, I catch up with Alex. I signal to follow and we ride around until we’re parked close to it.
Alex looks over at me as he takes his helmet off. “A baby in a basket, huh?”
“Yeah. Fuck, that sounds ridiculous.”
“Eh, sounds like they cared enough to want to keep you warm.”
“I don’t even know my birthday. Not my real one.”
He dismounts and hangs the helmet on the handlebar. “Look, man. That stuff doesn’t matter. You think it does. It doesn’t. The birthday you know now is within the realm of reason. It’s just a day. It’s not about that day specifically. It’s just a reminder to celebrate your life.”
Setting my helmet on the seat, I think about what he’s saying. He’s right. It’s not about the day I was born, but the days I’ve lived. Sometimes he’s really fucking smart. “Come on. Let’s go check out those steps.” And sometimes he’s an ass.
I roll my eyes and walk with him. When I get closer, he hangs back. Alex was always good about giving me the space I needed or the time I might want to process stuff. While I sit on the front steps of Center Church on the Green, I stare into the great lawn ahead and then glance from one side and then to the other. “We’re surrounded by churches. It could be any of these.”
He nods as he comes toward me, and props a foot up on the bottom step. “Churches might keep records of stuff like that. The guy I had looking into it said you might be right on the money with this church. Funny how you came to this one first.”
“Guess we’re about to find out. You coming in or staying out here?”
The file was sealed. Apparently off limits without official word, though the staff couldn’t provide us with whose word was needed other than “check with the local police department.”
But sometimes you meet the right person at the right time. For me, that was Annie Landers. I think she’s worked here since the church was built in 1812. She’s very calming in an odd way. The moment she sees me, she clasps her hands around one of mine, and says, “Welcome back.”
“Thank you, but I’ve never attended church here. I was wonderin—”
“You’re so familiar. Surely, you’ve been here before.” Without leaving room for argument, she turns and starts walking. “Follow me.”
Alex and I exchange glances, his smile is in opposition to my confusion. We follow her down a set of stairs and down a corridor farther, and then into an office. Filing cabinets line the walls where she stops and turns around. “What year are we researching?”
“How did you know I had questions?”
“I overheard your conversation upstairs. Something about a baby.”
Stepping closer, I lower my voice, which seems caught between wanting to know my beginnings in this world to hesitation of what I might uncover. “I was left on the steps,” I start, still embarrassed, especially in front of my friend. He has his own set of issues with his past, but I still feel shame in mine. “In a basket twenty-four years ago.”
It starts slowly. First her smile grows and then light seems to enter her eyes as she cla
sps her hands in front of her. “Like baby Moses.”
“Not quite.”
“I knew I recognized you. Maybe not visually, but something about you.” Her cheerfulness infiltrates her voice and she looks too pleased to interrupt. “What is your name?”
“Cru . . . it’s John. John Cristley.”
“John is a lovely name. Biblical.” As if her mind ventures back to business, she stares at the ceiling tiles like she’s staring at the stars. “It was a pleasant Thursday. I remember because although I was working late, I also remember summer sweeping in on the last cool breeze of spring. My late Henry, God bless his soul, was at home waiting for me.”
Oh God, she remembers. Is this real? Am I ready for this? I feel like a piece of me is being slotted into place. It feels good, so I watch as she pulls a file and continues her story. “I was the one who found you.”
“Annie.”
“Yes, I’m Annie.”
Annie.
Annie.
My car.
Annie. I share a knowing look with Alex. I was teased so hard for naming the computer system Annie, but it always felt right. My guide in life, at least while driving. My Annie.
This Annie helped chart my course, and she describes the night she found me as nothing less than magical. “I was told I was a baby found in a basket on the steps.”
“Yes. You were. What’s interesting though is that I usually leave through the back door. That night I wanted to check on the flowers in the pots we used to keep out front. There you were. Just as content as you could be.”
“Do you remember the date?”
“June seventeenth. I sat beside you not sure what to do. You smiled and cooed. I thought you were too young to do such things, but you surprised me. Your smile now is just as charming as then, John.”
I didn’t realize I was smiling, but I’m inspired to continue smiling just for her. “Thank you.”
After she sits, she instructs us to do the same. “Let’s see what we can find.” Her attention transitions to Alex. “And who are you?”
