He holds me tightly, my head resting on his shoulder and his finger teasing along the skin of my thighs. I sigh. “I don’t know who it could be. Why anyone would try to take this away from us . . . but Connor . . .”
I lift up, meeting his green eyes. “Firestorm aside, we just had a really important moment.” I dip my chin, biting my lip and feeling stupid for needing this right now as an unknown person tries to rip everything apart, but it’s the truth. “I love you. I need you.” The words couldn’t be simpler. The truth couldn’t be more complex.
He swallows, squeezing the flesh of my thighs with his strong fingers. “I love you, and I need you too,” he says, repeating my truths. “I didn’t think it’d happen, and not this fast, but I want to do nothing more than explore you, to discover the little things that make you laugh, and what type of eggs you like in the morning, or if you hate eggs and prefer pancakes or cereal or . . . whatever. I’m rambling, but I want that forever.”
His eyes shine bright with the honesty of his statement, and I realize that we’ve both been holding back. This is more, just like he promised at the beginning. So much more. This is now and tomorrow and the day after that. He is my forever, regardless of what that forever might look like after we deal with the asshole trying to take it away from us.
Facing the firing squad together. That’s what we’ll have to do. But right now, I need to tell my man that I love him with my body, not just my words. And I want him to do the same, show me with his talented fingers and thick cock just how much he feels for me.
Connor sweeps me up in his arms, carrying me down the hall to his bedroom and tossing me lightly to the bed before following me, covering my body with his. Quickly stripping, we lie together, eyes locked on one another, more bare emotionally than physically. Without preamble, he enters me and we become one. We make love this time, soft and slow and sweet, tangled in the satin of his bed, our words repeated time and time again as we come together. I hear his love, feel his love, and I know he feels mine for him as well.
Connor
Walking into work the next day is weird. I’m looking over my shoulders the whole time, evaluating whether there’s something sinister behind every friendly smile and greeting, looking for anyone who might be watching me. I completely skip the breakroom, though I could definitely use something stronger than my office pot’s weak-ass coffee. But going in there seems like a needless risk right now.
How crazy is that? Getting coffee in the breakroom is . . . risky? Whose life is this?
But the truth is, I don’t know who’s doing this, and until I rule out that it’s another professor, I don’t want to give them potential ammunition or be alone in a room with them. Honestly, I’m not sure what I’d do if I found out, but the fury raging through my veins says I should probably play it safe and sip on the sludge I call coffee.
I stand tall as I go into my office, refusing to shrink under this pressure or sneak around. Yeah, maybe Daisy and I have been sneaking, although rather poorly, apparently, but that was out of necessity. I’m not ashamed of her, of myself, or of what we have. But still, the instinct to hide to avoid the shitstorm remains.
What’s the saying? ‘Courage is not the absence of fear, but rather the assessment that something else is more important than the fear.’ That’s Franklin Roosevelt, I believe, though I’m more math nerd than historical literary scholar. But the sentiment is true, because I’m scared as fuck that this is all going to implode, leaving bits of my career and Daisy’s future scattered about. But I won’t hide what we are, what we want to be, because there is nothing more important than Daisy.
But as I close the door behind me, needing a moment alone, all my strength is tested when I see that there’s another red envelope on the floor. Fuck. Someone must’ve slipped it under the door. I pick it up gingerly, like it’s a bomb that might blow up my life, and sit down at my desk.
Opening it, I see that there’s no picture this time, just a single sheet of standard copy paper with plain typed text.
48 hours. $100,000 to my bank account. Straight As in your classes until I graduate. Or I go public and expose what you’ve been doing, Naughty Professor. Meet me at the Golden Wok on Poplar Street on Thursday at 7 P.M. to discuss. –S
What the fuck? What the actual fuck?
The money strikes me first. I don’t have that kind of money. I mean, I could liquidate some stocks and shit, but that’s a fuckton of money to a professor, not something I have lying around or can get in forty-eight fucking hours.
It takes a heartbeat for the rest to register. Straight As? That means . . . it’s a student, not a coworker. Some little shit student is doing this to Daisy and me. And for what? Like an A in my class is worth destroying someone’s life over? How utterly ridiculous. Like Mommy and Daddy won’t be happy if Junior gets anything less than a perfect score that he obviously didn’t earn?
Disgust fills me, followed hotly by the desire to figure out who this fucker is and destroy him. I mentally run through my class rosters, trying to remember names that start with S. Let’s see, there’s . . . Sam in my 9 A.M. trigonometry class, Scott in my graduate program, Sean is my 3 P.M. calculus class, and the list goes on and on. Steven, Seth, Simon, Sergio, Sebastian. Fuck. How many students’ names even start with S? It’s nothing I’ve paid attention to before, but now the suspect list is growing exponentially.
I stuff the envelope into my bag, needing to get to class. The last thing I need when the shit hits the fan is to be seen as unreliable on top of everything else.
When I go into the classroom, I can’t help but look at Daisy in the front row. She’d put on a brave face this morning as she left my place and looks beautiful as always, but I can see the fray around the edges. Her hair is pulled up, tendrils escaping down like she couldn’t be bothered to care. I want to wrap them around my finger and whisper in her ear that it’s going to be okay just like I did last night as she fell asleep in my arms. She’s wearing leggings and a long T-shirt. Actually, at a second glance, she’s wearing my Batman T-shirt. Damn, I’m not so sure that was a good idea, but I love the way she looks in my clothes, like she’s mine. Still, the Batman logo reminds me of my earlier feeling of being untouchable and just how naïve I was in thinking that.
I get started, going over prep review for the upcoming final. I do my best, but I stumble a couple of times and I know the students are getting pissed that I’m fucking up their last shot at help before the big test. I’m usually clear and precisely on point, so the difference is noticeable, but my brain is too busy with bigger things to concentrate on. I give in, closing the time with a promise. “If you study your notes from the semester, go over your previous tests, and complete the practice problems, you will be ready. I’ll be in the online portal as much as possible over the next few days to help with any questions you may have.” That seems to pacify them a bit.
As everyone files out, I hear them coordinating study group dates, and I’m thankful for the good group of students I have. Well, all except for one asshole.
Daisy stays back, waiting until everyone is gone. I glance at the door, making sure we’re alone but knowing that’s simply an illusion now, and we need to be careful because who knows what prying eyes are watching? I grab the envelope from my bag and sit down in the chair next to her. She leaves the book open on her desk, giving the impression that I’m merely helping with classwork.
I hand her the envelope and her eyes widen. “Oh, shit. Another one?”
She opens it and reads it silently before her eyes flash back to mine. “Fuck, Connor! That’s a crazy amount of money!” she exclaims, though she’s working to keep her voice quiet. “What are we going to do? Do you even have that kind of money? I mean, I never even thought about what a professor makes, but that sounds like . . . a lot.”
I nod. “It is a lot. I could get my hands on it, but it’d take everything I have, and the reality is that blackmail never ends. If I give in this time, they’ll just keep asking for more.�
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“This is like some movie, not real life. Not my life. My mind is overloaded, like everything is white noise, and I can’t isolate a clear path or process to find a solution.”
That’s my girl. Everything relates back to math for her. Hell, and for me. Maybe that’s the key. Treat this like a math problem and solve the fucking thing. I’d had this thought before, reducing the variables. But there are so many.
The first of which is who the blackmailer is. Actually, maybe Daisy can help with that.
“Hey, so let’s work with what we know. It’s a student. We didn’t know that before, but asking for grades makes that obvious. I’ve been running through my mind for which of my students start with S, but there are tons of them . . . Seth, Scott, Sean. Too many guys to narrow it down, really.”
Her eyes go wide with shock. “Oh, my God!” I’ve seen that expression on her face before, when she has a revelation about how to solve a problem in class in a new way. Although this time, there’s a hint of pain and disgust. “It’s Sabrina.”
My eyebrows snap together, putting the puzzle pieces together even as she keeps talking. “It’s her, Connor. She’s struggling in class, and she needs the grade for her scholarship. Hell, she needs the money. And she wasn’t here today. It’s gotta be her.”
“Shit. I think you’re right. It’s her.” I agree with her assessment, even though I hate the thought. “She’s always seemed nice enough, a hard worker, and I know she was going to study group.”
Daisy cringes. “Yeah, I told her to ask for help and even suggested that maybe she join another study group. Hell, I even helped her with a process she was doing incorrectly. I guess she found another way.” Her tone is snide, obviously hating that Sabrina is taking the easy way out at our expense.
“Okay, so that’s one big variable solved. What else?”
It’s like a light is flipped on, and I know the answer. Daisy. She’s the most important thing to me.
I can’t cave in. Doing so would be selling her out, cheapening what we have, and that’s unacceptable. I know what I need to do.
“Connor?” Daisy asks, her hands practically shaking as she reaches out to touch mine before she pulls back and glances at the door. “You went quiet. What are we going to do?”
The fear in her voice pisses me off. Not at her, but at Sabrina, who thought taking something as beautiful as our love and running it through the wringer as some tawdry, shameful thing was a valid way to salvage a bad grade.
“I’m here, Daisy. I’m just simplifying,” I tell her, trying to come up with a better term, but it’s the most accurate for what I’m planning. “I know what to do.”
She sputters. “What?”
I can’t tell her exactly what I’m thinking. She’ll try to talk me out of it. I know she will because that’s who she is, a sweet and kind-hearted woman who will sacrifice herself to save me. But I’ll do anything for her.
I kiss her forehead, not caring if anyone sees. “It’s okay, honey. I’ve got this. Go home to your dorm tonight, and I’ll pick you up tomorrow night to go to Sabrina’s requested appointment.” The word is ugly on my tongue.
She looks at me, caution in her eyes. “What are you going to do?”
“I love you, Daisy. You’re mine and I’m yours. And no one is going to take that away from us.” I lay one light kiss to her hand before letting go and walking out of the classroom. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done because my every instinct is to huddle her to my side and never let her leave the security of my arms. But I need to fix this . . . for me, for her, for us.
* * *
I knock on the door, steeling myself with a deep breath. The rumbled ‘Come in’ from the other side sounds like a death knoll, but I approach with courage, choosing Daisy over the fear, over all else.
“Connor! I wasn’t expecting to see you. Did I miss an appointment?” Dean Michaels asks, glancing to the paper calendar on his desk. Old school to the end, that’s him.
“No, sir. But something’s come up and I need to talk to you,” I say, sitting down in front of him without an invitation.
“Of course. I’ve got a few minutes for you. This is about the TED talk, I’m guessing,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee, and I frown. What I’m about to say could fuck that up too, but so be it.
“No, still haven’t heard back on that yet. But there’s something serious I need to discuss.” I take a breath, wishing there were an easy way to say this, but there’s simply not. “Dean, I’ve been seeing a student. It’s . . . intimate.”
His face freezes for a moment, then he sets his mug of coffee down and considers me carefully. “Connor, if this is some attempt at a joke, I really wish you’d picked a better time. Pre-exam pranks are the sort of thing students do, not professors.”
“It’s not a joke,” I reply. “Her name’s Daisy Phillips, and she’s an undergrad. We’ve been seeing each other for a good part of the semester.”
The dean taps his finger on his desk for a few moments, looking like he’s going to explode. Finally, in a strained, tense voice, he speaks. “And did it ever occur to you that sleeping with a student could cost you your job? Haven’t you heard the news? Cunningham?”
“I know, sir. It just happened. It’s . . . we’re serious.”
Michaels nods, rubbing at his face. “Have you given her an unfair advantage at all in your class? Not that you can even answer that impartially.” He sighs.
“No!” I exclaim before forcing myself under control. “No. If anything, I graded her harder than any of the other students. She’s got an A in the class right now, but it’s because she’s one of the brightest minds I’ve ever come across.”
Dean Michaels snorts. “Ever come across . . . you sound like an old geezer. I’m going to need full disclosure and every grade you’ve given her, all the records. According to school policy, there’s nothing that can legally happen to you, but professionally, that’s another story. I wouldn’t be counting on that tenure, Connor.”
“I understand, sir. Of course. I know that this is tantamount to career suicide for me, and I’ll do whatever you need to maintain some semblance of a reputation. My main concern is Daisy.” I look at him, all shreds of arrogance washed away in my desperation. “Can she transfer to another professor’s roster, let them reevaluate her previous work, which they’ll see is top-notch, and then she can take her final for them? I’ll step out of the whole scenario so that she is able to complete her semester.”
It’s a big ask and I know it. Dean Michaels is well within his rights to wipe the entire credit from Daisy’s transcript. Hell, he’s probably able to kick her out of school. If not outright, I’m sure he could call in a favor here or there to punish Daisy and me both.
He doesn’t say yes, but he doesn’t say no. And as the conversation continues, I have a sliver of hope that maybe this can all work out.
Daisy
Dear Diary, May 6th
How is it that heaven can turn into hell so quickly?
When I first started crushing on Connor, it was innocent. I mean, I never seriously thought that he and I would end up in bed together, and I certainly didn’t think that we’d find such depth of feeling for each other.
And I never wanted our relationship to get him into trouble. I just wanted . . . him. Cocky, arrogant bastard and all.
And now my selfish desire has put his entire career at risk. We stepped over that forbidden line and there’s no going back.
But I have to admit . . . as deep as we’re in it right now, I’ve loved every minute of it. Of being his, of him being mine.
I don’t know exactly what Connor has planned, but he told me he’d take care of us, and I believe him.
* * *
I check that I have all my stuff, zipping my bag closed and sliding it over my shoulder. Gone are the flirty skirts or the tight jeans. I’m too frightened by yesterday’s note. Besides, I slept like hell, my body just unable to handle the hours of ups and downs.
We went from intense, passionate fucking to outright terror.
Connor and I swapped texts a few times, but there’s a strain in what we say now, the two of us being unwilling to say anything over text about Sabrina’s note. And though he told me he has a plan, which is supposed to put me at ease, I think, the fact that he won’t tell me what it is makes me jumpy and nervous.
“Hey, chica, you okay?” Arianna asks as I clunk a bowl down on the counter to try and gobble some cereal. On top of everything else, I haven’t eaten much in the past twenty-four hours, and now my head’s sort of woozy, so college-norm breakfast for dinner is all I can muster. “You were riding the happy horse just a few days ago. Now you look like you’ve been told your puppy died.”
No, it’s like I’ve been sent an engraved invitation to a dance party in hell. And worst of all, despite this shit sundae that I’ve been served, my body’s still craving Connor.
Instead of telling Ari this, of course, I just shake my head. “Been hitting the books a little too hard. Exams have me worried.” Going to the fridge, I splash some milk on my Rice Krispies and turn to her. “What about you? Ready for finals?”
Before the words are even out of my mouth, I can see that she doesn’t believe me. Hell, I don’t believe me either.
“Nice attempt at deflection. Try again, Daisy. What’s going on?” Ari demands, holding out a spoon for me. But as I go to grab it, she pulls it back. “Speak or no spoon.”
I collapse to the chair, my bowl bouncing on the table and leaving a puddle of milk that I can’t care to clean up. The tears well up unbidden. “Shit, honey. Here, take the spoon,” Ari says, shoving it into my hand.
The Virgin Diaries Page 9
