Ploy- Fake Marriage Single Dad - J.J. Bella(ang.)

Table of Contents About the Author Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Bonus Story by Alison White

Denile Also by J.J. Bella

PLOY FAKE MARRIED TO THE SINGLE DAD

J.J. BELLA

Copyright © 2017 by J.J. Bella All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

CONTENTS

About the Author Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23

Bonus Story by Alison White I. Denile Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Also by J.J. Bella

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

J.J. “Jane” Bella has always enjoyed reading since she was a little girl, reading everything she could get her hands on. Today she loves to write contemporary steamy romance stories for her favorite readers. Plotting sexy and sweet novellas while walking her dogs has always proven to be an exciting experience on a hot summer day. Wouldn’t you play with strong Alpha Males, wild Bad boys, and wealthy Billionaires if they provided you with happy endings too? J.J. lives in New England with her husband of many happy years, three children and two family Papillons. You may just find her writing on the lake, at the ocean, by a brook, in the middle of a NE snow storm, or on the deck in the Fall. She also loves to hear from her readers and to share Hot new sweltering stories with everyone. [email protected]

1

I

was excited. Beyond excited. Jumpingaround-my-apartment-and-screaming excited. Respectful of those who lived on either side of the paper-thin walls of my apartment, however, I suppressed acting out. But a big, broad smile spread across my face and my feet stomped on the ground as I read the contents of the email opened on my laptop before me. Ms. Roxanne JamesIt's my pleasure to welcome you to my Ancient Archeology 404 course for this fall semester. As you well know, attendance for the class is very limited, and only the most promising students are accepted. After a careful examination of your school records, as well as your statement essay, I feel that you would be a wonderful fit for the course. Ancient Archeology 404 is a demanding

course and will test the limits of your scholarship. But I wouldn't have picked you if I didn't believe that you would excel. I'm aware that this is a lastminute addition to your schedule, but it's one that I sincerely hope that you'll be able to accommodate. The course syllabus is attached. Please look it over and feel free to respond with any questions you may have. I look forward to seeing you for the fall semester. Professor Evan McCall I couldn't believe it. I mean, I knew my grades were good, and I did spend quite a bit of time writing my statement essay (not to mention obsessing over each and every word), but still, I signed up for the course as a lark; I didn't think I'd actually get in. Professor Evan McCall. I mouthed the words as I sat back in my desk chair. Professor McCall was something of a celebrity around Missouri State. Handsome, brilliant, charming- all the girls, even those who couldn't give less of a damn about archeology wanted to be sitting front and center in his courses. But he had some pull around campus, and made sure that his class rosters were small and exclusive; no lecture halls for this professor. I was a little excited to see what the fuss was about with Professor Gorgeous, as my friend Kelly

who had taken one of his courses referred to him, but more than that I was excited to be in what was supposed to be one of the best archeology courses in the city, maybe even the country. Like I said, Professor McCall was something of a celebrity, and he didn't have this reputation just because he was evidently beyond sexy. Professor McCall's most recent work on the Akkadians, Obsidian and Empire, had managed to make its way to the New York Times bestseller list. And every girl on campus had swooned over the picture on the dust jacket of him standing in front of some far away desert ruins, a serious expression on his handsome face, his jetblack hair wind-blown, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone and hinting at the sculpted pecs below… The chiming of my cell phone snapped me out of my daydreaming. Closing my laptop and snatching the phone from where it sat nearby, I saw that I had new text from Paul, the guy that I've kind- of been seeing here and there, off and on, kinda-sorta. Hey! We still on for tonight? =) Ugh. I hated the way he used emojis. I mean, I don't consider myself a girly girl who expects guys to act certain ways, but something about the goofy, smiley face emojis that always filled Paul's texts was really off-putting. I was going to respond and confirm that we were, but thinking about what I'd

just read, I checked the email once again. Sure enough, the course was tomorrow. Today was the first day of most of my classes, and Professor McCall wasn't kidding about this being a lastminute addition. Someone must've dropped at the last minute, and I silently thanked my good fortune. Paul and I had planned on getting dinner tonight, but it looked like that wasn't going to happen, what with my full day of classes and the studying that needed to happen after. And if what Katie had said about Professor McCall's course was true, there wasn't going to be much time for dating in my future. Um, not sure. Probably not =(. Lotsa classes. Maybe tomorrow? I sent the phone down and pushed it away as if trying to put as much distance between me and Paul as possible. He was a nice guy, definitely, and kind of a fun summer thing, but now that classes were ready to get started again, dating seemed less and less interesting to me. Right now, I was all about archeology, and eager to get my classes. Checking the time, I saw that I had just enough time to take a quick shower and get on with my day. A half hour later or so later, I was ready to go. I grabbed my things, and headed out the front door. The morning air had a chill to it, even more than I'd expect for early January in Missouri. I wasn't a

Midwest girl, so any temperature lower than sixty was frosty and brisk compared to what I was used to. Hey, you grow up in Santa Cruz and tell me how you handle weather that isn't a perfect seventy-two. I jumped into my car and made the quick drive to campus. First up for today was an English Literature survey course, which I wasn't looking forward to all that much. I was more interested in unearthing ancient secrets than in reading Canterbury Tales, so I spent the majority of that class daydreaming about what Professor McCall's class tomorrow. After English Lit was my college algebra course, followed by French Conversation. Soon, the day was over, and late afternoon had arrived. Walking out of my last course, I was eager to run home, grab something to eat, and get a head start on my work. I knew that the first day of classes should be for getting settled in, but I'd had too many experiences these last few semesters with putting off work until, before I knew it, it was halfway through the semester. This spring was going to be different. But as I walked briskly towards my car, weaving through the crowds of students in the quad, I heard a familiar voice. "Hey, Roxy!" I felt a spontaneous wince overcome me. I knew that it was Paul. Turning around, I saw him bounding towards me like a big puppy, his shaggy

blonde hair bouncing around the big, dopey smile he always seemed to be wearing. Like I said, Paul was nice. Too nice. And also a little dumb. We met at an end-of-semester party a couple of months ago, and he seemed like as good of a guy as any to pass the fall semester with. But now his clinginess was starting to wear a little thin. "Hey," I said, looking away and tucking a stray strand of my brown hair behind my ear as he approached. "Crazy seeing you here," he said, speaking over the low roar of conversation around us from the other students. "Well, I mean, we both go here, so…" "Yeah, yeah- I guess you're right. Still crazy." I sighed. I had no idea how I got involved with a guy like him. Sure, he was tall and built, but I must've been more desperate for company this semester than I realized. At that moment, I knew that I needed to break things off. But right then and there? I had to think of something else. "So, looks like you're done with classes for the day, right?" he said. "That means you're free for hanging out tonight?" Ugh. I really, really, wanted to just grab some Chipotle or something, get home, and start on my studying. I was starting to get annoyed by how Paul just wasn't getting the hint. "I can't," I said. "I just want to kind of chill out

tonight. Maybe do some studying." "Oh, that's cool too!" he said. "I can come over; we can study together." This was even worse. I knew from the few study dates we had as the spring semester was ending that "studying" with Paul meant him alternating between showing me stupid videos from Reddit and trying to get in my pants. Trying and failing of course- believe it or not, I was a senior in college and still a virgin. "I don't know…" I said, trailing off; I was running out of options. Right at that moment, a tall, stunningly handsome man strolled past. I waved my hand to grab his attention, and he turned towards me with a serious look on his face. "Um, excuse me?" I said, doing my doe-eyed, lost undergrad act. "Yes?" he said, his voice stern. I was a little surprised at this; I thought he was a student –he certainly looked young enough to be one- but his demeanor was professional and serious. Not to mention his well-tailored suit made him a stark contrast to the hoodie-and-jean wearing guys around us. He looked so familiar, but I couldn’t place him. "I was looking for the Arts and Sciences building…can you help me?" I said, twirling a strand of hair in my finger.

"It's right over there," said the man, point down the south end of the campus while turning his body to leave. "Could you show me? I'm really lost." Paul wanted to speak, but all he could do was open his mouth. The man sighed, clearly wanting to do anything but lead a clueless freshman around campus. "Fine, fine," he said. "Come on." "I'll talk to you later Paul; see ya," I said, Paul raising a finger in protest but saying nothing. The man led me along the lanes leading to the Arts and Sciences building, and I kept up my ditzy student routine throughout, wasting time with stupid questions and observations. I was hoping to drag the walk out for as long as possible, to make it clear to Paul that I wasn't coming back. "Here," said the man gesturing towards a threestory glass and steel building that now loomed over us. "Arts and Sciences." The man was gorgeous, to say the least. Black hair, chiseled features, and a he was tall- really tall. I wanted to thank him, but found myself tonguetied at his good looks. "This is where you say ‘thank you'," he said, clearly eager to get on with his day. "Um, thanks," I said, now being stupid and clueless for real. And with that, he took off, my eyes lingering on

him as he left. Who was that man? I thought, watching him leave. And just why does he look so familiar?

2

W

alking with long, brisk steps down the path leading back to my office, I checked the time. I was running late. I was happy to help a student find her way, as brusque as I might've seemed, but that young woman certainly had found a way to eat into my time. As I darted past the tight knots of students, I found myself wondering just how leading a student to the Arts and Sciences building had managed to take so very long. She was cute, though, I couldn't help but notice that. Chocolate brown hair, emerald-green eyes, and full pouty lips. I shook my head at this observation; sure, I wasn't too much older than these undergrads, but being a professor made me feel like I was in another world. Still, hard to not

notice a beauty like her. I put these thoughts out of my head as I made my way to my car. Checking the time again, I saw that I was likely to be running late to Darla, my daughter's, dance recital. Frustration welled inside of me as I strode across the parking lot; I promised Darla that I'd be on time for once, and now it was looking as though I was going to break yet another promise. Part of me wanted to yell internally at the student for taking up so much of my time, especially since it was quite clear that she was doing nothing more than making her boyfriend jealous, but I knew that such feelings would be fruitless, and only serve to make me drive more recklessly than I needed to. Soon, I spotted the familiar form of my coalblack Mercedes. I shook my head, as always, as soon as I laid eyes on it. It was flashier, much flashier than I needed, but after the success of my most recent book, as well as the speaking tour that followed, I managed to get talked into it after popping into a dealership to look around. I preferred to live a more Spartan lifestyle, one free from too much consumerism, but I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't dreamed of owning a Mercedes convertible since I was little. And once I saw how much money I had left over even after I set aside all I needed for Darla's future college fund, I succumbed.

Sliding in and gunning the engine, I left the parking lot and drove down the main road of the town towards the school gymnasium where Darla's recital was taking place. The clock ticked to five, the designated starting time, and each minute that passed after that was like a knife in my gut. I hated disappointing Darla more than anything, but balancing my academic career with being a single father was difficult; every now and then something just had to give. Soon, I pulled into the parking lot of the school gym, parked, and rushed towards the entrance. "Name?" asked the frumpy, middle-aged woman standing out front. "Evan McCall," I said, looking past her to see if I could catch a glimpse of Darla. "I'm Darla's father." "Oh, welcome," said the woman, searching around on the plastic fold-out table before her for the name tag with my name on it. "Here we are." She slapped the tag on my chest. "Please quietly find your seat; the show's already begun." I couldn't help but notice there was a little judgment to her tone. And to be honest, I felt I deserved a little scolding. Dashing down the hallway leading to the main stage room, I opened one of the big doors with the metal bar on the front, revealing a theater jam-packed full of parents. On

stage were a handful of girls, all dressed in colorful outfits. All the eyes nearby latched onto me as soon as I stepped in. Not wanting to draw attention to myself, I slid into the nearest open seat, hoping that the hip-hop dance music blasting from the stage would mask my arrival. Soon, Darla came on stage, dressed in a deep red outfit with tassels draped from the arms. She was flanked by two other girls, each in a matching blue. As soon as the applause died down, the girls went into their routine. I watched with rapt attention, observing with pride my daughter as she danced, tumbled, and soared onstage. My heart welled with pride as I watched her. Eventually, the hour was up, and the girls all came on stage to thunderous applause. After they took their bows, the parents filed out into the hallway to meet their children. "Daddy!" said Darla, throwing her arms around me. "I thought you weren't going to show up!" I winced at these words; I simply hated being the type of parent that left his child wondering if I was going to be there for them when they needed me. It's how my father was, and I swore long ago that I'd never be that way. "Hey, Dee," I said, calling her by the name I'd called her since she was a baby. Darla had just turned eight not too long ago, and I couldn't believe how fast the time was

passing. "Did you like the show?" she said, the hallway now filled with the light conversation of parents all congratulating their children. "It was, without a doubt, the best recital that I've ever seen," I said, still beaming with pride. She scrunched her face, her dark hair falling around her features. "You're just saying that." "I would never ‘just say that'," I said. And I was serious. "How come you were late?" she asked, her tone now one of concern. "Sorry, Dee; I just got hung up at school." "The same thing as always," she said, disappointment weighing heavily on her words. "I know, I know," I said. "Hey, you and your friends want to go out to dinner? Maybe some pizza? My treat." Her face brightened. "Really?" "Sure," I said. "Least I can do for keeping you waiting." Without another word she dashed off, getting the attention of a few of her fellow dancers and letting them know of the plan. Soon, a trio of girls in colorful clothing was chattering at my feet, eager for the pizza that I'd promised. The parents arrived to confirm and coordinate. "You're fine with babysitting four girls during

dinner?" asked Melanie Walker, the mother of Annie, Darla closest girlfriend. "It's no problem," I said. "I'm around undergrads all day; they're all pretty much kids." Melanie smiled. She was a pretty woman, with short brown hair and a slender figure, a little older than me, and a single mother. I'd considered asking her out before, but between Darla and my work, there was simply no time for dating. "Well, I'm fine with getting an hour or two off," she said. "You have my number if they start getting too wild." I thanked her, and soon the girls were piled into my car. "Can we put the top down, Mister McCall?" asked Emma, one of the girls. "Don't see why not," I said. "Just no making a break for it." Soon, we arrived at the pizza place. I ordered a couple of pies along with a few pitchers of soda, the girls chattering amongst themselves as we waited. Darla sat next to me, resting her head on my shoulder, worn out from the recital. "Dad?" she said, looking up at me with her big blue eyes. "Yeah, Dee?" I asked. "I wish Mom could've seen me tonight." "Me too, kiddo," I said. The pizzas soon arrived, and thoughts of

Rosemary, my former love and Darla's mother, filled my mind. I couldn't think of her without my heart aching as her face came to mind. She had fair skin, red hair, and Darla's blue eyes. We met during our undergrad programs, with her majoring in English Literature as I went on to earn my advanced degrees in archaeology. She became pregnant a year into my masters, and we'd planned on marrying soon after. But when Darla arrived there had been…complications with the birth. One moment she was fine, the next she simply wouldn't stop bleeding. Just like that, she was gone. I hated the fact that Darla not only didn't have a mother, but she’d had never known hers. So, I did my best to be both parents, but to say that I was burning the candle at both ends would be to put it mildly. Soon, the dinner was over, and nothing remained in front of us but a pile of pizza crusts sitting on the metal serving trays and a couple of now-empty plastic pitchers. An hour or so later, the girls were all dropped off and Darla and I were back home. By the time I'd pulled into our garage, she was fast asleep. Between the dancing and the piles of carbs she'd just eaten, she was out like a light. I scooped her up, brought her in, and got her ready for bed. She barely made a peep as I tucked her in. I decided to have a small drink in my study as I went over the

lesson plans for tomorrow. It was a new semester, and I was very much looking forward to it. The next morning I headed to work soon after seeing Darla off. I headed to campus, feeling wellrested and ready to begin what I hoped would be a fruitful semester. I said my hellos to my few department professors as I arrived, and soon I was standing at the front of my 404 class, the students gradually making their way in. I kept an eye on the clock, careful to watch for any student that trickled in after the eight-thirty start time. In my experience, a student who would be late on the first day would likely be one to lag during the rest of the semester. I set aside twelve spots in this course with an eye to pare it down to six or seven, so I was already on the lookout for those who showed signs of not being able to hack it. And just before the time struck, a familiar face darted into the room, taking a seat two rows back, right in the middle. It took me a moment to recognize the girl, but as soon as a deep blush broke out across her face I knew exactly who it was- it was the girl yesterday, the one who'd put on a ditzy show and caused me to be late to Darla's recital. Part of me wanted to be mad at her, but I knew that such behavior would be unprofessional, to say the least. In the same manner as yesterday, I couldn't help but be struck by the girl's beauty. Her brown hair

was long, parted in the middle and hanging down both sides of her strikingly attractive features. Her eyes were large and green, her nose small and pert, and her red lips were a stark contrast to her fair skin. She was dressed in a simple black blouse and a pair of very tight blue jeans that accentuated the curves of her body. I tried not to stare, but it took some effort- she was simply a beautiful girl. I decided to turn my attention to my notes in order not to stare at the girl. Soon, the time to start arrived, three students scampering in within a few minutes after eight-thirty. This is going to be quite the semester, I thought. I can just feel it.

3

I

was mortified. I was beyond embarrassed. I just couldn't believe that the man that I acted like a total ditz to, the one that I dragged around campus helping me find one of the easiestto-spot buildings for twenty minutes was none other than Professor Evan McCall, Ph.D. I should've known it was him. After all, I'd done my fair share of salivating over his picture on the dust jacket. But I suppose I just wasn't thinking about it; all I wanted at that moment in time was to get as far away from Paul as possible. But sitting here in his class, looking up at him as he stood at his podium, his handsome face in a serious expression, his black hair slicked back, his obviously-fit body dressed in a smart, black suit sans tie, all I could think about was how much I wanted to crawl into a hole and just disappear.

And I was totally regretting my decision to make a good first impression by taking the middle seat in the class. I just bolted to the chair without looking around, without knowing that the time for first impressions has long passed. He had to know who I was, too. I could tell he was the cool-headed, intellectual type, but the way his gorgeous blue eyes widened just a bit when he spotted me told me all that I needed to know. Before I could beat myself up for too much longer about it, however, Professor McCall took a glance at the clock, confirming that it was time to begin, before laying his eyes on the class. "Good morning," he said, his voice rich and warm, the type of voice made for public speaking. "My name is Professor Evan McCall. Welcome to my advanced course, four-oh-four Advanced Archaeology. I'm not going to lie- this is a tough course. Normally, I would only allow for a handful of students, but I decided to let a few more in this semester in order to be able to separate the wheat from the chaff, as it were. I fully expect around half of you to drop the course within the first month." He strolled away from the podium, a hand in one pocket. I was kind of in awe over the way he commanded the classroom. It was only a couple of minutes into the first class, and he already had all of the students in rapt attention. "And if you drop, I don't want you to feel bad. I

specifically designed this course in order to find out just who would make the most promising students to take under my wing. If a few weeks pass and you find that you're not able or willing to do the work, then please, take that as a sign that archaeology isn't for you- at least, as a profession. Many of you are still in your first couple of years, and you have more than enough time to find a new major, one that's more suited to your talents and interest." His eyes fell on me at this last statement, and I couldn't help but wonder if this was his way of telling me that he wanted me to drop. I shook this thought out of my mind as stupid and silly. "So, with that being said, I look forward to the semester ahead. I'm sure that more than a few of you will prove to be stellar students, and hopefully, this course will be the beginning of a fruitful academic career for you in archaeology. And that's my introduction." I looked around the room, noting that every girl had the same wistful, dreamy look in her eyes. I couldn't blame them- Professor McCall was goddamn gorgeous. Taking one final look over the class, he slipped off his coal-black suit jacket, revealing a crisp, white dress shirt. Sitting back on the edge of his desk, he rolled up his sleeves, showing off his toned, ropy forearms. It was all I could do to not salivate. "Before I begin, are there any questions over

the course?" Right as the words left his mouth, an idea popped into my head: maybe I could prove that I wasn't a ditz by showing off what I knew. After all, making a reputation right away as a knowledgeable student might go a long way towards showing Professor McCall just what kind of girl I really was. So, I shot my hand up. He nodded towards me, a curious look crossing his features. "Please, share your name and your current year level when I call on you," he said, looking around the class. "Roxanne James, senior," I said, already feeling short of breath. "When looking over the syllabus, I noticed that we're going to be covering Akkadian archeological history. I was wondering if this survey would incorporate recent developments concerning new ruins found near the Hellespont that suggest that the dating of Troy might be earlier than previously thought?" I say back in my seat, feeling proud at my display of knowledge. That had to show him what I was all about. But instead of looking impressed, a slightly confused expression formed on his features. "Well…seeing as how the Akkadians existed over a thousand years before the Trojans, I fail to see how the two subjects are related. But yes, we

will be covering some recent developments in the field concerning ancient Troy." I wanted to die. Here I was, trying to show off my knowledge about the Akkadians to a man who'd literally written the book on the subject. The students nearby all shot hot gazes to me; it was as though they smelled blood in the water. My face went a deep red, and I felt like I just might pass out. "Any other questions?" Professor McCall asked. "Perhaps ones slightly more germane to the topics at hand?" First I felt like I was going to pass out, and now I wanted to cry. The rest of the class was a blur, and I did all I could to keep up. Soon, nine-twenty arrived, and it was time to go. "Well, that first fifty minutes flew by, didn't it?" asked Professor McCall. "That will be all for the day. Please, for those of you who haven't already, please purchase the text for the course, as well as a copy of my book, from the bookstore. Both will be referenced extensively over the course of the semester. Good day." With that, the students all got up to leave. A small line, mostly of women, formed in front of Professor McCall, and I decided to take the opportunity to come clean, to apologize for how dumb I acted yesterday. Hopefully, that would get us back onto the right foot. I hoped so, as the

thought of spending the semester in a class where the professor thinks I'm a total airhead was just too much to bear. Laughter sounded from the front of the line; he seemed to have a way with the students, putting them all at ease as they asked their questions. I hoped against hope that he would treat me the same way. Eventually, Professor McCall's budding fan club dissipated, and it was just he and I in the room. My heart pounded as I approached, a nervous sweat already forming on my forehead. "Yes?" he asked, a trace of impatience in his voice. "Hi!" I said, the word coming out way more chipper than it should've. "My name's Roxanne James." "I remember," he said crossing his arms over his chest. My heart began to pound harder; I could tell that he already wasn't impressed with me. "Um, I just wanted to, well, say, um, that I'm sorry for yesterday." He said nothing, instead waiting for me to finish. "That was a big waste of your time, I'm sure, and I don't want you to think that, um, the way I acted reflects on me as a student." He looked at me skeptically, his blue eyes catching the afternoon light in a way that seemed to

make them glow. It felt like he was staring right through me. "I suppose I'll have the rest of the semester to see how well it does, in fact, reflect on you as a student." My heart sank at this. "Now," he said, standing up, "unless there's anything else, I've got some work to attend to." He waited for me to answer in the affirmative or negative. "Um, no. That's all." And before he could respond, I darted out of the room, my arms holding my binder close to my chest. I couldn't figure out why he was being so mean to me. Was he really so mad that I wasted his time yesterday? I wanted to cry. I rushed back to my car and by the time I god behind the wheel I resolved to not let Professor McCall's behavior get the best of me. I'd do what I said I was going to do, and that was to let my skills as as student do the talking for me. As the weeks went on, that's precisely what I did. I threw all of my energy into my studies, forgetting about my social life, and turning the bare minimum acceptability of a performance as possible at the restaurant where I waited tables a few nights a week. I busted my ass, studying nonstop, cramming every bit of knowledge that was in the class's assigned books into my head. It was

rough, but when the first quiz came back with a hundred percent score, I knew that my hard work would be worth it. And I might've been imagining it, but it seemed like Professor McCall's attitude towards me was softening. Things were looking up so far, but it was taking all I had to keep it up. I had no idea for how long I could manage this pace. I guess I was going to find out.

4

S

itting in my study one Friday night, I was enjoying a glass of red wine while I looked over some of the mid-term essays from my four-oh-four course. Flipping through some of the remaining tests, I was pleased to see that there were only a few left. Counting them all, I noted that there were only seven in total. Meaning nearly half of the class had dropped- a happening that I was more than OK with. Now, if I could get it down to only three or four. I leaned back in my high-backed leather chair, sipping my wine as I looked out of the study window at the stretch of houses outside of my window. My eyes tracked along the tall, packed bookshelves in the room, the many colors of their spines making an odd blur as my gaze moved over them. Letting the wine loll in my mouth, I allowed

the Chopin piece that was playing on the study stereo drift over me. Mazurka in A Minor was the current piece- one of my favorites. I knew that I had plenty of work to get finished before the evening ended, but I allowed myself a moment of relaxation as I savored my wine, listened to the music, and allowed the tensions of the week to spool out of me. A jarring bong sounded from my computer, jostling me out of my peaceful mood. Shaking my head and bringing myself back to reality, I turned my attention to my computer and saw that I had a new email. It was from Jeffery Cohen, the head of the department. I opened it eagerly, wondering what Jeff would need at this late evening hour. I scanned over the contents of the email and saw that it pertained to a research project in the Czech Republic this summer. He wanted me to visit a village in the country over the course of a few weeks and gather some research information for a large study on Eastern European archeology that the department was putting together, as well as possibly collect material for a potential book. I sat back in my chair once again as I thought it over. One the one hand, getting out into the field would be a welcome change of pace. On the other, I didn't look forward to the idea of being away from Darla for so long. I finished my wine and the rest of

the papers, the pros and cons of the situation bouncing around the back of my head as I worked. Finally, that next afternoon as I ate lunch with Darla on the back deck of the house, the three words that pushed me into accepting the project formed my mind. They were the three most important words for any academic. Publish or perish. Taking the summer off to pursue my own interests sounded lovely, but I knew that I putting my name on a project such as this would benefit my career more than anything else I could get up to during the summer. And as I watched Darla eat her lunch, I determined that solidifying my career as much as I could was the biggest priority of all. After lunch I responded to Jeff, telling him that I was on board. He was pleased to hear this and told me to put together an ad for students, as I'd need an intern to come along with me and do the grunt-work that I might not have time for. When I read this, I sat back in my seat, giving the matter careful consideration. Whoever I brought would need to be reliable, and not afraid of getting his or her hands dirty. They'd need to be able to take criticism and to know the work inside and out. And they'd need to be someone with whom I'd actually like to work with, especially considering the fact that this assignment would likely be a stepping stone to future work the

department, possibly even a masters or Ph.D. It wasn't a matter to consider lightly. I grabbed my laptop and went into the living room, spending a little time with Darla while I pondered the situation, thinking of students in class who might make good assistants. After a time, I put on a movie for Darla and sat on the couch with my laptop, typing up the ad. Once it was done, I fired off an email to all students in the department before closing the computer and watching the movie with Darla. My eyes went wide when I opened my email when the movie was done; I was already receiving applications. The next day, I decided to spend the afternoon going over the applications in some detail. Many of the students were promising, but after a few hours of looking things over, there was a clear front-andcenter candidate. Roxanne James. I balked at this, thinking there must be some mistake that the girl who seemed so spacey and ditzy would be such a qualified candidate. After I took another look at her application, however, there was no denying it. Her qualifications were strong, her references were glowing, and her statement essay was well-crafted and thoughtful. And it's true that she'd been showing much more of an effort in class. The more I considered

Roxanne, in fact, the more I realized that I was letting my first impression of her shape my opinion of the girl far more than I should have. Still, I'd need to test her meddle. The next day in class, I decided to put her to the test. We were going over some human anthropology questions, and I figured that this would be as good a time as any to see how Roxanne did under pressure. "Mary and Louis Leakey…" I said, standing at the front of the room and moving from set of eyeballs to set of eyeballs. "Can someone here tell me, specifically, who they are and what they did?" I snapped my eyes to Roxanne. "They were the scientist couple who discovered Homo Habilis, meaning literally "tool-using man," when excavating Olduvai Gorge in Tanzania in the nineteen-thirties." This was followed by a pleased smile. She knew the basics and handled the pressure well. Later in the class, I gave her another little test. "Now, as we all know archeology involves interpreting information from sifted layers of rock and dirt. Who can tell me the name of this subject?" My eyes again went to Roxanne. She got the hint and raised her hand. "That's stratigraphy, Professor McCall." Perhaps I was a little premature in my determination of her intelligence.

This went on throughout the week. I challenged her here and there, and she was always ready with the right answer. It was an impressive display, though a little “teacher’s pet” for my tastes. Soon, the semester was nearly at an end. "Now," I said, looking over the five students that remained in the class, Roxanne still right in the middle her big green eyes looking up at me expectantly. "The semester is drawing to a close, as you all well know. I'm more than pleased with the few of you that managed to stick it out through it all; you should be proud of the work you've done. But the final exam is no joke, and you're going to need to study hard. Like everything else in this class, it's designed to separate the men from the boys, as it were. The study guide will be posted online tonight, and please feel free to let me know if you have any questions." With that, the students left. My eyes tracked Roxanne as she left, my gaze lingering on her for just a little longer than I had intended. I shook my head at this, chiding myself for letting my baser instincts regarding my students take over, if even for a mere moment. Still, I couldn't deny that she was quite attractive… Regardless, it was time to put her to the testliterally. I decided that I'd make her test more difficult than the others, to see if she really had

what it took to be my assistant. It was nearly time for me to decide, and she was still the strongest candidate. All that remained to see was how well she'd handle the challenge.

5

W

hen I looked over the grade to my final, I wanted to cry. D. The letter was clear as day. I didn't think it was real at first; I'd assumed there had been some problem with the school's computer system, or something wrong with my computer monitor, even. But reality soon set in- I'd received a non-passing grade in the class that was the most important that I pass with flying colors. I thought frantically back over the exam, wondering just where I'd gone wrong. Sure, the exam was hard, much harder than I'd been expecting, but I still felt good about my chances, despite the fact that the exam covered material that we didn't even talk about during the semester. It didn't even bother me when I was the last student

to finish; stupid me thought this might even impress Professor McCall, and show him that I was concerned about making sure my work was perfect. Looking back, it probably just convinced him that I was an idiot. I paced around my apartment, feeling like a panic attack might set in at any moment. Then, the phone rang. I looked at the number, recognizing it as a school line. "Hello?" I asked, my voice weak as I held back the tears that I desperately wanted to cry. "Hello, is this Roxanne James?" said the chipper, female voice on the other line. "This is she," I said. My stomach tightened; I just knew, somehow, that this wasn't going to be good news. "Hi! This is the University of Missouri financial aid department. How are you?" "Good, I guess," I said, wishing she'd just get to the point. "Great!" Her chipper voice was already making me crazy. "Well, I just wanted to give you a call to let you know that because of your grades the semester, the Annie Margolis Scholarship that has been extended to you will not be offered again the for the fall semester." My stomach sank. That scholarship was the

only thing keeping me in school. "What?" I asked, my voice frantic. "As you know, one of the terms of the Margolis Scholarship is that you maintain passing grades in all of your classes. And I see here that your grade in…Advanced Archeology with Professor Evan McCall was a ‘D,' which is below passing." "There has to be something I can do," I said, pacing around frantically as I spoke. "I need that scholarship." "Well, if I were you, I'd speak with the professor and see if there's anything you can do to bring the final grade up. You need at least a ‘C' to be considered ‘passing'." I couldn't imagine asking Professor McCall to go easy on me, to give me a redo. "OK, thank you," I said, defeated. "Great! Have a great su-" I hung up the phone and stared off into space. I couldn't imagine a more awful situation. I took a deep breath, realizing that the sooner I got this over with, the better. Taking a seat at my computer, I opened my email program and typed up a letter to Professor McCall, asking him if there was anything I could do to improve my grade, letting him know about my scholarship situation. Once the email was typed up, I read it over, taking out a few of the "anythings" that I'd written. I mean, he was handsome and all, but I didn't want

him to get that impression. Once I was satisfied with the email, I sent it off and got up from my computer, mentally preparing myself to spend the rest of my day a nervous wreck about my school financial situation. But to my surprise, I received an email only a few minutes later from Professor McCall. RoxanneSorry to hear that my class ended up being the deciding factor in your scholarship; I was just as disappointed in your grade as you must've been. That said, I am amenable to a retake. Please let me know what time works for you in the next few days. E.M. I let out a sigh of relief. Truth be told, I wasn't expecting him to go for a retake; Professor McCall just didn't seem to be the compromising type, and considering how he'd been raking me over the coals all semester, I figured that he had some kind of weird personal problem with me. I fired off an email letting him know that all my exams were done with, so tomorrow would work for me if that worked for him. He responded with the exact time. I felt a little better, but knew that I had a long day of studying ahead of me if I was going to pass this thing. Marching to the kitchen, I brewed a fresh

pot of coffee, sat down at the table with my class notes, and set to work. Before I knew it, the day had flown by. I wanted to stay up all night and cram in as much information as I could, but I'd learned the hard way in other classes that a good night's rest is better than pulling an all-nighter. The next day, my stomach was tight with fear as I arrived on campus. Professor McCall had instructed me to meet him in his office, and when I arrived, he was sitting at his desk, a stack of papers to his right that he was in the process of grading. His office was lovely, with a tall bookshelves packed full of texts, a window with a sweeping view of the campus, and a long desk piled high with papers and notes, a small bonsai tree on one corner. On the wall was a chart of human evolution, as well as a Renaissance-style painting of a landscape that I didn't recognize. Soft piano music was playing through a speaker. "Welcome, Ms. James," Professor McCall said, not standing up, giving me the same icy treatment that he'd subjected me to all semester. "Have a seat." He gestured to a small table that he'd cleared off where another exam was waiting for me. "You have an hour to finish. Let me know if you have any questions." And with that, he went right back to his work. With small steps, I approached the desk and

took a seat. I flipped through the exam, noting right away that the questions seemed….easier. It was all stuff that I knew, stuff that I'd learned over the course of the semester. In short, it was what I had actually been expecting the exam to be. I breezed through the thing, finishing it with ease in about thirty minutes. "Done already?" asked Professor McCall. "Yeah,' I said, setting the exam down gently on his desk. "Well, if you don't mind waiting, I can grade it now." "Oh, sure," I said, hiding the fact that I was extremely eager to know if I'd passed; my academic fate did depend on it, after all. Professor McCall took the exam and looked it over, marking it here and there. I stood in front of his desk awkwardly, my arms crossed over my body. Minutes later, he handed the test back, an ‘A' marked the front in a blue ink. "Nice work," he said. "Have a good summer." And with that, he turned back to his desk. I left his office on cloud nine; I couldn't believe my good fortune. Stopping off at the financial aid department, I confirmed that with the new grade, my scholarship was back on track for the fall. Everything was going to be fine. And though I didn't want to admit it, I was happy to be free of Professor Evan McCall. Sure,

he was totally goddamn gorgeous, not to mention brilliant, but I'd had just about enough of the sadistic way that he'd been treating me all through the course of the semester. I knew that my ditz routine that first day was lame, but his response of grilling me hard every day since was a little out of proportion, to say the least. Once back home, I crashed on my couch, ready to spend the rest of the day watching crappy TV and otherwise basking in my good fortune. But the chime of a new email distracted me before I even had a chance to begin. I opened my laptop and saw that it was an email from none other than Professor McCall. I read it with eager eyes. RoxanneCongratulations on your excellent performance on the make-up test; I knew that you'd perform beyond my expectations. Before your summer begins, I'd like to extend to you the offer to work as my assistant. In thoroughly going over all of the applications for the position, yours was head and shoulders above the rest. Please let me know if this opportunity is something in which you would be interested. E.M. I shut the laptop, the urge to scream coming over me. First he's failing me, now he's offering me

an internship? What was with this guy? I had no idea what he thought about me as a person or as a student; everything was mixed signals. I stood up and paced around my apartment as I considered the email. I didn't want to spend another minute with Professor McCall, but this internship… I knew it could make or break my academic a career. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. Sitting back down on my couch and opening my laptop once again, I began my email. "Professor McCall…"

6

hat do you mean you don't have two rooms? "W I made the reservation a month ago!" Standing at the desk of the small hotel in Rockle, the Czech village near the dig site, I could hardly contain my anger. I was tired and exhausted, and judging by the worn-out, blank expression on Roxanne's face, she felt the same way. The flight was long and uncomfortable, and the less said about the van into town, the better. "I am sorry, sir," said the slobbish, heavy-set man behind the counter, his voice coming out in a thick, Slavic accent, "but it appears there was some sort of computer error; that’s the only reason I can think for why your reservation isn’t here." "What? How does that happen?" "I am very sorry," he said. "We're booked up nearly full, but I can offer you the presidential

suite. It should be more than spacious enough for you and your wife." "Student," I said, correcting him quickly. "She's my student." The clerk flashed a glance at my right hand, noting the absence of a ring. "One never knows what the future holds," he said with a sly smile. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Thankfully, Roxanne seemed to be barely paying attention. "Fine," I said. "The presidential suite." "I'm sure you will be more than happy with the accommodations," said the clerk, handing me the key. "Up the stairs, and you'll know the room when you see it." Know it when I see it, I mumbled under my breath. I picked the bags up from the floor and began to trudge up the stairs, Roxanne following close behind. We soon arrived at the second floor, and sure enough, an ornate set of double doors made it clear which room was our suite. Dropping the bags on the floor, I turned the key and opened the doors with a gentle push. Well, he was right about the room. It was a large, spacious room appointed with antique furniture, a large double bed made up with white and blue sheets the centerpiece of the space. A set of glass doors opened onto a large balcony,

the view affording a sweeping view of the town below and the countryside beyond. Above it all hung a large, silver moon. There was a small kitchen, along with plenty of modern amenities. Taking a peek into the bathroom, I saw that there was even a bath big enough for two. It would be a lovely place to stay, were the circumstances not what they were. "It's big," said Roxanne, looking around, her voice tired. "Sorry about the screw-up," I said, making it clear that I knew just how awkward this must be. She waved her hand dismissively as she made her way over to the bed, letting herself fall onto it. Looking over Roxanne, who was now nearly asleep, I considered the wisdom of riding her so hard during the semester. I knew that it was only my way of testing her, to see just how much potential she had. Even the final exam, one of which I designed to be as difficult for her as possible, was a way to find out just how good she was. But as far as she was concerned, I was just some asshole prof, and one that she was going to be joined at the hip with for the next few weeks. "I'll take the couch," I said, as though there were any question about it. I sat down on the couch, kicking off my shoes and slipping my phone out of my pocket. I checked it, seeing there was a response from Darla, letting

me know that things were good back home, and that her aunt –my sister Alice who would be staying with her for the duration of my trip- was taking great care of her. Relived at this, I slumped over onto the couch, my fatigue taking hold of me within seconds. I woke up the next morning to the sun rising over the hills beyond the windows. A crack of light under the bathroom door let me know that Roxanne was already up. Checking my phone, I saw that it was seven in morning. Our ride was going to be here at eight, so we needed to get ready soon. Before I could consider the matter for too long, however, the bathroom door opened, and Roxanne stepped out, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around her body. Her fair skin was shiny with water, and ample cleavage was visible just above where her towel was tied. And the towel was short enough to show off her long, shapely legs. Her dark, thick hair hung heavy on her bare, slim shoulders. For a few moments, I looked at her in the precise way that a professor shouldn't look at a student. But I couldn't help it- she was stunning. "Morning," she said, a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth as she walked over to her bag, grabbing out a handful of clothes. "Morning," I said, turning my eyes away from her. "I'm gonna change, so the shower's all yours.

Knock before you come out," she said, her tone brusque. It was clear that she was still unhappy with the arrangement, but rather than try and convince her to be more reasonable, I decided not to press the point. Instead, I hopped in the shower, letting the hot water wake me up. After a quick shave, I dressed in the bathroom and gave the door a quick rap. "You decent?" "Yeah." I stepped out, and she was dressed in a pair of skin-tight jeans and a simple, baby blue V-neck shirt. We grabbed a few essentials, and once eight rolled around, my phone went off with a text from the team, letting us know they were out front. The drive through the countryside was beautiful. The hills were verdant and rolling, and the sun was as a cloudless blue overhead. Despite the awkwardness of the trip so far, I was looking forward to getting into the work that lay ahead. Once we arrived at the site, which was a halfexcavated stone-age village that stuck out of the side of a steep hill, I introduced Roxanne to the rest of the team, which was a small collection of professors and their assistants from other colleges around the US. I introduced Roxanne to the team, and though she seemed a little intimidated and shy in the face of the all-star crew we had on staff, she

slowly became a useful member of the team. Three weeks ahead, I thought to myself as I watched Roxanne work, my eyes lingering on her body once again. Let's hope things all go well.

7

T

he countryside was beautiful, I could say that much. And as the days passed, it seemed as though Professor McCall was going out of his way to make sure that I felt comfortable, which was nice; the last thing that I wanted was to be sharing a room with a professor who thought I was a total idiot. I did my best, however, keeping my head down and working nonstop, doing my best to prove that I was a worthwhile member of the team. The rest of the staff was intimidating, to say the least. There was a professor from Stanford who'd arrive with a trio of serious-faced interns, all seeming to know have more knowledge of archeology in their little fingers than I had in my whole head. Another team from the University of Chicago was there, all decked out in the latest site-

surveying technology. They mostly kept to themselves, which was fine with me- I was here to work, not to make friends. "Good news," said Professor McCall, coming in from the balcony at our hotel the third evening back in town. "I found a bed and breakfast in town that's going to be available starting tomorrow. It'll be almost an entire house for just the both of us." "Oh, really?" I asked, pleased by the news. "That sounds a pretty posh." Professor McCall took a seat on the couch that'd been serving as his bed for the last couple of nights. "Turns out the mistake was from some idiot from administration back at the school. They'd actually reserved a room in another city." "Goddamn interns," I said with a smirk. Professor McCall smiled at this, a sliver of pearl-white teeth showing through his full, sexy lips. I was still a little irked at him for putting me through the paces like he'd been, but now that I was finding my footing, I was ready for him and me to get on somewhat friendly terms. "So, as of tomorrow, we'll have our own bedrooms, finally. That is, unless this arrangement was working for you." I was going to protest, but then I remembered that Professor McCall's sense of humor was very much on the drier side, which was a surprise. It

turns out that pretty much everything he's said that I thought was him being a glib jerk was just him having fun in his own way. He was kind of smartass, in a way. "This has actually been working for me so well that I was thinking about asking if you wanted to just split a studio back in Columbia. Think of the money we'd save." "Yeah," he said, "it'd be great until one of us attacked the other with a kitchen knife." I let out a snort at this. But before I could retort, Professor McCall's phone rang. "Excuse me," he said, picking up his phone and stepping out onto the balcony, shutting the door behind him. I knew that I shouldn't listen in on someone else's conversation, but I was beyond curious about just who Professor McCall really was. Even though I'd been getting to know him a little bit better, it seemed like just below his exterior of cool professionalism was a layer of playful sarcasm; who he was below that layer was something I really wanted to know. "Hey, Dee," I heard him say. "How's Annie?...Oh, really?" Dee? I wondered. My first thought was that it was a girlfriend, but I hadn't heard him mention anything about that to anyone. Plus, I doubt he'd be so keen on staying in the same room as a twenty-

one-year-old coed if he was seeing someone back home. "…Yeah, let's hear it…" Then a bright, full laugh sounded out. His tone with whomever he was talking to was different; it was softer, warmer. He chatted for a while, sounding more friendly and at ease than I'd ever heard him to be. "OK, Dee," he said. "Good night; Daddy loves you." With that, he hung up the phone. A daughter! I thought, realizing the sense it made. Putting it all into the proper context, I realized how sweet he sounded. It was clear just from listening to the little one-sided snippets of conversation that he really loved her. I watched as Professor McCall stood on the balcony, leaning forward against the raining, his gaze off somewhere in the middle distance. Rifling through the minibar, I grabbed a halfbottle of red wine and a pair of glasses. The drinks in hand, I knocked on the glass of the door. Professor McCall turned to me, gesturing for me to come out with a small tilt of his head. I opened the door, stepping out into the warm summer air. The coal-black sky glittered with stars, the moon full and round above. Before us stretched the city, a smattering of small, old-style houses all

aglow with lit windows. "Nice night," he said, turning his attention back to the vista. "It is," I said. "Beats Midwestern summer humidity." "No kidding," he said. Then his eyes fell onto the wine in my hands. "Now, I haven't been a professor for long, but I know that drinking wine with an underage student has got to be against some kind of conduct code." "I'm not underage," I said. "My twenty-first birthday was a couple of weeks ago." He raised his eyebrows. "Well, happy late birthday." I opened the small bottle and poured the two of us some wine. I wasn't much of a drinker, but now seemed like as good a night as any. "Cheers," I said, raising my glass. "To new discoveries," he said. We clinked the glasses and took our sips. "I couldn't help but overhear," I said, standing next to Professor McCall and looking off into the distance, "but was that a daughter you were talking to?" He nodded as he sipped from his glass. "That's right. Her name's Darla. Eight-years-old, though she's got a brain like she's twice that." "And…no mother?" I don't know why I felt the need to ask such a

personal question. I guess I just wanted to know more about him. "No," he said, shaking his head softly. "Not for a while." I didn't pry for any details beyond that. "Well, speaking of Darla," he said, "you'll be meeting her here in a couple of weeks. She's going to be visiting once we're settled in." "Oh?" I asked. I wasn't put off by this, but it did make me feel a little nervous; I never felt like one of those people who had a natural way with kids. I always felt like I was stiff and awkward around them. "She's great," said Professor McCall. "You'll be fine. And if she gets annoying we can just lock her in the closet." He flashed another sly smirk; there was that smart-ass streak of his again. "I'm glad you came," he said. "You seem to be taking to the work. If all goes well, I'll be more than happy to give you a reference, should you be considering graduate school." "Oh, thanks," I said. Truth be told, I didn't share his confidence in my abilities, and I wondered if he was just being nice. Who am I kidding, I thought. If anyone wouldn't be shy about criticism, it'd be him. Then there was silence. A strange sort of energy

seemed to be in the air between us, and though I wanted to talk more, to get to know Professor McCall, I was also happy just to be in his company. So we stood together, drinking our wine, and listening to the sounds of the evening in the town below. I couldn't help but have a very good feeling about this summer.

8

W

hat surprised me the most about Roxanne was just how warm she was. After our semester together, where her look-at-me, know-it-all routine was on full display, I was expecting to have to endure a month with a Lisa Simpson-type. But the more we worked together, the more her guard seemed to go down, and the more I realized that she was just a sweet, kind-hearted college girl, and it was simply her eagerness to impress the teacher that gave her the impression of being the little show-off brainiac that I'd assumed she was. The next day flew by, and we'd made excellent progress at the site. Roxanne worked through her very apparent anxiety fairly quickly and soon proved herself to be a diligent and useful worker. But when the day was done and both of us were

covered in dust from the day of being elbow-deep in the ruins at the site, we were both eager to get back to the hotel, collect our things, and make our way over to the bed and breakfast. "Enjoy the rest of your time in town," said the innkeeper, flashing me a wink as we checked out, his gaze flicking over to Roxanne. What is this guy's deal? I wondered as we left. He seemed to be pretty invested in the idea of Roxanne and me getting together for some reason. Personally, I was trying to ignore just how attractive she was. Not having the distraction of a pretty young co-ed walking around the room in a towel was a pretty big reason why I was looking forward to us having our own rooms, to be frank. Our bags in hand, we grabbed a cab to the other side of town where the bed and breakfast was located. The road leading there was winding, and took us far from the small center of town. Eventually, we arrived at a two-story wooden cottage that sat on a small hill, the ground around it a brilliant, emerald green. "That grass is almost as green as your eyes," I said as we arrived. "Oh, thank you," said Roxanne, a soft blush coming to her cheeks. I checked myself; I'd only said what I'd said as a statement of fact- a simple comparison. But it appeared that I'd accidentally let a compliment slip

out. I grew somewhat worried that my slight attraction to Roxanne might continue to bubble to the surface like this. As we took our bags out of the car, I reminded myself that while she and I were both adults, I was the one in a position of authority here, and I needed to be careful to not take advantage of that. I'd taught enough co-eds to know the attraction that authority has for some girls. We approached the little cabin, which was quite quaint and very charming. I found the key and opened the front door, holding it open for Roxanne. She sidled in past me, her face blushing as she passed. "Wow," she said, stepping into the place and looking around. The cottage interior was set up in a very cozy country style, almost like something you'd expect to find in a Midwestern prairie rather than in an eastern European village. The floors were a lovely birch color, the ceilings had charmingly exposed wood beams, and the place was furnished with wooden furniture, the dominant colors while, a sky blue, and a soft yellow. There was even a fireplace in the living room. "This is so nice," said Roxanne, setting her bags down. "And we have it all to ourselves?" "Yep," I said, stepping into the dining room and setting my bags on the large farmer's table that extended the length of the room. "It's normally a

bed and breakfast, but the owners are on vacation for the summer." "I've been living in a crappy little student apartment for so long that I'd forgotten what it's like to live in an actual house," she said, plopping down onto a long, white couch in the living room and making herself comfortable. I walked through the rest of the house, noting the modern kitchen of stainless steel and granite countertops, the spacious bedrooms upstairs, and the large tub in the master bath. "The owners told me to check out the backyard," I said. "Supposed to be quite the view." Roxanne heaved her slender body off of the couch and followed me out back. Opening the back door and stepping out, I was struck by what I saw. The view was something else. There was a seemingly endless stretch of rolling hills before us, a long stream cutting and curving through them. To the right was a forested area that held promise of wonderful walks. The vista seemed to stretch on forever. "It's beautiful," Roxanne said, looking out. "Beats the hell out of two people in one cramped room," I said. "No kidding." We spent the rest of the evening getting settled and enjoying the space we had all to ourselves. After a few days in a cramped room together, we

were both eager to stretch out and relax. Roxanne got in her pajamas and settled in for a night of TV, and I had another chat with Darla while enjoying a glass of wine on the back porch. Soon, it was time to turn in and prepare for another day on site. The next day was more of the same. Roxanne worked diligently, being as attentive and careful of an assistant as I had hoped. She really seemed to be taking well to the work, and I was pleased that I'd managed to select such a great assistant. What's more, the show-offy attitude that she displayed during the semester seemed to vanish. Instead of a know-it-all girl desperately trying to impress the professor, she simply kept her head down and worked hard. She even managed to warm up to the rest of the crew. As the last day of the first week drew to a close, I felt the strong urge to do something other than going back to the cottage and go over material. As Roxanne packed up for the day, a thought popped into mind. "You feel up for going out tonight?" Roxanne turned away from her notes and looked at me with surprised green eyes. "Like, out-out?" "Yeah," I said. "If you don't mind hanging out with your professor, that is." "Well, as long as you walk ten feet behind so the other students don't make fun," she said with a

smirk. I smiled and shook my head at this. "What'd you have in mind?" she asked. "Well, there was a discothèque in town; I figured we could get some molly and dance the night away." "You know," she said with a smile, "one of these days I'm going to get so used to your sarcasm that I'm going to not take you seriously when you really mean it." "I kid, I kid," I said. "But there was actually a cool little pub in the center of town if you feel up for grabbing a bite. My treat." "Well, if it's your treat," she said, flashing another lovely smile. We finished packing up and climbed into the car that I'd rented a few days prior. We made the drive back into town, turning towards the city center rather than the long, winding path that would take us back to the cottage. After a time, we were parked at the town center, which was really nothing more than the intersection of the two largest streets, a smattering of buildings lining both roads. "There it is," I said, pointing to a small building with windows illuminated by warm light, a wooden sign in Czech marking the name. We entered and were quickly led to a small table near a fireplace. The restaurant was quaint and cozy, with warm lighting, a relaxed ambiance,

and the gentle murmur of conversation dappling around us. When we sat down, the waitress, a young girl who looked about Roxanne's age, took our orders. "This is nice," said Roxanne, settling into her seat. "It is," I said. "We've been working so much, and I didn't want to blow through the entire summer without checking out some of the local fare." The waitress brought us both tall glasses of beer, setting them down with a smile before walking off. "You know," said Roxanne, "you're a lot different in person." "'In person'?" I asked, sitting back, crossing my legs, and taking a sip of my beer. "As opposed to what?" Roxanne playfully rolled her eyes. "I mean, not in class." "Oh?" I asked. "How do you mean?" "You have more of a sense of humor. And you're less uptight." "'Uptight'?" I asked, a little surprised at this. Roxanne quickly checked herself, not wanting to offend me. "I mean, you just seemed to be really tough on me during the whole semester. Especially that final; I almost lost my scholarship because of that." "But you retook it and excelled."

"Still," she said, bringing her beer to her lips and taking a sip, traces of foam remaining on her lips, "I just thought you hated me or something, like I was one of the students that you were trying to get rid of but never managed to." I was a little surprised to hear this. Normally, I would never tell a student who I was pushing to excel that that is what I was doing, but I didn't want Roxanne to feel that I had some strange issue with her. So I came clean. "I only was so hard on you because of your obvious potential. I could tell right away that you had it in you to be a star student. Students like you, however, sometimes need a little push to do their best." "Really?" she asked, her lovely eyes wide in surprise. "But if I'm such a great student, then why did I bomb your final so hard?" "You bombed the final because I gave you a test that I would normally reserve for graduate students. I wanted to see how you'd do when given a task that seemed impossible." "But I got a ‘D'." "You shouldn't have gotten a single question right. The fact that you knew anything on that test showed me the breadth of your understanding." Roxanne allowed a moment for this answer to settle in her mind. "Oh," she said. "Now I feel stupid."

"Don't," I said, leaning forward and, without thinking, placing my hand on hers. "There's a reason why you're the one I brought on this trip." Without responding, Roxanne's eyes flicked down to my hand. Then, I realized what I was doing. Pulling my hand back, I cleared my throat, now feeling as though I may have overstepped some boundary. Before either of us could speak, however, the waitress arrived with our dishes, which were two plates of meat, potatoes, and gravy- simple but delicious. As we started into our meals, I quickly changed the subject to something more lighthearted, the dinner passing pleasantly. But as the evening went on, all I could find myself thinking about was how Roxanne's hand felt, that soft skin on mine. "I'm having a really nice time, Professor McCall," said Roxanne as we walked down the road back to the car. "Please," I said, "call me Evan."

9

"D

addy!" I couldn't help but smile as I watched Evan's daughter run from the car and into his arms. She covered his face in kisses, and seemed beyond ecstatic to finally be seeing her dad again. Darla was an adorable little girl with her father's blue eyes and dark hair. "Dee!" he said, holding her close and twirling her in the air. Standing near the car was a stern-faced, middleaged woman who I guessed was the nanny who would be staying with us during the week that Darla was here. She was a stock, blond-haired woman with tight curls of blonde hair and didn't look like she had a single curve to her body. "Mr. McCall," she said in a thick Slavic accent, approaching Evan and Darla. "I am Lana."

"Thank you so much for taking this assignment on at such short notice; my sister was originally going to come, but she had some family issues to attend to." "It is nothing," Lana said. "However, today I can only bring her to you from the airport. Tomorrow I can begin." "That's perfect," said Evan. "I only have a little work to do today, so I can bring her to the site with me." Lana nodded and left. "Ugh!" said Darla. "Do I have to go to work with you? It's so boring." Evan's gaze flicked to me, his blue eyes sparkling in the late morning sun. "As you can see, interest in archeology isn't a heritable trait." I smiled. "Wait," I said, thinking, "we only have to do a couple of quick things on site today, right? Why don't I hang out with Darla today so you don't have to drag her to the ruins?" "Yeah!" said Darla. "There was a pet store in town that I want to see. Can she take me there? Please, please?" "Kid's obsessed with kittens," said Evan. I looked over Darla's shirt which, sure enough, was covered in small drawings of cats. "Why don't you introduce yourself to Roxanne,

since she's offering to do something so nice for you?" Darla scrunched her face and prepared to introduce herself. "Hello," she said, her voice taking on a prim tone that was clearly practiced. "My name is Darla McCall. It's a pleasure to meet you." Next, she extended her small hand towards me. "Why, it's a pleasure," I said, flashing Evan an impressed expression. "My name is Roxanne James." We shook, her hand tiny in mind. "What a polite young woman," I said. But Darla was quick to revert to her normal self. "OK, daddy, can we go now?" "Let's get you settled inside first," said Evan, grabbing her bag from where it sat on the porch and heading in. After a few minutes, Evan and Darla were back out. "OK," said Evan. "I'll be done by noon, so you won't have to play babysitter for too long. And here-" He fished a credit card out of his pocket that had the Missouri State logo on it and handed it to me. "Grab some lunch if you're hungry. But don't let her talk you into getting a kitten."

I smiled and slipped the card into my pocket as Evan turned to Darla. "Be nice," he said, squatting down to her level. "What do I not want any of?" Darla sighed. "No shenanigans, no tomfoolery, no nonsense," she said, repeating lines that it was clear she'd had to say many times before. "Perfect," said Evan. A little later, Evan was off, and it was just Darla and me. "Can we see the cats now? Please-oh-pleaseoh-please!" I was a little impressed that her desire to look at some kitties as greater than her need to eat or sleep after her long flight. "You got it, kid," I said. We took the spare car that Evan had rented in advance of Darla's visit and drove down the winding road into town. Darla looked at the passing buildings with eager eyes, anxious to get out and see these cats she was so obsessed with. "I'm hungry," she said. There we go, I thought. "You want to grab some food before we look at the cats?" I asked. "Probably more fun when you're not starving." "Yeah!" she said. "I want waffles, and pancakes, and cereal." "What's a pretty carb-heavy breakfast," I said.

"What?" she asked, scrunching her little nose in confusion. I smiled and shook my head as we pulled into the town center. I parked, and we made our way to a little breakfast place where Darla happily destroyed an entire plate of waffles with blackberry syrup. It was a nice day out, so we walked the length of the main road down to the pet shop, stopping at little shops here and there. My phone buzzed with a text from Evan, and I was surprised to see that he'd already finished on site and was asking where to meet up. I told him we were heading to the pet shop now, the text filled with plenty of cat emojis. "They're so cute!" shouted Darla, looking on through the window of the pet shop and the kittens and puppies playing in their little pens. We entered the store, and the shopkeeper, a woman in her thirties, helped Darla look at each kitten that caught her eye. After a time, the door chime sounded as Evan entered. "Hey," he said, looking over the scene as Darla played with an adorable little Calico. "All good with the wild beasts?" "You weren't kidding about her loving cats," I said, watching with Evan as Darla petted her kitten happily. "It's a thing," he said. "One of these days she's going to wear down my defenses, but not when

we'd have to bring the thing back in our carry-on luggage." He walked over to the puppy pen and pulled out a small beagle puppy with floppy ears. "How about a dog?" asked Evan, clearly trying to talk her into the pet he preferred. "This guy's pretty cute." "I don't like dogs," said Darla, not even looking up. "Girl knows what she likes," said Evan. "Here, Dad," said Darla, handing the kitten to Evan. "Um, I'm good, kiddo," he said. "Come on! He likes you." The little kitten reached out a small white paw towards Evan as Darla held it in the air. "Sure, sure," he said, knowing he was beaten. He took the cat and sat down on a small stool behind him, the little animal meowing and mewling as it tried to swipe up at him with little paws. I let out a laugh at the sight of a big guy like Evan holding such a tiny little animal. He dangled his finger in front of the cat, talking to it in a funny baby voice. "OK, that's enough kitty-cats for one day," said Evan, clearly realizing he was close to getting talked into buying it. The rest of the week flew by. I had fun with Darla around town, and Evan was more at ease

now that his daughter was with him. It was clear that he loved her dearly, and seeing him with his little girl gave me a new appreciation for the man he was. But soon, the week was up, and it was time for Darla to leave. Evan's face was in an expression of restrained sadness when she left, and I soon missed the energy and fun that the little girl brought to our tiny cottage.

10

I

spent the week after Darla left quite despondent; seeing her leave affected me more than I was anticipating. I felt thankful for Roxanne being at the cottage; though I didn't want to admit it, being alone during this time might've been a little much. The work at the site was more than I could've hoped for, but I found myself counting the days when I could be back in Missouri with my little girl. A discovery on the site, however, provided just the distraction that I was looking for. We stumbled upon it by accident; it was a deeper chamber to one of the main buildings at the site, a tunnel that led down to a small storeroom where artifacts from an even older civilization had been stored by the people who were studying. This gave the work a new dimension, and the book that

I'd been forming in my mind about the work here now had the makings of an exciting new chapter. "I hope you're ready to have a busy last couple of weeks," I said to Roxanne as one of the other students brought up yet another haul of ancient tools. "More than ready," Roxanne said. I smiled at this; it was a real pleasure to have a girl like her who was so interested in the subject. And I couldn't help but think about how she'd been with Darla; Roxanne had a natural way with her, and Dee really seemed to taking a liking to her. But I filed this information away for later, choosing instead to focus on the work at hand. We began spending many late nights at the town library. I grew to love that old place, which had the look of what one would imagine in an oldworld library, rather than the boring, functional one on campus that seemed to be nothing more than a big warehouse full of metal shelves. Roxanne and I settled into a routine of working at the site during the day, grabbing a quick meal in town, then going to the library for another few hours at work. Occasionally, we'd head to the local pub on the way back for a pint. It was a nice routine. I'd realized that I'd been so busy with work that I'd forgotten what it was like to have a woman around. "So," said Roxanne one night at the library, the

steam from her coffee swirling around her face. "I had something to ask you." My gaze hung on her face, and I paid special attention to her narrowed, sensual eyes, the way her hair lay draped on the sides of her face, the redness of her lips as she crinkled them into a conspiratorial smirk. I snapped myself out of this; my attraction to Roxanne was growing by the day, and I hoped that the trip would be over before it became too difficult to ignore. "Oh?" I said, looking up from my notes. "I was thinking that I might be able to help you with this book you're putting together." "You are helping," I said. "That's what all the work at the site is for." "No," she said, tracing the rim of her coffee mug with the tip of her index finger. "I mean something a little more substantial. Like, um, helping you write it." My eyes widened at this. That was quite the request for an undergrad. "You want to help write it?" "Sure. I mean, I know this material just as well as you do by this point. And I think I could add some good stuff. I'm not asking for my name on the cover, just a little ‘thank you' in the back or something, something I can put on a transcript." It seemed fair. She had been quite the help this

summer, and giving her an acknowledgment in my book along with my reference would really help her stand above the crowd when it came time for grad school. So I agreed. It didn't hurt that I was mildly mesmerized by her beauty as she asked. The next week or so passed in much the same way, the key difference being our time in the library becoming closer and closer…literally. I found us frequently sitting only inches away from one another, our eyes flicking up to one another's as we looked over a piece of data or an underlined passage in a book. I enjoyed being so close to her, especially when I could feel the slight warmth radiating from her body. I often found us touching one another, her hand landing on my own as she laughed at one of my stupid jokes, her mouth wide open in a toothy smile, her laugh cutting through the silence of the library. "Feel up for a pint?" I asked one night, feeling about ready to close the books for the evening. "I thought you'd never ask," she said, stretching her willowy limbs as she stood up, a small strip of her stomach showing as she stretched. We gathered our things and headed out, arriving at the pub soon after. Our conversations from the library continued, us both talking in excited terms about our recent discoveries at the site. Soon, just like at the library, we found ourselves sitting close

to one another, our arms nearly touching. "It's a nice night," I said after taking a swig of my pale ale. "Why don't we go out onto the back patio?" "Let's do it," she said. We went out back, where we found ourselves alone on a small, wooden patio that looked out over the back stretch of grass and the buildings being us. The space was illuminated by the same soft, orange lighting as the rest of the bar, the only difference being the stringed lights that gave the space a somewhat festive air. "I still can't get over how different you are outside of class," she said, curling up in her chair and taking a small sip of her beer. "I could say the same thing," I said. "You're actually pretty charming when you're not trying to be a know-it-all." She playfully slapped me on the arm. "Besides," I said. "There's plenty that you don't know about me." "Oh yeah?" she asked, scooting her body closer to mine, as though we were about to hatch a plot. "Some secret side of you that I still don't know about?" "You never know," I said. At that moment, my gaze flicked up to her eyes. I became lost in them for a moment, feeling as though I was falling into those beautiful, grass-

green circles. There seemed to be something like a crackle of electricity between us, and I realized that all I wanted to do at that moment was to kiss her hard and deep. And if I wanted to, well, there was no time like the present. But I didn't. Instead, I rose and drank the last bit of my beer. "I think it's time to get back," I said, hurriedly heading back inside, my mind swimming with what had nearly just happened.

11

B

efore I knew it, the two months had flown by and it was nearly time to go back to the States. Sitting in my cozy little room that last evening, I thought about just how great my time had been here. I'd learned a lot, and working with Evan and the rest of the archeologists from other schools has given me plenty of useful experience that I know will come in handy as I continue along in my career. I couldn't stop thinking about that night at the bar, that night that it seemed like Evan wanted to kiss me. I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't thought about what it would be like to kiss him, some nights even secretly hoping that we'd have one drink too many at the pub, then come back to the cottage to have a quick nightcap of a couple of glasses of wine, only for us to want to keep the night going…

But he was my professor; it would be insane for me to jeopardize our working relationship by getting involved like that. Not to mention the fact that I was still a virgin; I wouldn't even know what to do even if we did end up in bed together. But I'd never felt this strongly about a man before. Guys like Paul, the guy that I'd been seeing the last few weeks of fall semester, the one who I'd used Evan to ditch, they were fun for a time, but I'd never felt the urge to…go all the way with them. Evan, on the other hand, made me want to just give myself over to him. I couldn't explain it; we hadn't even kissed and I was already fantasizing about him taking my virginity. It was stupid, though. A guy like him with a great career and a wonderful daughter probably wasn't the slightest bit interested in an undergrad like me. The best thing to do would be to just put all of that out of my head and go our separate ways once the trip was over. "You about ready to go?" asked Evan from the hallway. I got up and walked over to my door. To my surprise, Evan was standing at the entrance to his own room, wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His sculpted body of wide, strong shoulders and sculpted, tight abs was on full display, and his jet-black hair was slicked back behind his ears. As soon as he saw that I'd seen

him, his blue eyes went wide and he ducked back into his room. "Sorry," he said, "I thought you were just gonna yell from your room." "Um, uh, no problem," I said, my face hot as I ran back into my room. "Yeah, I'm almost ready!" That was…a hell of a body for a professor, I thought. He must be really putting that free campus gym membership to good use. I couldn't believe that I'd seen Evan like that. Aside from the shock, now I had another mental image to fight off when thinking about him. Catching my breath, I finished getting ready and headed downstairs, where Evan was waiting for me. He was dressed in a sharp outfit of black jeans, a well-tailored white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, and a pair of black Chelsea boots. He looked extremely handsome. "Ready?" he asked. Soon, we were at the bar, where the rest of the site team had planned a last-night get-together to celebrate the successful summer. The place was rented out for the evening, and as we stepped in, we saw that it was already packed full of the two dozen or so professors and interns that I'd worked with over the last few months. "The usual?" asked Evan, gesturing towards the bar. "Sure," I said.

He went off to grab our pints, and I scanned the room. As I did, I caught the attention of Sam, a dusky-haired intern from Iowa State. We'd gotten along over the summer, and I felt like there might've been a little something between us, though I never acted on it- was too busy with work, not to mention occupied by thoughts of Evan. But the smile he flashed me sent the signal that he might be interested in getting to know me a little better this last evening in town. Evan soon arrived back and handed me my beer. But before either of us could say a word, a tall, strikingly beautiful blonde woman approached us, a wide smile her face, her brown eyes locked onto Evan. "Professor McCall," she said in a posh English accent, throwing her arms around Evan. "Professor Aldington," said Evan, his eyes slightly wide in surprise. "Fancy meeting you here," she said, letting him go and looking him over. "No kidding," he said, "I thought you'd be in Wales this time of year." "I was, but I was actually in town to meet Professor Williams; we're heading to Scotland tomorrow for another dig." The woman's eyes flicked over to me, giving me a judgmental once-over. "Ah, this is Roxanne James, my intern," said

Evan. "Roxanne, this is Professor Elizabeth Aldington from Oxford." "Oh, nice to meet you," I said, extending my free hand." "Charmed," said Elizabeth, clearly not impressed with me. "These Midwestern girls are just so…cute," she said, her emphasis on the word making it clear that it wasn't a compliment. "Anyway, we must catch up. Come have a drink with me on out back." Evan turned to me as if to ask, "do you mind?" I nodded, and they were off, already in lively chatter as they left. I sighed, Elizabeth's class and beauty fresh in my mind. And Oxford. She was the type of woman that I would expect Evan to be interested in, not some young nothing like me. I made my way the bar, finding the group of students from Stanford and passing an hour or so with them. But as time went on, I couldn't help but want to talk to Evan. I was so used to his company that being away from him, even for a little while, was strange. Not to mention the little pangs of jealousy that I was feeling towards Elizabeth. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me, and I went looking for the two. Pint in hand, a buzz swimming in my mind, I set out for the back porch. There were a handful of people out there, and I peeked my head past the door. My heart sank when I laid eyes on Evan.

He was sitting with Elizabeth, her hand on his thigh as she leaned in close him as they spoke. She was clearly flirting, and little peals of laughter sounded out from her every now and then. They looked to be about five minutes from getting it on then and there. My stomach in a small knot, I headed back inside. I took a long swig of my beer and scanned the room for Sam. Spotting him in the crowd, I walked towards him, my strides long and purposeful.

12

must say," said Elizabeth, looking deep into my "I eyes as she spoke, the browns of her own a deep, dark chocolate, "it's been absolutely lovely catching up with you, Evan." "Yeah, it has been," I said, taking a long sip of my drink. Elizabeth sipped her martini slowly as she looked up at me, a stray strand of blonde hair curving over her delicate features. "It's such a shame that you're heading back to the states tomorrow," she said, finally speaking. "It would be quite the coup to have you on our crew for this next dig." "Believe me," I said, "I'd love to get right into another site, but I've got so much material with this dig that it's going to take me a good year to sift through it."

"Well," said Elizabeth, "if there's one thing those of us in our line of work are good at, it's sifting." I let out a small snort at this corny little pun. "So much for the sophisticated sense of humor they say you Brits have; I thought you'd be above puns." "You'll find that there's not much I'm not afraid to get down with," said Elizabeth, leaning closer to me as she spoke. It was clear what she wanted. Elizabeth and I had already indulged in a fling one weekend years back, and I knew right away what was on her mind from the moment she walked up to me. But I was hesitant; something about it just didn't seem right, though I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was. "I sense hesitation," said Elizabeth, her hand now on my thigh. "Let me see if I can make my argument a little more persuasive." Her hand moved up further, her touch eventually grazing over my cock through my slacks. I sat upright at this, slightly taken aback by her boldness. "What's the matter? I didn't think that you Americans were such prudes." "It's not that," I said. "It's just…it doesn't feel right." "What on earth does that mean?" asked

Elizabeth, simultaneously amused and annoyed by my behavior. "too good for a quick fuck in the parking lot?" "No," I said. "It just…I don't know." Elizabeth removed her hand from my tight and sat back, her eyes wide with surprise. "Surely it's not that doe-eyed little co-ed that you had at your side? Evan, I never thought you'd be the type to indulge in such a fashion." "There's nothing going on between us," I said, now feeling a little perturbed. "And there's nothing going on between you and me, either.” I thought the matter over a little more. “You know what? It's been lovely talking to you, Elizabeth, but I think I'd like a little time alone now." Elizabeth's mouth dropped open a bit, her red lips in a slight O of surprise, her arms crossed over her chest. "Well," she said, standing up, "I'll give you all the peace and quiet you need; you're not the only eligible bachelor here tonight, you know. Have a wonderful evening." With that, she darted away from the table and back inside, leaving me to just what the hell had happened, and why. I sat for a moment trying to sort out my thoughts, finishing my beer and enjoying the solitude. After a time, I went back into the bar to look

for Roxanne. Scanning the packed room, I spotted her at a small, secluded booth with Sam, one of the other interns from the site. To my chagrin, my heart sank a bit when I saw that there was some mild flirtatiousness happening between them. But I put these thoughts aside as I went for another drink, remembering that anything happening between her and I wasn't a good idea. But when I returned with my drink, I saw a different scene when I glanced over at Roxanne. Sam seemed to now be in her personal space, getting closer than it appeared Roxanne was wanting. I saw his hand fall on her thigh, Roxanne moving it right away, only for him to put it right back, his fingers crawling down to the hem of her skirt. Roxanne's face was now one of fear and anger, and it was clear that Sam was taking things further than Roxanne wanted. Setting my beer on the bar, I marched over to the booth. "Everything good over here?" I asked, looking down at the pair. Roxanne looked away, as though in shame. "Yeah, Professor McCall," said Sam, his voice slurring. "Just havin' a relaxing night, you know?" But his dopey, drunk-eyed expression was a stark contrast to Roxanne tight, fearful face. It was clear what was happening. "I think it's time to call it a night, Sam," I said,

reaching down to grab his arm. To my shock, he jerked his arm away. "Hey, don't fuckin' touch me," he said. "I saw her first." Now his face was hardened in the way that only a stupid drunk boy's could get. "Last chance to come to your senses, Sam," I said, glaring down at the kid. "Fuck off," he said, his tone both edged and slurred. "As you like it," I said. Reaching down and grabbing hard onto his upper arm, I yanked him out of the booth and dragged him across the bar, the eyes of everyone nearby on us. Sam struggled, but his strength was no match for mine. I approached Professor Lincoln Sharpe, the head of Sam's team. "I think one of your students is getting a little out of line," I said, looking into the Professor's aged face. "He's makin' shit up," said Sam. "He's jealous." Professor Sharpe shook his head, as though not surprised by Sam's behavior. "I think it's time we got you back to the hotel, Samuel," the professor said. "Apologies for my student; it won't happen again. I let the professor know that all was good before turning my attention back to Roxanne. Grabbing my beer from the bar, I slid back into the

booth where she still sat. She was a little shaken up, but as she calmed down the more I sat with her. "You OK?" I asked. "Yeah," she said, shaking off the last drops of her stress. "He seemed like a nice dude at first, but the more he drank, the worse he got." "That's college guys for you," I said, realizing as soon as I said the words that I was trash-talking guys like Sam as compared to, well, guys like me. Roxanne threw back the last few sips of her drink and stood up from the booth. "You care if we go for a walk?" she asked. "I don't mean to be a buzzkill, but I think I'm about ready to get out of here. For a little while, at least." "Sure," I said, a walk sounding good to me. I guzzled down the last third of my beer and stood up. After saying my goodbyes to the rest of the team, I walked out to the back porch with Roxanne, then down the stairs that led to a wide alley between the buildings. It was a nice path, the ground paved with cobblestones and lit with soft, orange lighting, almost like an alleyway from a century ago. Our steps echoed down the alley as we walked, the evening air clear and warm. "You know, I could've stuck up for myself," said Roxanne, her voice taking on an edge. "Oh really?" I said. "You know, I'm responsible for you here, and I can't really take any chances

when it comes to you being pawed at by idiot drunk kids." She stopped in her tracks. "Well, you didn't need to step in like you were my dad or something. He was being an idiot, but you didn't need to make a scene." "I ended a scene before one started. And you didn't seem to be handling the situation so hot on your own. Besides, did you really expect me to just stand there and watch?" "I don't know; you seemed pretty interested in that blonde British girl," she said, rolling her eyes. "Please," I said. "You're acting like a child." "Well, I'm not a child; I'm an adult capable of making my own decisions and handing myself." "Then you've got a really funny way of showing it." Roxanne opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, she clenched her hands into fists and stomped a foot on the ground. I knew that she was just throwing a little bit of a tantrum over me bailing her, a grown adult, out of a situation like that, so I was fine with letting her get it out of her system. But as she stood there, I examined my own motivations for why I did what I did. Sure, I was responsible for her in the most technical sense, but there was more to it than that. I felt protective over Roxanne, like it was my duty to keep her safe in a

more meaningful way. Then a felt a small pang in my heart, like a tugging. This feeling signaled a realization to me, a truth breaking loose and making itself known: I was jealous. I hated the idea of that little twerp putting his hands on Roxanne. Looking down at her in that alley, at her small frame before me, at her big green eyes staring at me with some strange mixture of anger and passion, I knew what I had to do. Slipping my hand behind her head, placing my palm on the cool, delicate skin of her neck, I leaned in and kissed her. The kiss seemed odd at first, as though I had simply leaned in to give her a hug and a slight slip placed my lips on hers. Our bodies stiffened, and neither of us seemed to know what to do with our hands. But soon we found our pace. My kiss was chaste at first, but soon I allowed myself to fall into it, to place my hands on the curves of her hips, to allow one hand to move around her back and to come to a rest on the top of her backside. Soon, my blood began to race, and our grips on one another became more firm. My hand moved from the small of her back to her rear, and our lips parted as our tongues sought one another's. We began to kiss harder, the passion that had been building for the last several weeks breaking through like the water finally crashing through the small crack in a dam. I pushed her back against the wall

of the alley, her arms spreading up and over her head, her hands searching over my body. I did the same with mine, allowing my touch to move over the curves that had been enticing me ever since I saw her that night in her towel. Her hands then made their way up my shirt, the soft touch of her fingertips dancing along my stomach as they moved up and up. Roxanne then became bold, her right hand moving along my waist, then down to the front of my pants, where an erection was already straining against the fabric. She moved her fingers over the bulge, teasing me, shivers running up my spine as she did. I returned the favor, moving my own hands up her shirt over her flat, smooth stomach, up towards the hard bottom border of her bra. The other moved down between her legs then up towards her sex, the side of my hand rubbing her through her jeans. I couldn't help myself. I wanted more and more andThe sound of footsteps down the alley from the direction of the bar broke us apart. We ceased our kiss, and continued the walk that had been interrupted. Without a word, we made our way down the alley, a faint fog having gathered, surrounding our illicit passion like the haze of a dream.

13

I

couldn't believe what had happened; I'd just made out with my professor. Our kiss was broken up by someone coming, but who knows what would've happened if no one had bothered us. We walked down the rest of the alley, neither of us saying a word. I didn't know how to react, or what to think. Part of me was mortified that we'd done what we'd just done, the other part wanted to get to the car, climb in the back, and finish what we'd started. But right now, I didn't know what to say. We reached the end of the alley, which brought us out to a road that ran perpendicular to the one where we were parked. I glanced around at the quaint buildings that lined the streets, the shops and apartments packed along both sides of the roads. It

was quiet on the street, hardly anyone around except for us; it was almost like we had the entire city to ourselves. By the time we reached the car, we still hadn't said a single word to one another. My blood was racing; I was shocked by the kiss, but as soon as I'd overcome the surprise I was more than happy to indulge in it. And as we stepped into the enclosed space of the interior of the car and pulled the doors shut, I secretly hoped that Evan would pull me close and kiss me hard again. But he didn't he put the keys in the ignition, turned on the car, and pulled out onto the main road. "You sure you're OK to drive?" I asked. I yelled at myself internally for the question as soon as the left my mouth. Mommying him? Really? I thought, shaking my head. "I'm fine," he said. I shut right up after that. We made our way back to the winding road that led to our cottage, and I turned back as we drove, taking one last look at the city at night behind us. I was looking forward to getting back to the States, but this place did have a certain charm. Like the kind of place you could move to after you retired, where you'd get to know all the locals, spend your evenings at the pub, and the days with your

husband, the professor that you fell for here so many years ago… I snapped myself out of this fantasy, not believing that I'd be so dumb and childish as to fantasize like that about my professor. I felt like a little girl having her first crush on some cute English teacher at middle school, writing my initials and his in the middle of little hearts in my notebook. I turned my attention to the passing road, watching the landscape through the window, my head still swimming from the beer. Soon, we arrived at the cottage. "I had a nice night," said Evan, the car parked and the engine off. "Yeah," I said, my voice warm. Then, we sat in silence for a moment, the air in the car still and quiet. I didn't know what he was going to do. Instead of the kiss I was hoping for, however, he simply got out of the car and made his way back to the house. Disappointed, I followed him. "The flight's not until noon tomorrow, so you don't have to get up all that early," he said. "But I'm gonna hit the hay now. Good night." With that, he went upstairs to his room, leaving me alone at the foot of the tall set of stairs. I didn't know what else to do, so I went to my room and looked over my luggage for the tenth time,

confirming that everything was there. Once I did, I stripped down to my underwear and lay down on the bed. I thought I was too wired, too keyed up to fall asleep, but I was out just as soon as my head touched the pillow. My dream was so similar to what had happened over the course of the evening that my first sensation was a bizarre feeling of déjà vu. I was back in the alley, that little road between the buildings behind the pub. First, I was alone, confused, and unsure of how I got there. I looked around, but not a soul was to be seen. Then, when I made one last frantic turn, now sure that I was by myself, I came face-to-face with Evan. He stood still in front of me, his blue eyes luminous and bright even in the dark, his coal black hair wet and slicked back, and his lips full and sensual. But instead of his fashionable-butprofessional outfit that had on last evening, he was wearing a black dress shirt with the buttons unbuttoned low, showing off the toned, muscular torso that I had seen when he was wearing his towel. He reached out for me, and I eagerly ran into his embrace. Holding me, he looked down, deep into my eyes, and I felt as though he was casting some spell on me; I was totally transfixed by his beauty. Then, he leaned in and kissed me. Unlike the

kiss in real life, this one had none of the surprise; it was passionate and deep right from the start. We kissed hard, our tongues slipping into each other's mouths, his taste strong and intoxicating. He moved his lips away from mine, kissing up and down the side of my neck, his hands undoing my top and pulling it off over my shoulders. I did the same, taking off his shirt and running my hands over his hard, toned body. Soon, we were both naked, and I stood before him, his eyes on my body with a hunger that was seemed almost animalistic. My own gaze moved down to his cock, which was long, thick, and hard. He then pounced on me, moving his arms under my hips and lifting me by my ass. I wrapped my legs around his hips as he kissed me once more. Evan pushed my back against the wall, the brick cool and hard on my back. My eyes moving down, I saw his cock right near my sex, and I wanted nothing more than for him to shove it deep into me. As if reading my mind, he took his cock by the base, positioned it right near my opening, and… The alarm on my phone brought me back to the waking world. Looking around, I saw that it was daylight, the dream now a fading memory in my mind.

14

W

hen I dropped Roxanne back at her apartment, I wanted to bang my head against the steering wheel of my car. I still couldn't believe that I'd been so stupid, so careless, so unprofessional as to kiss the student who I had been trusted to look after during our trip. I felt like a predator that got Roxanne drunk, only to take advantage of her. I knew this wasn't true, and that she was clearly just as into what was going on as I was, but I couldn't help feel as though I'd committed some sort off grave trespass. Watching her walked up to the front doors of her apartment building, however, a throwing a smile and a wave over her shoulder as she did, made me want nothing more than to run up to her, lift her off of her feet, take her to bedroom and ravish her. But I couldn't. There were professional

considerations at play, and though it seemed she was more than happy to have my attention, one of us had to be the adult in this situation. Besides, now that Roxanne was gone, all I wanted to do was speed home and see Darla. I couldn't believe it had been so long since I'd seen her; I was beginning to feel like an absentee father. Sure, we'd talked nearly every night on face time, but it was a pale imitation of being there with her. I made the drive, my heart racing with excitement to see my daughter again. When I pulled up to the house, I was greeted by my sister Annie waiting for me, Darla at her side. As soon as I parked and stepped out of the car, Darla ran towards me, a big smile on her face. "Daddy!" she yelled, her face bright, her arms outstretched. "There she is!" I said, scooping her up off of the ground and holding her tight. It was indescribable how I felt as she wrapped her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek. Being away from her had felt as though I'd had a part of me ripped out. "Good to see the Evan McCall fan club reunited," Annie said, walking towards us. "Oh?" I said, setting Darla down. "That girl is crazy about you," said, Annie, giving me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. "'Dad this' and ‘Dad that;' especially in these last few days.

She's a great kid, though." "She has her moments," I said, mussing Darla's hair. Annie flashed me a smile as we walked back into the house. A computer programmer who worked remotely, Annie was lucky enough to be able to not be tied down to an office, giving her the freedom to visit friends and family wherever and whenever she wished. And as she was still single, she wasn't tied down with any obligations, which made her the perfect choice to watch Darla whenever I had to leave town for a week or two. "How was the trip?" she asked, pouring me a cup of coffee as I sat down at the dining room table. "Good," I said, the image of Roxanne's eyes looking up at me just before I kissed her invading my thoughts. "Got a lot of work done, maybe even enough for another book." Annie and I chatted over coffee for a while, Darla sitting on my lap as the adults talked. After a welcome back dinner out later that evening, Annie stayed over one more night before heading back out in the morning. The next day, once I was refreshed from a good night's sleep, I hunkered down in my office and began the process of looking over the copious notes and chapter drafts that I'd done during the trip. Sure enough, the more I looked over things, the more I

realized that there was going to be more than enough information here for a book. Sifting through the papers, the chapter that Roxanne had written with me caught my eye. I looked it over, realizing that it was good- very good. A few tweaks here and there and it would make a fine addition to the book that I was putting together in my head. But not wanting to revisit the issue of her and me, I set the chapter aside for the time being. The next week flew by, spent nearly evenly split between time with Darla and time on the material, with a little prep for the semester ahead mixed in. The summer had already passed, and the fall semester was now staring me in the face, demanding my time and attention. But there was still too much work to be done if I was going to get the material from the trip together into at least the skeleton of a book. Finally, I had to accept the fact that was right in front of me: the only way that I would get the work done that I wanted was to have the help of an assistant. And there was only one person who was as familiar with the material as me. Sighing, I pulled open my email, typed up a brief missive to send to Roxanne, keeping it as professional as possible, and fired it off. I had a response an hour later, letting me know that she was happy to help. I responded, asking her to meet

me at the library later that day where we could go over the material. Once the plan was set, I sat back in my seat, shaking my head at the mess that I had gotten myself into. Sure, Roxanne didn't seem too put off by what had happened, but I had been hoping to put some distance between the two of us, letting things cool off before we saw each other once again. As much as I wanted her, I knew that the best thing for her would be to let her attention get taken up by some other guy, the memory of her kiss with her professor simply slipping into her memory. Little did I know, it wouldn't be that easy. Nothing ever is.

15

I

gave my outfit a once-over in the full-length mirror in my apartment, still not sure if the tight black skirt and equally-tight blouse that I was wearing was too much for my meet-up with Evan tonight. I decided to pair the out ensemble with some casual flats to not look I was trying too hard to seduce him. Which is exactly what I had in mind. I always knew that I'd know without a doubt when I was ready to lose my virginity, and I was certain Evan was the man I wanted to lose it to. Ever since that kiss in the back alley in Europe, I couldn't get Evan out of my head. I tried to put it all past me, to just write it off as a simple little drunken thing that wasn't ever going to happen again, but I just couldn't The dreams that I'd been having had only grown more intense, more real.

Last night, I dreamt of him pouncing on me in that back alley, pulling my pants down, turning me around, and having his way with me in the most aggressive manner imaginable. Waking up in the morning, I was more aroused that I'd ever been in my life. It was then that I realized that there was no way I'd be able to ignore the attraction I felt for him; I had to act on it. I'd been worried that he'd been thinking the same thing, that he thought he'd just put as much distance between him and me as possible and hope the whole thing would just blow over. Knowing what I knew about Evan, he seemed to be more likely to be able to control himself. But this just made the whole issue with the meeting tonight more confusing. Did he really just intend to meet up to go over the information from our trip? Or did he have something more in mind? Either way, I was going to push things in my favor as much as I could. Hence, the sexy outfit. My plan was to strike as careful a balance between "professional" and "sexy" as I could, and as I took one last glance at the way the skirt hugged every inch of my butt, I was sure I'd done the job. Taking a deep breath, my bag full of notes in hand, I stepped out the door. Soon after, I'd arrived at the library. Evan told me that he'd rented out a private conference room, and I had the number on hand. The library was

quiet and sparsely populated, the only students there a smattering of overachievers looking to get a head start on the reading for the upcoming fall semester. I made my way to the meeting room, my heart racing at what the night would hold. I gave the door a slight rap and stepped inside. "Hey," said Evan, glancing up from the notes that were spread out on the table before him. "Welcome." He stood up, giving me a quick, chaste hug. "Good to see you," I said, my words struggling to come out. "Likewise," he said. "Have a seat." The room was small, the walls a light brown and the floor a matching tile. There was a wide, rectangular window that looked out onto a stretch of lawn next to the campus, the night sky now inkblack, a silver sliver of moon hanging above. "So…" said Evan, taking his seat. "You ready to get into this?" I was. I really was. "Sure!" I said I think he intended for me to take the seat across from him, but I wasn't taking any chances with getting this thing right. So, I slid into the chair right next to him. He seemed a little surprised by this but said nothing. "Like I said, I was hoping we could coordinate some of our notes; I reread the chapter you worked

on, and it was great. I think your voice would be a great addition to the rest of the book." "Thanks," I said, blushing. "And depending on how much you're willing to work with me on this, there might even be a coauthorship in it for you." This was almost as thrilling as the idea of kissing Evan again. So, we went to work. I knew that I wasn't the most skilled flirter, but I did my best. I bit my lip as he talked to me, I laughed at his smart-ass jokes, and I played with my hair, twirling it around my finger. I even found myself playing with the end of my pen with my mouth as I looked at him. But nothing seemed to work; he didn't seem interested. Did he really want to put the idea of him and I behind him? Finally, I decided that it was time for a drastic measure, do or die. As he read aloud a page of his notes, I reached over to him, grabbing his thigh. "What're you doing?" he asked, his eyes on my hand. "You know," I said, my voice coming out heavy with arousal. "That's…not a good idea," he said. But he didn't move my hand. "I disagree," I said. "I think it's a great idea." "You're just a student," he said. "You don't know what you're doing."

"That's where you're wrong," I said, moving my hand up his leg. "I know exactly what I'm doing." That did it. His eyes locked onto mine, Evan moved towards me, putting his lips on mine. It was the kiss that it'd been thinking about non-stop for the last week. The kiss was hesitant at first, as though he were trying to talk himself out of kissing me with his lips on mine, but it became more confident, more hungered the longer it went on. My breath was sharp through my nostrils as Evan kissed me, his hands exploring my body, moving over every curve. My hands went to his shirt, sliding underneath and moving over his body. His skin felt so goddamn good against my hands; I wanted nothing more than for this body to be on me, to be pressed against mine. I pulled Evan's shirt off over his head, and he did he did the same to me, unfastening my buttons and removing my shirt, revealing the black, lacy bra that I was wearing underneath. His hands moved eagerly over my breasts, squeezing them softly before undoing the clasp of my bra, my breasts tumbling out. He then turned his attention to my nipples, kissing and licking them, the pink skin turning hard in his mouth. "God, you're so gorgeous," he said, bringing his lips back up to mine. It was like I'd unleashed something; Evan seemed to be overflowing with passion for me. And

that was just what I wanted. He pulled me up out of the chair, pushed the notes off of the table with a sweep of his arm, and laid me on my back. Evan unzipped my skirt and pulled it off, leaving me wearing nothing but my matching black panties. "Be gentle," I said. "What do you mean?" Evan asked, stopping what he was doing. "Um, I'm…" "No way," said Evan, evidently knowing exactly what I was going to say. "Is that so surprising?" I asked. "Yes, I mean, well, it's not exactly common for girls your age." A silence hung in the air. "You're sure you want to do this?" he asked. "Surer than I've ever been of anything." That was all Evan need to hear to get right back to it. Slipping his fingers under the waistband of my panties, he pulled them down, leaving me totally nude. He leaned in close to me, kissing my neck as his hand slid down my stomach, coming to a rest between my thighs. I wanted him inside of me more than anything, but I knew that since it was my first time I needed to take it slow. He knew this too. Slowly, Evan slipped a finger inside of me, my arousal easing his entrance. I gasped, never before having had even a man's

finger inside of me. Evan was careful, moving his finger in and out, allowing me to get accustomed to the feeling of something inside of me. The sensation was strange at first, but soon became very pleasurable. I began to relax, moaning as he moved in and out of me, focusing on the feelings of pleasure, along with the gentle kisses he placed on my neck. Soon, he put a second finger inside of me. This was more to accommodate, but I soon was able to take both digits without too much trouble. The pleasure only increased, and I found myself wondering how good a full, hard cock would be, if this is how good only a couple of fingers felt. He kept at it for a while, his hand working on my pussy, his other moving along my curves, paying special attention to my breast as he continued to kiss me. "I'm ready," I said, my sex feeling wet enough to take him. And he was too. Standing up, he worked the button and zipper of his pants, pulling them down and exposing a massive, hard cock. I gasped when I laid eyes on it; I'd only seen a few penises in person before, and this was far and away the biggest of them. But I was ready for the challenge. He moved his body over mine, his long prick pointing straight at my pussy. Evan then placed the

head of his cock right on the opening of my pussy, and I braced for his entrance. With a slow, full thrust, he moved into me bit-by-bit, giving me time to acclimate to his size. And once he was in me, his cock felt so good that it almost seemed as if it was meant to be in there. "How is that?" he asked "Just…perfect." "I'm not going to lie- it hurt a little. But unlike other first times that I'd heard about from other girls, it felt amazing. It was more pleasure than pain, and I wanted nothing more than for him to keep thrusting inside of me, filling me with his cock. And he was happy to do just that. Leaning over me, he spread my legs, my ankles in his hands. His thrusting had been slow at first, but his pace soon increased, his cock moving in and out of me in just the right way. Moans slipped out of my mouth as he fucked me, my hands moving over my breasts. An orgasm began to build, and I knew that I would soon cum. Evan continued to fuck me, and my eyes stayed fastened on his body, my gaze moving over every inch of his muscular torso as I took sweet pleasure in watching his pecs and abs flex with each thrust. The arousal was growing and growing inside of me, and as he bucked into me, I knew that it wouldn't be long before I came.

"Oh, God," he said, his face tightening with pleasure. "Fuck me harder," I moaned, the pleasure now almost unbearable. Then, the orgasm broke loose, rushing through my body and filling me with white-hot pleasure. My limbs curled up close to me as I came, each thrust driving the ecstasy into me deeper and deeper. The waves coursed through my body, and my eyes shut hard, a whimpering escaping my lips as the orgasm moved through me like a warm, rushing wave. Evan came soon after, his orgasm punctuated by a series of deep full thrusts as he unloaded himself into me. Soon, we were both spent, and he collapsed on top of me, our bodies both slick with sweat. As Evan pulled out of me, I felt the thick warmth of blood, and Evan quickly cleaned me up with a handkerchief he had in his bag. I had finally gotten what I wanted, and I couldn't have been any happier.

16

T

he next few weeks passed in a wild, sexual blur. After the night I took Roxanne's virginity, we became erotically inseparable, sleeping together constantly. Any hesitations that I had about her were quashed as soon as we fucked that first night, and I realized soon that I just wasn't going to be able to get enough of her. But there was the issue of our relationship as student and professor. There was a time, or so I'd been told, when young co-eds like her slept with professors all the time, almost like a rite of passage for students. Nowadays, however, the specter of sexual harassment loomed over such relationships, and any sort of casual fraternization was frowned upon, to say the least. Thankfully, the fact that she was my intern provided cover for our trysts. More than a few

times her and I meet up in my office to "go over notes" late into the evening. I made sure never to come to her apartment, however- it'd be hard to explain something like that, and word traveled fast around campus. And Darla loved her. They'd hit it off ever since the week she'd come to visit us in Europe, and Roxanne was happy to spend time with her. After a few weeks, Roxanne and I had slipped into something of a routine where she'd come over for work, have dinner with Darla and me, followed by intense lovemaking sessions after Darla was put to bed. Then, Roxanne would slip out; we both knew that her being spotting leaving my place would result in a difficult situation for both of us. It was like some wonderful dream. The sex was incredible, but beyond that I was beginning to grow an appreciation for Roxanne. She was brilliant, for one. I'd known from our class together that she was a strong student, but the book that we'd been working on gave her intellectual abilities a real chance to shine, and I was proud to be able to have someone like her not only as a lover, but as a protégé. The semester started, forcing us to be even more careful about our little affair. Thankfully, it was Roxanne's last semester, and all we need to do was keep things under wraps until she graduated. If we were still together then we could be more open

about our relationship, but until then, it was necessary to not say a word to anyone, or to do anything that might betray what was going on between us. It was difficult seeing her on campus and not being able to say a word for fear of someone watching and figuring things out, but we both knew that it was better to err on the side of caution. The passion only grew as the semester went on, and as the leaves started to change and the temperature began to cool, the sex only heated up. As much of a trial as it was to not tell a soul, I had to admit that the forbidden nature of our affair only served to make it hotter. I was foolish enough to think that it would stay only physical. Eventually, however, the fact that I was starting to develop feelings for Roxanne couldn't be ignored. And it was around this time that the day that we both knew would come arrived- the day that our affair was discovered.

17

I

walked down the long, stately hall towards the Dean's office, wondering what he could possibly want. It was strange to have the dean of the entire school want to speak with a student one-on-one, but I didn't want to come to any preemptive conclusions about what he might've wanted "Excuse me," I said to the secretary, who was a girl my age. "I'm meeting with Dean Prendergast. My name's Roxanne James." A strange look flashed over the girl's face, a raised-eyebrow look that seemed to imply that she knew something about me that I didn't want her to know. As she messaged the dean on the intercom letting him know that I'd arrived, my stomach did a flip- this had to be about me and Evan. "Go ahead," said the girl.

I walked up to the large double doors of dark brown, lacquered wood and rapped on them. "Come in," said a deep voice from within. I took ahold of one of the gold handles and opened the door, revealing a spacious, welldecorated office that looked out onto the quad. The room was dominated by a large dark, Dean Prendergast, a short, middle-aged man with balding brown hair, a tan sweater vest pulled stretched over a full paunch, and a pair of wire-frame spectacles at the edge of a long, thin nose, was sitting on the edge of it. Two high-backed antique chairs faced the desk, and sure enough, in one of them sat Evan, a pensive look on his face. "There you are," said the Dean. "Have a seat." I walked over to the open chair, Evan regarding me with that same pensive expression. Sliding into the chair, I waited for the Dean to speak. "Well, now that you're both here, I think we can begin." The dean shifted in his seat, looking down at both of us with his watery blue eyes. "I'll get right to the point," he said. "It's recently come to my attention that you two have been… fraternizing in a manner that is most definitely against our codes of conduct." "But-" said Evan, cut off by the dean raising his hand. "Let me finish," the dean said. "This is the type

of situation for which we have zero tolerance. For now, we only have a witness, as well as more than a few rumors. But if we look into the matter further and find that you two have been carrying on such an affair, we'll have no choice but to pursue full disciplinary measures, which may result in you being terminated, Professor McCall, and your expulsion, Miss James. That is, unless either of you has anything to say in your defense." I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. We were caught. My stomach felt sick part of me wanted to start crying right then and there. I wondered just who would tattle on us, who would spread these rumors for no other reason other than to gossip. After all, it's not like what Evan and were doing hurt anyone. "Actually," said Evan, "I do have something to say in my defense." My eyes shot over to Evan, who seemed to have not been flustered in the slightest by what the dean had just said. "Oh?" asked the dean, his bushy, graying eyebrows raising. "I'll come clean," said Evan, "we are having an affair." What is he doing? I thought, having figured that our best chance of getting out of this situation involved lying about what was going on. "But it's not just a little fling between professor

and student," he continued. "It's something more. Over the course of the summer in Europe, Roxanne and I hit it off, to say the least. To get straight to the point, we fell in love." What? I thought. I mean, feelings had developed, sure, but "love" was going a little far. Although in these few months, I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't been developing feelings. "And, well, I proposed to her a few weeks ago, and she accepted." What?! "However, we were both aware of the school's policy regarding such matters, and agreed to keep our relationship a secret until Roxanne graduates at the end of this semester." My head was swimming at this; I felt dizzy. But to my shock, the dean seemed to be considering the matter. "Miss James, is this true?" he asked me. "Um, yes," I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth. "We're getting married." "Hmm," said the dean. "If you two were simply having an affair, we might have a problem. But in light of this new information, especially since you're going to be graduating, Miss James, I might have to reconsider the matter. You two are dismissed for now; I'll run things by the conduct committee, but as of right now I'm leaning towards letting you both off of the hook."

Evan and I stood up and made our way to the door. "Oh, and one more thing," said the dean. "Congratulations." I rushed from the office, Evan following close behind. I wanted to explode, but I knew that making such a scene on campus would be a very bad idea. "We're engaged?" I demanded when we'd finally gotten to his office. "Good idea, huh?" he said, a boyish smile on his face. "It's a total lie!" "Well, it was either that, or both of us getting booted out of the school." I still didn't feel right about this; it meant that we were caught up in a reality built on a falsehood that could be exposed at any time. And if it were… "Listen," he said, "all this means is that if anyone asks, you say you're engaged. Otherwise, it's business as usual. Then, when you're graduated, we ‘break up', and it'll be like it never happened." I still didn't feel good about the whole thing, but Evan was right- it beat out the alternative. "And you'll have to move in with me for a little while, just so everything looks legit." "Move in with you?" I asked; this seemed almost too much. "Just for the rest of the semester. You can have

one of the spare bedrooms. Think about it- does it really make much sense that a professor would have his fiancée live in some run-down student apartment while the two of them plan their wedding?" He had a point there. But I just nodded, conceding the point. "Then when this whole thing is over, I'll help you get settled in whatever city you want to go to grad school for." I just nodded again; he was right. "And this will be great for the book; we'll be able to work together whenever without having to fly under the radar." "Alright," I said now convinced. "When do we start?"

18

I

couldn't believe the plan that I'd hatched. Sure, it would work if we stuck to it, but a fake marriage? That was a little beyond the pale. But there was no other way. I'd screwed up big time by getting involved in a student, and now Roxanne and I were both going to pay the price by having to partake in a ridiculous charade for the next couple of months. I was right, however, in that if we can just make it through the rest of the semester, we'd be out of the clear. After all, you can't really fault a man for calling of an engagement, can you? That weekend, I hired a team of movers to bring over the contents of Roxanne's tiny apartment. There wasn't much: just a few pieces of Ikea furniture, her clothes, and boxes of books. I couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia as I

looked over her belongings; it reminded me of my own years as an undergrad, eating ramen noodles, buying used books, and studying into the night. "This can be your room," I said, leading Roxanne to one of the guest bedrooms in the house. "Pretty swanky," she said, looking over the high-ceilinged room, the French windows opened up to the long green span of the backyard beyond. "This whole house is a lot more than what I'd expect for a professor." "Oh, really?" I said, raising my eyebrows. "What, you expect me to live in a library or something?" "No," she said, taking a seat on the large fourpost bed, "just that it's pretty big. And nice." "Rosemary, my former fiancée, loved this old Victorian style of house. We'd had our eye on this place ever since I moved here. When I had my first successes with my books, we had enough to buy this place outright, intending to start a family here and put all of this extra space to good use. Things didn't go quite that way, however." Roxanne's expression turned to one of sympathy. "Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories." "Don't worry about it," I said, leaning against the door frame. "None of those memories are bad ones."

I stood in the room, thinking about Rosemary and the time we took our first walk through the house after we'd moved in, talking happily about our plans to have a child for each of the bedrooms. We talked about names, wondering if they'd be boys or girls, imagining what sort of interests and hobbies they'd have. But I shook my head before I became too carried away with my daydreaming. "I almost forgot," I said. I left the room, walking quickly across the wood floor to the study. Once there, I took one of the paintings off of the wall, revealing a safe. Flicking the dial back and forth, I put in the combination and popped the thing open. Among other important documents, I found what I was looking for: a small box of purple velvet. The item in hand, I made my way back to Roxanne's bedroom. "Here," I said, walking towards her with the box. "You'll need this." I handed the box to her and she popped it open, revealing the brilliant, antique engagement ring within. "Wow," said Roxanne, awe in her voice as she looked over the gorgeous, glittering stone. "This is beautiful." "It's an antique," I said, sitting down next to Roxanne. "It belonged to my grandmother; they

don't really make rings like this anymore." "Was this the ring that you gave to your exfiancée?" asked Roxanne, taking her eyes away from the ring and bringing her gaze to mine. "It was." "I don't know if I can wear this," she said. "It's incredible. Too much for someone like me." I put my hand on Roxanne's leg, as if interrupting her. "No," I said. "It's just incredible enough." Her beautiful face softened at this, and a small smile came to her mouth. "Still," she said. "I think a cheap fake from the store would work just as fine." "No, no," I said. "This is all about the ruse. The details have to be perfect." This answer seemed to satisfy her. Taking the ring out of the box, she slipped it on her finger and looked it over, extending her hand out and letting the afternoon light play on the facets. "Well," she said, "even if it's a fake engagement, I never thought I'd wear a ring like this." She was being facetious, but I was still a little disheartened by how keen Roxanne seemed to be on talking down to herself. "There's one rule for staying here," I said. "Oh?" "No badmouthing yourself."

A guilty little smile formed on her mouth. "Sorry," she said. "Just force of habit." "Roxanne, you're a wonderful young woman. You're brilliant, you're beautiful, and you've got an amazing life ahead of you. You deserve anything good that happens to you; don't ever think otherwise." "Thanks," she said, her eyes now on mine. We started at each other for a time, the silence heavy with anticipation. Soon, our lips began to move closer and closer, a crackle of electricity in the air between us. "Daddy!" shouted Darla from downstairs. "Duty calls," I said, both of us pulling away from one another. Roxanne and I headed downstairs where Darla was already shucking off her coat and putting her school belongings away. As soon as Darla laid eyes on Roxanne, she rushed over, wrapping her arms around her legs. "Roxy!" she shouted, clearly pleased to see her. "Hey, kid!" said Roxanne, returning the hug. I watched the display happily. Ever since the week in Europe when Darla came to visit, she'd been asking about Roxanne constantly. She was overjoyed, to say the least, when I told her that Roxanne would be staying with us for a time. "Are you going to live with us forever now?" asked Darla, looking up at Roxanne with wide,

eager eyes. "Um, not forever. But for the rest of the year." Her arms still around Roxanne's legs, Darla turned her attention to me. "Can we get pizza tonight, Dad?" The rest of the day passed with such ease and comfort that it was surprising to think it was the first night Roxanne had been here. She helped Darla with her homework as I worked on class business, then we worked on the book in my study for an hour or so over coffee, going over this detail and that. After that was pizza, which we ate the living room while watching one of Darla's movies, some animated thing about a talking cat. The first winter chill had set in that night, and a warm, roaring fire was set in the fireplace. Soon after, Darla was in bed, and it was just Roxanne and I. We decided to have a glass of wine before heading to bed. "This is a weird arrangement, I have to admit," said Roxanne, sitting on the couch wrapped in blankets, the orange glow of the fire dancing on her face. "But I think it'll work." "I feel the same way," I said, a feeling of contentment creeping into my heart that I hadn't known for many years.

19

A

fter that first night, things took a surprising turn. I mean, I wasn't expecting Evan and I to fall into some kind of wonderful, blissful domestic situation, but I wasn't expecting him to keep his distance the way he had been. "Well, welcome again," said Evan that first night as he finished his glass of wine. "It goes without saying, but make yourself at home." With that, he got up, took his glass to the kitchen, and went to bed. I was left there all alone, not sure of what to do. Was it expected that I'd sleep in his bed with him? Just how real was this fake relationship going to be? I considered these questions as I sat in front of the fire, which was now a smoldering pile of embers. I spun my ring on my finger and bit my lip.

Finally, I decided to just go to my new bedroom, where I had a restless sleep. In the morning, Evan prepared a nice breakfast of French toast for Darla and me before heading into his office to work on material for the majority of the day. "Can we go to the park?" asked Darla as she stood by the window, her eyes on the red and orange leaves that fell from the tall oak trees in the front yards. "Sure," I said. "Then to the pet store to look at cats?" she asked, turning back towards me with an excited expression on her face. "I don't see why not, little lady," I said. So that's how we passed the day. Luckily, I'd made the decision to get all of my hard classes out of the way in my first few years at school, so now all that remained were easy-peasy intro classes that weren't too demanding, giving me plenty of time to relax and spend time with Darla. We went off to the park, where Darla stomped and played in whatever leaves she could find, and afterward we went to the pet store, where she happily played with every single kitten that was there. Afterwards, we decided to grab some sandwiches at one of the local cafes where students went to study. As soon as we walked in, however, I felt the heat of many pairs of eyes on me. Chalking

it up to my paranoia, Darla and I went to the counter to order our food. In the kitchen, I spotted a girl that I'd had an English literature class with last semester. She looked at me sneakily before whispering something to one of the other cooks. Once Darla and I got our food and started a search for an open table, I realized that the staring that I'd been imagining was not at all in my head. The students in the place were all stealing glances, taking quick peeks and whispering to one another. My skin felt hot and my stomach felt tight. I knew that they could only be talking about one thing. Darla, of course, was oblivious to all of this. Happily munching on her sandwich, she recounted the cats she'd played with, constructing a list of cuteness. "That's her," one of the students whispered. "That's the girl that fucked Professor McCall," said another. "That's her?" said a girl. "I wasn't expecting her to look like that." I could barely take it. My food sitting untouched in front of me, I was overcome with the urge to leave. "Hey kid, what do you think of taking off?" "Fine," said Darla. "I only have the crusts left anyway, and they're gross." We hurried out of the place and headed back

home. After putting on a movie for Darla, I sat down at the kitchen table and thought worriedly about my circumstance. I wanted to talk to Evan, but he ended up being distant that entire weekend. The next week, my first back on campus since moving in, was just as bad. Students gossiped everywhere I went, and the few friends I had one campus were avoiding me so they wouldn't get caught up in what was going on with me. And every night I'd come home to Evan being distant. Whenever he'd talk to me it would be in the tone of a professor speaking with a student in office hours who was asking him for clarification on one of the subjects covered in class. The warmth between us seemed to have vanished, and I didn't understand why. My time with Darla ended up being one of the only happy points of staying at Evan's. A few days into the week, I found myself tossing and turning in bed, restless and unable to sleep. I wondered just what I'd gotten into, and if it was something that I'd even be able to bear.

20

T

wo weeks passed just like that. The end of the semester was already approaching. Roxanne had been a welcome addition to the household, and I was pleased that she was spending so much time with Darla. The little girl had been in desperate need of a mother figure, and I was happy to see that Roxanne could fill that role, at least for a time, The gossip at school, on the other hand, was beginning to become intolerable. Every professor seemed to have a smart-ass comment for me about robbing the cradle, and a flyer that someone had made and placed on the notice board in one of the break rooms that stated that I was the new professor in charge of freshman "orientation" only served to make things worse. All I could do was see the see the semester through, break things off with

Roxanne, and hope that I might be able to salvage my career here at this university. So I just grit my teeth, knowing that the faculty would find new things to talk about as soon as this situation with Roxanne was over and done with. But there was a little problem with that: I didn't want this situation to end. It was killing me to keep so much distance between her and me. Having her around constantly was so difficult, and it was taking all the restraint I had to keep the situation professional. I could just imagine what would happen if one of us slipped up and kissed the other on campus or, God forbid, we were caught en flagrante somewhere on campus. The scandal and gossip would never end; I'd be forced to work somewhere else. One Saturday night at the office, however, the…pressure became too much to bear. I was in the process of going over some of the chapter drafts for the book, pleased with how the work was shaping up. With Roxanne's contributions, the progress on the book was proceeding at a fantastic pace, and there was a chance the first manuscript could even be finished before the year ended. I was overjoyed that I'd be able to put out another book so soon after my last; it would really help with sales. Taking a break and clicking around aimlessly on the internet, I couldn't help but pull up Roxanne's

Facebook page. I clicked through some of her old pictures, laughing to myself about how gawky and awkward she looked in high school, her lovely features having not developed quite just yet. However, as the timeline of pictures went on, the beauty that she currently displayed began to emerge more and more. Soon, at around her sophomore year of college, she was stunning. But it was the kind of beauty that only a late-bloomer could really have, a beauty that wasn't done up with make-up and revealing clothes- a simple, classic beauty. Then, I happened across some pictures of her on vacation at one beach or another. The album was long, and the more I clicked through it, the more aroused I found myself becoming. Roxanne was wearing nothing but a simple two-piece that left very little to the imagination. Her ample breasts, her sensual curves, her full, round ass- they were all on full display. I found myself thinking about the numerous sexual encounters that we'd had over the course of the semester, the images of her bare breasts bouncing as she rode me, the way her ass bounced as I fucked her from behind, how her face tightened into an expression of sensual agony as she came…it was all too much. I was well beyond the point of being able to get any work done. I knew that Darla was away at a play date for

the afternoon, and that Roxanne was likely at the library studying. So, I pulled my jeans down, took out my cock, and with the pictures of Roxanne on my computer, began to masturbate. I worked my cock slowly at first, my eyes glued onto the curves of Roxanne's body, tracking up slowly to her breasts. I clicked through the images, keeping my orgasm at bay as I lusted over her. Then, out of nowhere, footsteps sounded in the hallway, followed by the sound of the door to the office turning. Before I could react, the door opened. "Hey," said Roxanne, stepping into the office, her eyes on a piece of paper in her hands. "I was looking over one of the ch-" She stopped in her tracks, her eyes wide as she saw what she had walked in on. "Umm, umm," she said, frozen in place. I did nothing, still sitting there with my hard cock in my hand. I didn't know what to do- I was busted. "Are you…?" she asked, her eyes tracking over to the computer, widened when she saw what was on the screen. "And that's…!" "It's you," I said, deciding I might as well fess up. To my surprise, she walked over to me and sat down on the edge of the desk, her eyes still on the screen.

"That's me when I was in West Palm Beach two years ago! You're….jerking off to that?" "I couldn't help it," I said. "It's been…uh, well, hard having you here and trying to keep some distance." "'Keep some distance'?" she asked. "That's what you've been trying to do?" "I figured that it'd be a good idea to cool things down, what with the gossip and all." "Well," she said, her eyes glued to my cock. "They're going to talk no matter what." Then, to my shock, she reached down to my prick and wrapped her fingers around it. "If you're going to do the time, you might as well do the crime." Pleasure shuddered through my body as she took hold of me. "Good point," I said with a smile. "Besides, I'd rather have the real thing."

21

I

don't know what came over me. As I sat there with Evan's cock in my hand I felt completely consumed by lust. I must've been the last few weeks of things being cool between us, but I was just about ready to pounce. I stroked his cock at first, continuing the work that he'd begun. Getting down to my knees between his legs, I moved my fingers slowly up his shaft, letting the backs of my nails graze the length of his cock. "Better when someone else does it, huh?" I asked, looking up at him. "You have no idea," he said. His cock was long enough that was able to wrap both hands around him, alternating moving them up and down, paying special attention to the ridge of his penis. I fell into a nice rhythm, stroking him

steadily, taking pleasure in the feeling of how solid his prick felt. I mixed it up by taking his balls into my left hand, squeezing them gently as I worked his cock. Judging by the shudders of pleasure that ran through his body as I did so, I think I was doing something right. Soon, however, I wanted more. I brought my face closer to his cock until my lips were only centimeters away. Then, after dragging my tongue slowly over my lips, I placed a firm, wet kiss on the head of his penis. "Mmm," said Evan, leaning back in his chair, a sensual smile on his face. "You want me to suck you?" I asked, my voice breathy. "God, yes," he said. I was happy to comply. Kissing his cock up and down, I darted my tongue out over him, licking him slowly. Once I had teased him enough, I positioned my head over him, opened my mouth, and took him into my mouth. It was difficult at first; his length was a lot for my mouth. But I soon loosened my throat, letting him slide back until he was fully in me. Evan moaned deeply as I looked up at him with my mouth full of his cock. Slowly, I slid my lips over him until I was at the end of his cock. Forming a tight seal around the head of his prick, I licked him again, dragging my tongue over him, letting

Evan enjoy the warm wetness of my mouth. After this, I began to bob up and down on him faster, the wet sounds of my lips on his cock filling the otherwise quiet study. After a little while of this, I felt Evan's hand slip into my hair and gently guide me up. "I can't take anymore; I need you right now," he said, standing up. Bending down, he placed his arm behind my legs and lifted me up, easily carrying me. I felt a slight thrill at the ease with which he was able to scoop me from the ground, and I eagerly wrapped my arms around his neck as we walked. Soon, we arrived at his master bedroom. He placed me on the bed and began to undress me. My clothes were soon all off, and he stood over me, his eyes lingering on my body. "Much better in person," he said, his lips in a sly smirk. Then he moved on top of me, kissing me hard. Reaching down, he took his cock and slid it into me slowly, the feeling of fullness quickly overtaking me. I gasped as he entered me, my opened mouth soon turning into a sensual smile. "God, I've missed your cock," I said, my voice breathy and warm. But instead of responding, Evan began to fuck me. His pace was steady and sure at first, and as he moved in and out of me his eyes stayed on mine,

looking down at me with a gaze of warm sensuality. There was something to his look, something about the way he moved in me; it was unlike any other sex we'd had. Evan lowered himself down, wrapping his arms around me, bringing me close to his body. I savored the way my skin felt against his, enjoying the warmth and passion that our closeness afforded. I realized that we weren't simply fucking now- we were truly making love for the first time. Orgasm stirred in me, and I was eager to let the ecstasy roar through my body. I could sense by the speed at which Evan was bucking into me and the quickened pace of his breath that he was nearing orgasm as well. "Cum inside me, baby," I said, placing my hands on his firm ass and guiding him into me. "Do it." This was evidently all he needed. With a grunt and a heave, Evan came, unloading himself into me. I moaned as he came, my own orgasm exploding as he pounded me steadily. The pleasure ran through my body, and I could barely stand just how good it felt. Then, Evan collapsed on top of me, taking in slow draws of breath as he recovered. We stayed like that for a long while, Evan staying inside of me as we held each other close, listening to nothing but the sound of one another's breath.

22

I

looked over the email once again, making sure that I was reading it correctly. The letter was from Saint Louis University, a prestigious private college in Saint Louis, only an hour and a half away. Reading it one last time, I confirmed that it was, in fact, a job offer. I was being offered what I'd dreamed about since I began my undergraduate degree: a tenure-track job. They'd gone over my previous work, and my upcoming book was already making waves; the archeology department there was very interested in bringing me on board. This was big- it was a job that might, after a few decades of hard work, result in m being named the head of the department. Perhaps even dean, in time. It was a career-defining job The semester was almost over, and soon Roxanne and I would be parting ways. Standing up

from the computer, I took my coffee cup into my hands as I considered my future. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I was growing accustomed to Roxanne. Our fake marriage arrangement was meant as nothing more than a way to keep the heat off of us until the semester ended, but now that I had another job lined up, there was no need to continue the charade once the year ended. I'd be in Saint Louis, and she'd be off to whatever graduate school she wanted. And this thought seemed to cause me nothing but pain. I scolded myself for getting into this position, for falling so hard for a student who was almost a decade younger than me. I deserved some kind of consequence, some kind of punishment for doing something so foolhardy. But instead, I was being rewarded. All I needed to do was to tell Roxanne that this was all soon to end. But I had time before I needed to respond to the job offer, but I needed to talk to Roxanne about it now. Heading into the living room, I came upon Roxanne and Darla sitting together on the couch, watching the same cat cartoon that Darla had been obsessed with. "Want to join us?" asked Roxanne with a smile on her face, knowing that I had taken just about as much of cat cartoons as I possibly could. "It's just

started." "Come with me to the kitchen for a minute," I said. Roxanne crinkled her brow and got up, following me into the other room. She took a seat at the kitchen island and I sat next to her. "I just had a recent development that I think you ought to know about," I said. "Oh?" "Well, I just got an offer for another job.' "Another job?" she asked. "You mean, not in Columbia?" "That's exactly what I mean. It'd be in Saint Louis." I then told her all of the details. "But this is good for you," I said. "It means that you'll be able to stay here and continue your studies without having this whole issue to deal with." "This ‘issue'?" asked Roxanne, her eyes narrowing in anger. "That's all you think this is?" "I mean, I have a certain fondness for you, sure, but this can't go any further than it already has. You're a young girl, you should be with someone your own age. Not to mention that as long as we stay together this scandal will follow us everywhere we go." Roxanne was speechless. And I was getting there, too. I had more than a "fondness" for Roxanne, but I knew that this little arrangement

that she and I had wasn't meant to be. Or was it? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't having second thoughts. I knew I had to stay strong, however; what other option did I have? Marry her?" Roxanne said nothing, tears forming in her eyes. Finally, after a time, she spoke. "I don't know…I thought that…I don't know." I reached over and placed my hand on hers. "It's tough, I know, but it'll be for the best. You don't need the kind of stress that this relationship would bring." A tear streaked down her lovely face, and I quickly fetched a napkin and handed it to her. "Well, when do I leave?" she asked. "When the semester's over at the end of the month. I'll pay for you to move back into your apartment, and Darla and I can get ready to move. And if anyone asks about you and me, we can just say that things didn't work out." "But they are working out," she said. These words cut me right to the quick. It's true that my time with Roxanne had been some of the happiest in a long time. But I needed to be strong for the both of us. I sighed. "And the manuscript for the book is just about done. Think of grad school- with that on your CV you'll be able to go wherever you want." "I don't want to go anywhere else!" she said,

standing up. "You don't get it!" She shoved her hand into mine, and that was the end of the conversation. When I looked down at my hands, I saw that’d she’d removed the engagement ring and given it back to me. I looked over it for a time, a heavy sadness forming in my heart. Roxanne said not another word to me the rest of the day, instead studying and getting her things together. I suppose that she wanted to be ready to leave as soon as possible. The rest of the semester passed by in a blur. The manuscript was sent off, and the publisher was in love with what I had. A publication date was set for the spring and, just as I'd promised, Roxanne's name was on the cover as a co-author. I told Darla about our new plans for St. Louis and the first question out of her mouth was if Roxanne was going to come or not. When I told her no, Darla was beside herself. Soon, the end of the month arrived, and Roxanne was moved back into her apartment. Her parting with me was cold and swift, but her parting with Darla was anything but. The two girls cried many tears, and only with a stern command was I able to have Darla let go of Roxanne. I watched Roxanne leave with a sadness of my own, not knowing if I was doing the right thing, but certain that there was nothing I could do about it.

23

T

he first day back at my old apartment was one of the hardest nights of my life. It wasn't just that was I back in small, cramped little place as compared to Evan's home, it was that I was by myself. Over the last few months, I'd come to love Evan and Darla, and even though I didn't realize it at the time, I was starting to think of them as my family. It was a strange arrangement, a fake marriage and all, but it was, in its own strange way, beginning to feel real. I found myself rubbing the area on my finger where the ring once was, my heart aching for Evan. I spent the next few days applying to graduate schools, my only real criteria being to get as far away from this school as possible. I sent off applications to Yale, to Harvard, to Penn State- any place that I thought might hold promise of a good

scholarship. And I heard back from all of them. Evidently, word had gotten around in the archeology word of Evan McCall's new book, and everyone in the know wanted to find out about who this unknown girl was whose name was going to be on the cover. It appeared that I had my pick of schools. But there was only one that I wanted to go tothe school where Evan was. I knew that he was right, that the circumstances around our relationship would mean that drama would follow us wherever we went; I was lucky that he was still fine with my name being on the book. But still, I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if we just took a chance and tried to make things work. And it's not as though I was hoping he'd marry me, even though that was something that I had often found myself fantasizing about. I just wanted to be with Evan and Darla. Little did I know that everything would change one winter night. It was the day before I was set to move out of the apartment. I'd decided on Yale, having heard good things about their archeology department during my time in Europe. My things were all packed up, and I was ready to head out the next day. I'd done all the crying I thought I needed to do, and I was ready to move on to the next phase in my life.

Sitting among the boxes, my just-delivered degree sitting on the coffee in front of me, I was enjoying a cup of coffee and deciding just how to spend my last night in town. I figured that I should do something fun, but really, I just wanted to crash early and get on the road in the morning. But a rapping at the door commanded my attention. Hesitantly, I walked towards the door. I wasn't expecting any company and was curious who'd be showing up at this time in the evening. Opening the door, I was greeted by none other than Professor Evan McCall, Ph.D. Wrapped in a black pea coat, a knit cap on his head, he stood among the falling snow. "Hi, Roxanne," he said, his voice warm. "Mind if I come in?" "Sure,' I said, my eyes wide, my mouth gaping open. "And me too!" said Darla, stepping out from behind Evan, waving her hands theatrically. "Of course," I said. "Come in from the cold." The two stepped into my home, and I couldn't believe that I was really seeing them. Darla kicked off her shoes and plopped onto my couch, making herself home right away. I helped Evan out of his coat, and he took a seat next to Darla. "Umm," I said. "It's good to see you both, but shouldn't you be in St. Louis?"

"Well," said Evan, "that's why I'm here." Darla looked up at Evan, a big smile on her face as if knowing what he was going to say. "I thought that the best thing for both of us was to simply leave our relationship behind, to get a fresh start. But as soon as you left, and as soon as I got on the road without you, I knew that I'd made a big mistake. I've made a decision, and that's what I want you to come live me. I want you to come to our my new home, to start a life together." Then he reached into his pocket and withdrew the ring that I'd given back to him. "And I'd like you to marry me. For real." Tears welled in my eyes. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, and what I was hearing. "Just say yes!" said Darla, bouncing in her seat. "Yes," I said. "There's nothing I'd want more." Evan then placed the ring on my finger, put his finger under my chin, and placed a gentle kiss on my lips. "I love you, Roxanne James," he said, his voice warm. "And I love you too, Evan McCall."

THE NEXT TWO months flew by. After Evan arrived, I sent a letter to Yale, letting them know that I

wouldn't be attending graduate school there. Instead, I'd be going to St. Louis with Evan and Darla, to study archeology under my new fiancée. We bought a beautiful house near the park, and quickly settled into our new life together. The book was published and was a smashing success. So successful, in fact, that the publisher was already clamoring to have the famous team of Evan and Roxanne McCall put out another book. That is, once the wedding had taken place that summer. We were already getting a reputation as the potentially the new Louis and Mary Leakey, a husband-andwife team that made major discoveries in the world of archeology. When the summer came, Evan and I were wed. Darla and Noodle, her tabby cat that she'd finally managed to talk Evan and I into, serving as an adorable ring bearing team. And as Evan and I kissed, our future stretching out before us, I couldn't help but think how wonderfully odd it was that a fake marriage would end up so amazingly real.

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1

L

ucas Reid heard the doorbell from upstairs in his massive bedroom. He rolled his eyes. No matter how many times he told Isabella, his son’s nanny, to just come in, she refused. The next sounds he heard downstairs were Jackson’s pounding feet, then the door opening. Even his housekeeper, Lisa, didn’t bother going with him to see who was there when it was 7:30 a.m. It was always Isabella showing up for work at that time. Lucas finished tying his tie and stood in his floor-length mirror. His pants were perfectly pressed—thanks to Lisa. His shirt crisp—again, Lisa. His tie was impeccably tied and he gave himself a nod of approval before slipping on his shoes and heading downstairs. Isabella and Jackson were playing in the living

room. He could smell coffee and eggs coming from the kitchen. He walked past the living room and stuck his head in. “Hey!” he called to them. They hey’d back and waved. Lucas stood at the kitchen island, drinking his coffee, scrolling through the emails that had come during the night. Business deal correspondence, newsletters with the finance information, stock market updates. The usual stuff and nothing too pressing. Reid Technologies was a well-run machine. So well run by his top-dollar employees that only the most important business decisions were up to him. The day-to-day junk was handled by one of thousands of Reid Technologies employees. He scraped some eggs onto a piece of toast and ate them quickly. If he could get in and get done the things he needed to attend to, he could be home early and spend some time with Jackson. They’d been working on throwing a baseball, and it was easier to do it before dark. Lucas went back to the living room and perched on the end of the sectional sofa, listening to Isabella and Jackson play with his toy soldiers. He got up to hug Jackson. Jackson squeezed back for a moment, then tore away to get back to his game. Isabella stood. He usually hugged her, too, but today she nodded toward the door to the garage.

“Can we talk a minute?” “Sure.” She followed him into the six-car garage, and he shut the door behind them. “What’s going on?” His heart rate sped a little. It often did that in her presence, but her wanting to talk had an ominous tone. She wore her usual jeans and t-shirt with her long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, but it always looked so good on her. He longed for her. As he had for years. And, as he had for years, he pretended he had no feelings for her, that she was just his son’s nanny. The fact that she was also his aunt hardly seemed relevant in their daily routine, but that helped to make his feelings even stronger. She wasn’t just some girl. Isabella was family. “I have kind of a favor to ask.” She twisted her mouth to the side and gave him an apologetic look. “Okay.” He chuckled, waiting. But he knew he’d do nearly anything for her. “This Saturday, I have a wedding to go to. I RSVP’d yes for two people, and I was wondering if you’d accompany me?” She squeezed her eyes shut as if waiting for him to be angry. It was an unusual request for many reasons. First, she had a fiancé. Why in the world wouldn’t she take Matthew with her to a wedding? They could get ideas for their own big day. Not that he was looking forward to that at all. But that wasn’t

the only reason. It was her sister, Jackson’s mother. Abigail had died when Jackson was just one, and left the whole family devastated, especially Lucas. Isabella had been there for him from the start, helping with Jackson, and helping him. It was how he’d fallen in love with her over the last five years. She was a lot like Abigail, who he had adored, and she was wonderful with Jackson. She seemed more like a mother to him in a lot of ways, and he was grateful for her presence in their lives. But there was also an unspoken rule between them that they’d never go there. For respect for Abigail and their families, to avoid confusing Jackson, and to avoid getting mixed up themselves, they’d never spent time together alone. And now she wanted him to accompany her on a very public, very romantically charged outing. Him, and not her fiancé. He let his confusion show on his face. “Why aren’t you taking Matthew?” Her hesitant smile faltered. Suddenly, she wore a mask of sadness and her words wavered when she told him, “I ended things with Matthew last night.” He tried not to let his happiness show. She was no longer engaged? The fact that she ended it was better, too. He couldn’t wait to find out why she decided she couldn’t marry that loser. “Last night?” he asked. “Don’t you think it’s too soon to take another man to an event like a

wedding?” “Yes. That’s exactly why I’m asking you. I can play it off like you’re just my brother-in-law, stepping in to help me out.” “Former brother-in-law,” he said. He didn’t want her to keep thinking of him as married to her sister. She shrugged. “Whatever I call you, you’re the best option. There’s no one I’d rather go with anyway.” The idea of sitting with her, walking with her, dancing with her for hours, just the two of them, excited him. He wanted nothing more than to go with her. “A favor. So, you’ll owe me?” He raised an eyebrow playfully. “I’ll be completely indebted to you.” He took out his phone to make sure he had nothing planned. His calendar was clear, but that still didn’t mean he was available. “Did you check with your parents to see if they could watch Jackson?” “Of course.” She’d thought of everything. Grandma and Grandpa would love to have their grandson for the night, anyway. It’d been a few weeks since he was over at their house. “I guess I have no more excuses then,” he said. “What color tie shall I wear?” “Ah! Thank you, thank you!” She bounced on

her toes a few times, then squeezed him in a tight hug. He held her back, inhaling her scent, and not wanting to let go. But like always, the embrace ended quickly. “Who’s wedding is it, anyway?” he asked. “Maybe I should have asked that first.” “Just a friend from college. No one you know. But a lot of people from college will be there, and I just didn’t want to be the only one alone. Bringing a highly eligible, extraordinarily handsome bachelor will make me look very good.” She winked. “You don’t have to flatter me. I already agreed.” “I know, but it’s the truth. Maybe if guys see me with you, it’ll make me more attractive to them. I just might meet the man of my dreams this weekend.” He chuckled, but the idea stuck in his throat. He’d have to watch for that, for any men checking her out. He didn’t want her running off with some new man right away. Not when she’d just become single again. Who knew how long he had to make his move. Should he even make a move? Something inside him said it was a bad idea. For all the reasons that had ever been there and then some. She’d also just gotten out of a very serious relationship. She probably wasn’t ready to date anyone. But when she smiled at him, he wanted

nothing more than to grab her and kiss her and never stop. “I better get to work,” he said. “Oh, right. Thank you so much!” She stood and watched him get into his car. Then, before he backed out of the garage, she called out, “Silver! My dress is silver!” He nodded and pressed the button to close the garage door. He’d wear his charcoal gray Kiton suit, light gray shirt, and favorite silver tie. And he’d make sure to take her a bouquet of the prettiest silver flowers he could purchase. When he got to his office, he called to his assistant, Joe. “Can you order me a bouquet of the finest silver flowers you can find for Saturday?” “Of course, Mr. Reid.”

2

W

hen Saturday arrived, Lisa had his suit pressed and waiting for him. She’d gone to retrieve the painted silver roses. He dressed, loaded Jackson into his new Mercedes, and drove over to pick Isabella up. She was at her parents’ house already. She’d been staying there, sleeping in their guest room, which was painted with cars all over the walls because it was usually referred to as “Jackson’s room.” He pulled into the driveway and got Jackson out of the car with his overnight bag. His former mother-in-law, Michelle, answered the door. “Well, aren’t you a sight!” She pulled him into a hug, then bent to hug and kiss Jackson. “I don’t know who is handsomer.” “He is,” Lucas said and smiled at her. They followed Michelle inside and Jackson

immediately ran to the living room to find his grandfather. Michelle stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up to Isabella that he had arrived. “Wait until you see her,” Michelle said. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen after things with Matthew ended, but if there are any single men there tonight, they might not be single for long.” He forced a smile, but again, the idea of Isabella meeting someone tonight made his stomach turn. He lowered his voice. “What happened there?” She shrugged. “She hasn’t told me much except that she just didn’t love him enough. Maybe she’ll tell you more.” Didn’t love him enough? Interesting reason to give. He supposed it could be true. Perhaps they’d grown apart over the two years they’d been together. He’d try to find out more tonight. When Isabella made her appearance at the top of the stairs, Lucas’s heart almost stopped. She had outdone herself. He hoped the bride was a supermodel, because Isabella looked drop dead gorgeous. She’d steal the show if she wasn’t careful. “Isn’t that poor etiquette?” he asked, holding out his hand to her. “What?” she asked, her glowing smile fading. “To be more beautiful than the bride on her

wedding day.” Isabella rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t worry about that.” “I told Lucas no single man at this wedding stood a chance with you looking like that,” Michelle said. Did that include him, he wondered? Or had they both forgotten he was single? Did they think of him like that, as available? Or did Michelle still think of him as her daughter’s husband? He’d wanted a hundred times to ask her and John, Isabella’s father, if he could date Isabella. If they would be okay with that. But then she’d met Matthew and had gotten engaged and it seemed that was one awkward conversation he could avoid forever. But now, he wondered. It’d been five years. Surely, they would want him to move on, wouldn’t they? But he noticed, in the time it took them to get a few photos, to say goodbye to Jackson and her parents, that though Michelle and John both encouraged Isabella to keep her eyes open for eligible men, they never said a similar thing to him. And Isabella, having just ended an engagement less than week ago? It seemed much to soon for her to be moving on. Yet, it’d been five years for him and they didn’t think he should be looking out for single ladies? It seemed to confirm his suspicions. They didn’t want to see him with someone else. He was sure if he asked, they’d say of course

they wanted him to be happy. They were good people. But their actions showed their true desires. That he would forever love Abigail, and only Abigail, and somehow, that would keep her memory more alive. “The flowers are a nice touch,” Isabella said as he held the car door open for her. “I didn’t know roses came in silver.” “They don’t,” he said, and climbed in to start the car. They drove for a few minutes in silence, Lucas still pondering the situation with her parents. Maybe Isabella would have some insight. “What do you think your parents would do if I started seeing someone?” he asked. She turned to him, a surprised look on her face. “You’re seeing someone?” “I said ‘if.’” “So you’re not seeing someone?” “Not yet. But I noticed they don’t ever ask. They don’t ever offer to fix me up, like so many people like to do to single men who are in their late twenties. I wonder if they secretly want me to stay single forever.” “Why ever would they want that?” she asked. “So they can always think of me as Abigail’s husband. It would be hard to do that if I were with someone else.” “Yeah. I guess it would.” She grew silent and

stared out the window at the afternoon sun. “So, you think that’s it? The don’t really want me to move on?” “I don’t know. I’ve never heard them say anything like that.” “But have you heard them say otherwise? That they wished I would find someone or something along those lines?” “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “I guess not.” He’d been hoping she would reveal to him that the conversations he wasn’t a part of were all about them trying to find someone to set him up with, them hoping he’d meet someone. But it seemed those conversations never took place, and it secured what he’d always dreaded. That they likely wouldn’t be happy if he dated Isabella. It was just another strike against them being together in a long list of things. But it didn’t stop him from wanting her. And when she looked like she did today, he couldn’t stop picturing her in a white dress, walking toward him as Abigail had done so many years ago. That was before he’d become rich. He wished he could have given Abigail her dream wedding. But at the time, he was fresh out of college. He hadn’t started his life in the business world, and he hadn’t found out yet how very good he was at making investment choices. If they were married today, it would be a multi-million-dollar affair. Then, it had

cost less than fifteen thousand. All throughout the ceremony of Isabella’s friend, he pictured both his wedding to Abigail and what it would be like to marry Isabella. They looked similar enough, it wasn’t hard to imagine. He loved them both just as much as well, though he had to admit Abigail had moved backward in his heart. He’d always love her, of course, but Isabella was there every day with him, caring for their son, and his love for her was refreshed all the time, while his love for Abigail was tied only to memory and what he saw of her in their son. Even that, Jackson’s nose and hair color, were the same as Isabella’s. He couldn’t escape this woman beside him, and he didn’t want to. He wanted more of her. He wanted all of her. By the time the reception started in full force, the dance floor filling with couple after couple, he’d decided to take a chance. Sure, there were a hundred reasons why they shouldn’t be together. But they had the best reasons to try. Jackson, for one, would surely benefit from having a steadier mother figure, and who better than his aunt, who loved his mother even more than Lucas had? And, though he didn’t know if she had any feelings for him at all, he thought she could love him. They could be in love and be happy forever. They could make their family complete again. And wasn’t that worth taking the risk?

The hours passed, but Lucas still hadn’t found the right moment. It had to be done just right, he knew, or he could blow it all. He had to be able to read her, gauge her interest level if there was one, and that would take just the right words. “Do you want to step outside?” he asked. They’d been dancing so much that he was getting hot in the stuffy room. “Sure.” She waved her hand in front of her face, showing that she, too, was warm. He took her hand and they strolled along the edge of a curved garden. “Beautiful spot for a wedding.” “It really is,” she said. “I thought I’d be gathering ideas for my own wedding tonight.” “You still can.” “Umm, not if I don’t have a fiancé.” “I’m sure you’ll find someone else and be married one day.” He took in a deep breath, surprised he was feeling so nervous about this. “Do you mind me asking, what happened with Matthew? He didn’t hurt you, did he?” “No, nothing like that. I just realized that I didn’t love him like I should if I was going to spend the rest of my life with him.” The same answer she’d given her mother. Was it the truth, then? “That’s it?” “What better reason do I need?” She chuckled. “Would you want me to marry someone I wasn’t

head over heels for?” “I didn’t want you to marry him at all.” She stopped walking and turned to face him. “Why is that?” Their positioning was now perfect. All he had to do was lean in. “You’re too good for him. And maybe I always sensed that he didn’t light you up. You deserve someone who can really take care of you.” She looked away, staring at the flowers. He wondered what she was thinking. His heart started to race. “You’re so beautiful, Isabella. And so much more. Intelligent and kind, a perfect aunt. You’re going to make a fabulous wife one day.” She looked back at him, meeting the intense look in his eyes with one of her own. They said nothing with words, but their shared gaze spoke a lot. She did want him, he thought. She pulled the edge of her lip into her mouth and held his stare. This was the moment. He took in a slow breath, but had to look away. It was too much. If she turned him down, if he’d been wrong about her interest, it would crush him. But not knowing might crush him worse. He looked at her again, then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He would never think of answering it, but the vibrating pattern was Joe’s, and he would never call now unless it was important.

“Ugg,” he said, taking out his phone. “I’m so sorry. It’s Joe.” She would know what that meant. “Go ahead and take it. I’m going to use the restroom anyway.” She smiled at him and walked away. His heart sank. He’d blown it. “Hey Joe, what’s going on?” Lucas walked a few steps farther from the party to hear better. “So sorry to call you, but I needed a decision on this fast.” “That’s okay. Go ahead.” “The Spencer deal. Another company is moving in. I had our… sources… look into it and they found out what they’re offering them.” “Sources” was their way of discussing the somewhat unethical means they sometimes had to go to in order to get information on business deals. Sometimes it was barely ethical, other times, it was downright illegal what they did. But business was business, and sometimes, ruthless moves were the only option. “Then up ours. Whatever it takes.” “That’s what I thought you’d say. That’s all I needed to know.” He put his phone back in his pocket. It was just enough of a reminder, though. Isabella was sweet and pure. A good person through and through. She wouldn’t be happy about some of his business practices, and he wouldn’t want to put her in a

position to be affected by anything he might do. The people he did business with weren’t always upstanding citizens. He couldn’t drag her into his world, no matter how badly he wanted her. She would make his life better by far. But he could do nothing to improve her life, aside from provide her with a wealthy lifestyle, but she was never interested in his billionaire status. She didn’t need money like he did. She was happy and perfect without it. And by bringing her in, he’d ruin that. He’d corrupt her. And he never wanted her to change.

3

I

sabella stared into her own eyes in the mirror. She took several deep breaths. Okay, she thought, I can do this. Just say the words. It’s not that hard. She let out a sigh and looked down. It was hard. And this was why she’d avoided it for so. Just being with Lucas had her unnerved. They’d never been able to spend time alone together and this wedding was the perfect excuse. Now that they were there, it was everything she’d imagined it would be. Being with him was easy. Nothing like being Matthew. Matthew had required so much thinking all the time. If she didn’t form her words just right and talk to him in a certain way, he’d get frustrated or offended. If she didn’t try to read his mind, he accused her of not knowing him. Lucas was nothing like that. She could talk freely, without thinking about every word first. She could just be

herself. She didn’t even know how she’d managed to be with Matthew as long as she had. Two years had passed without her noticing much. She had agreed to marry him, but it was likely more for the convenience, or the belief that it was just the next step. When months had passed with no real wedding plans taking place, people started to question what was going on. When she’d sat down and pictured her perfect day, Lucas kept popping up. She looked at tuxes, imagining what Lucas would look like in long tails. When she tried to pick out music, she found herself picking songs she knew Lucas liked. Even the location, she remembered thinking that Lucas would love it. And that was the point when she had to stop. She couldn’t marry Matthew. She wasn’t in love with him. She was in love with Lucas. And had been for as long as she could remember. In the moments when she was being brutally honest with herself, she had feelings for him even when Abigail was still alive. Of course, she’d never told anyone or acted on them in any way and never would dream of it. But she’d watched them with a secret jealousy in her heart. When Abigail died, it seemed that her death was the thing that would bring them together. And her being gone meant that she could never be with him. Because it would still

feel like stealing him away. It would disrupt the memory of her sister, and she couldn’t bear that. But as the years passed and she was with Matthew, that thought started to fade. It had been so many years now. Abigail was still alive in their minds and hearts, but Jackson was here, growing up, and he needed a mother. Lucas couldn’t stay single forever. And he wouldn’t. How long could a gorgeous billionaire in his late twenties really avoid being in a relationship? She’d started to feel like time was running out. Then, tonight, when he’d asked her about what would happen if he started seeing someone, she almost lost it. She thought her chance passed. She imagined being alone forever, watching him get married again, this time to some stranger, and she panicked. She had to tell him. And she had to do it now. So why couldn’t she? Why was it so difficult? She could tell him anything. Except this. Maybe she was kidding herself, or reading too much into things, but she’d thought for a moment, that he was going to kiss her. The inches between them had felt on fire and her heart raced. They moved closer, like two boats drifting near each other about to crash, but then he’d looked away. And then he’d gotten the call and the spell had been broken. That’s what was bothering her now. Had she imagined it, or had he really planned to kiss her?

Because that would mean he had feelings for her, too, and the reality of that, of all her dreams coming true, was overwhelming. To think, this thing she’d wanted so long was about to happen. All she had to do now was leave this bathroom, find him, tell him. She took in another breath and set a determined expression on her face. “You can do this.” She left the bathroom and found him in the same place she’d left him. He was finished his call and stood looking out over the garden. “Everything okay?” she asked. “Yes, Sorry about that. It was something that had to be taken care of immediately.” “I understand.” She stood beside him and looked at him. He pressed his lips together in a flat smile, and looked away again. Whatever had been there before was gone now. It felt like the wrongest time ever to tell him. What had changed? She wondered what Jackson and her parents were up to. Her mind drifted again, to what it’d be like to be a family and be not only Jackson’s aunt, but also his step mother. Caring for her sister’s child like he was her own. She did that now, but only being with him during the day when Lucas was working limited their time together. She didn’t often tuck him in at night, she wasn’t there if he

had a nightmare. But there was one thing she never allowed herself to think of. What if she did date Lucas? What if she dated him and it didn’t work? Before Abigail, he’d told her, he’d dated lots of women. He’d been picky and even Abigail said he could be a lot to take sometimes. High maintenance was usually the phrase. They got along great now, as friends and family, but what if they didn’t make good lovers? What if they broke up? Then what would come of her time with Jackson? Would he still want her around to watch him if she were his ex? And to have that added time with Jackson, then to lose it. Maybe she was better off just keeping things as they were. It was a big risk to take. Lucas could end up being the love of her life. Or he could be her biggest regret. She looked over at him. He met her eyes briefly, then looked away again. No. She couldn’t risk it. If she couldn’t be sure he even had feelings for her, she couldn’t risk making things awkward between them and possibly losing Jackson. Maybe one day the time would come. But not today.

4

L

ucas looked over at her one last time. She was so beautiful tonight, he wanted this moment to last forever. But it couldn’t. “I was thinking,” he said. “When I pick Jackson up in the morning, why don’t you come stay with me until you find a new place to live? It can’t be great sleeping in a car-themed room.” “Oh, it’s not so bad. I don’t want to inconvenience you or anything.” “It wouldn’t be. My place is so huge; we wouldn’t even have to see each other much. I just thought that since I have so much room, and your parents don’t, it makes more sense for you to stay with me.” He almost held his breath waiting for her answer. He had to do something to be close to her. Even if they couldn’t be together, maybe she’d just

end up staying there with him for a long time. At least that way, he could pretend. “I think Jackson would love having you around more, too,” he added. “Starting kindergarten is a big deal. He’ll need more help than he did before.” She nodded slowly. “If you’re sure I won’t get in your way. I could stay for a little while. To help Jackson and everything.” “Great.” He pushed his excitement down. He could do cartwheels though. “Then tomorrow? We’ll go to your old place and get your things.” “Yeah. I do have a lot over there that I need, and I’d feel much better if you were there than if I went alone.” “Tomorrow then.” He took her hand and kissed it, then bowed. “Thank you for a lovely evening, my lady.” She chuckled. “Thank you for coming. I know it was last minute.” “No problem.” He would have moved anything he had planned to spend the evening with her, if that’s what it required.

THE NEXT MORNING , he dressed in jeans and an old t-shirt, then headed over to pick up Isabella. The plan was to move a bunch of things with his pickup truck, then get Jackson and her things from her parents when they were done. Jackson and his

grandparents would go out to breakfast and spend the morning at the zoo—one of Jackson’s favorite places to be. Isabella wore a similar outfit, except her jeans hugged her curves, and her t-shirt stretched tight across her chest. With her hair up in a ponytail, she looked just as beautiful as she had the night before. She came to the front door and handed him a metal travel mug. “Coffee. Thought we might need it.” She sipped her own mug and gave him a quick hug. “Thanks for doing this.” “Anything I can do to help you out.” He opened the door for her and once she was in, they drove over to the house she’d shared with Matthew. “I told him I was coming,” she said. “And asked him not to be there. We’ll see.” “I’m not worried about it.” He was carrying today, as he usually did, and this punk Matthew was nothing he couldn’t handle if he had to. When they arrived, Matthew’s car was not in the driveway. “Looks like he’s not here,” Isabella said. For an hour, they loaded up the truck, working together to put her things into boxes and then into the truck. They carried out bigger items together, him walking backward, watching her between glances behind him to make sure he didn’t run into

anything. They made one trip over to his house, unloaded everything, and headed back for another trip. They made the next trip even faster, and returned for their third and final trip. As the truck neared fullness, a car pulled into the driveway. Matthew got out of the passenger seat. He stumbled and glared over at them. “Well, look who’s here,” Matthew said. He slurred his words and stumbled toward them. Lucas shook his head. What a loser to be drunk like that at 11 in the morning. No wonder she didn’t love him. “I asked you not to be here,” Isabella said, crossing her arms. Lucas moved closer to Isabella. He’d jump in if he thought Matthew was going to do something stupid. The car that dropped him off backed out and Matthew held up a hand to wave as they sped off down the road. Great. So he was staying then. “Just go somewhere,” Isabella said. “We’re almost done.” “Oh right,” he said. “I almost forgot you’re taking everything from me today. What of mine do you have in there?” He walked over to the back of the truck and picked up a photo frame. “I’ll take this back, you thieving bitch.”

“You gave that to me as a gift,” she said. “Right. I bought it, so it’s mine.” “Fine. I don’t want something you gave me anyway.” “You wanted it just fine every time I gave it to you.” He grabbed himself and made a lewd face at her. That was too much for Lucas. He stepped closer to Matthew. “That sort of talk is not appropriate. You will show her respect, and you will stay out of our way so we can finish what we need to do here. Then, you can stay out of her life forever.” Matthew held up his hands and laughed. “Oh sorry. I didn’t know your new boyfriend was going to be like that.” Lucas clenched his teeth together. “He’s not,” Isabella said. “You know that. You’re just drunk.” “See what you do to me?” Matthew said. “You make me drink all the time now.” “I haven’t done that to you, you’re doing it to yourself,” she said. “Maybe if you had better control of yourself,” Lucas said, “she wouldn’t have been so eager to get rid of you.” Matthew glared up at Lucas. “Fuck off, man,” he said, and almost fell. The frame slipped from his hands and fell to the cement driveway. The glass

shattered and the frame broke in two. An old photo of Isabella and Matthew lay under the broken glass. “Look what you made me do,” he said to Isabella. “You’ve ruined everything!” Matthew stepped toward her in a sort of lunging motion. He was too drunk to be accurate in any movement, so he tripped and fell, putting his palms into the pieces of glass when he landed. “Isabella, why don’t you go inside and see if there’s anything else that needs to be boxed up,” Lucas said. She looked at Matthew, trying to push himself up in the glass, then to Lucas, and nodded. She turned and Lucas watched until she was inside. Then, he yanked Matthew up by his shirt. “Listen to me, you drunk piece of shit,” Lucas hissed in his ear. “Stay away from Isabella. That means you don’t call her, you don’t text her, you don’t come around, you don’t contact her in any way. Do you understand?” Matthew’s head hung heavy, and he was barely standing. “I don’t have to listen to you.” Lucas took out his phone and sent a text to his assistant. “Joe. I need someone to come pick up a problem for me. Isabella’s old place. Come armed.” Joe responded quickly. “Be there ASAP.” This was why Lucas loved having Joe as his assistant. The man always acted fast, doing what needed to be done. And this was why Lucas paid

him so well. “Now, let’s try this again,” Lucas said. He put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder and gripped hard. Matthew leaned away from the pain, but still managed to remain upright. “You will not contact her in any way. Do you understand?” Matthew glared at him, and tried to spit at him, but missed. He wiped his mouth and took a wobbly step. His fist flew up and connected with Lucas’s chin. He hadn’t hit hard. He was too drunk for that. But this was exactly what Lucas needed. The first punch. He shoved Matthew to the ground, leaned over him, and clocked him hard in the face. He heard a snap at his nose, then blood poured to the ground. He punched him in the jaw, and again across the face. Matthew wasn’t trying to get up. He was half curled into a ball on his side. Lucas bent down and said in his ear, “If you contact her again in any way, I will make this beating look like a walk in the park.” Matthew had some bravery in his drunkenness. Lucas could hardly believe that he didn’t just lie there. But he reached out and grabbed Lucas’s leg, pulling like he was trying to knock him over. Lucas punched him the stomach twice. Matthew grabbed his stomach and wheezed. Just to be sure there was no confusion, Lucas kicked him

in the ribs, then the back, then, because he couldn’t stand thinking that this man had claimed to love Isabella when he’d just stood there talking to her that way, he kicked him in the chin. Matthew stopped moving around the time Joe pulled up in a car. Another man got out with Joe and they came over to Lucas. “Is he dead?” Joe asked. “Knocked out,” Lucas said. “And drunk. Take him somewhere to sleep it off and make sure he doesn’t leave until I give you word.” Joe nodded and the two of them picked up Matthew’s unconscious body, loaded him into the car, then drove off. Lucas looked at the blood on the driveway, mixed in with the broken frame and shards of glass, and felt satisfied. Hopefully Matthew would learn his lesson, and he’d never bother Isabella again.

5

I

sabella watched out the window in horror. She’d always known Lucas was tough. The bad boy type, some people called him. But Abigail had told her over and over, especially when they first started dating, that he wasn’t like that. He wasn’t violent. She promised he wasn’t dangerous. But what Isabella had just seen made everything Abigail told her a lie. He’d hit Matthew hard enough to make him bleed. And not just a little blood. His shirt was covered and there was a small puddle on the driveway. She could see the bright red staining the tan cement from the kitchen. He had stopped moving, then people came to take him. At first, she thought he’d killed him, the way he kept kicking him. But then she saw Matthew stir a little as they carried him to the car. Part of her was grateful. Lucas had done this

because of her. For her. Matthew had mistreated her, and Lucas stepped in and put an end to it. He’d protected her. And she had seen Matthew hit him first. It wasn’t like Lucas made the first move against a man too drunk to defend himself. Matthew had hit him and Lucas defended himself and her. But maybe a little too well. He could have dropped Matthew with one punch and left it at that. But even when he was down, Lucas kept hitting him, then started kicking him. It seemed wrong to her. It seemed full of anger and hatred. It seemed far too violent. It scared her to see Lucas like that. And she knew he had a gun as well. Luckily, he hadn’t even reached for it. But what if Matthew hadn’t been drunk? What if he’d stood and fought back? Would Lucas have shot him? How much did it take to make him so angry that he’d beat someone even while they were down? Her mind wandered to other things. Matthew had a little temper. It was why he’d shown up here at all and said what he said and hit Lucas. She’d seen evidence of it once when they fought. He got so mad, he threw a book across the room. She hadn’t liked his actions at the time, and that might have been what took any remaining feelings she had for him. That kind of violent outburst scared her. But he’d never done anything like that again, and he’d never turned his violence toward her.

She had wondered about Matthew, and now she was forced to wonder it about Lucas, too. It was one thing to defend the people you loved and fight for them. But how far would those same people have to go before the violence was turned on them? Wasn’t that what attracted women to those bad boy types? The possibility of danger? What if Lucas lost his temper with Jackson? She’d never seen him get too mad at his son, but he was only six. What happened when he was a teenager, when he was a man, and angered his father? And even if he never laid a hand on Jackson, how would this affect the boy if something happened and he saw his father act so violently? They could be anywhere. Out shopping, out at the zoo like Jackson was today, or waking down the street. Someone might attack them and Lucas would defend them. But then Jackson would see this side of his father. It might affect him negatively. He could grow up to be just as violent and angry. Without having a mother to soften him, what would something like that do to Jackson? Then she thought of his mother. Her sister, who had died tragically in an accident at home. An accident where she’d fallen. Tripped down the stairs. It was common enough. And Lucas had been so visibly broken up that no one questioned it. The police hadn’t even. But now that she thought about it, wasn’t falling down the stairs one of those things

people said to cover abuse? To cover murder? What if they’d been fighting and she’d said something that made Lucas mad? What if he’d reacted without thinking and pushed her and she’d just happened to be too close to the stairs and went tumbling down? She’d landed too hard and had broken her neck. That was the official report. But what if she landed so hard because she’d been pushed on purpose? What if Lucas’s emotional display was just good acting? Or his show of guilt for killing her? A coldness swept through Isabella. She didn’t want to think these things about him. She loved him. He was her sister’s husband, the father of her nephew, the man she wanted. She’d known him for so long and had loved him for just as long. Was that why this was so upsetting to her? That she had known and loved him so long, but had no idea he was capable of this? What else was he capable of that she didn’t know? And now she had to go back to his house with him, to live there with him and Jackson. She shouldn’t be afraid. She shouldn’t have to worry about her safety or Jackson’s, but she did. At least one thing good would come of it. She could be there to witness more closely how he treated Jackson, if he ever reacted badly to the boy. She could protect her nephew. She just hoped she never had to.

SHE USED the situation with Matthew, and all the unpacking she had to do as an excuse. When Lucas wondered why she was quiet and seemed upset, she said she couldn’t stop thinking of what Matthew said. She stayed in her room alone, claiming she had to unpack. She came down for dinner and happily spent a few hours with Jackson as he got ready for bed. Nothing seemed different about Lucas on the surface. But underneath, in her heart, everything had changed. She felt like she didn’t know him at all. She felt like she loved a stranger. “Where did they take Matthew?” she asked him later, as they left Jackson’s room after putting him to bed. “Just to a hotel to sleep it off. They’ll make sure he’s okay and that he doesn’t bother you again.” She nodded. “Was he hurt badly?” “No. Noses bleed a lot, but I didn’t hit him too hard. I’m sure he’ll be feeling crappy, but that was the point. I needed to make it clear that he was not to contact you under any conditions. I don’t want you to be afraid of him.” She pressed her lips together. “No. I’m okay. I’m just really tired. Thanks for all your help.” “Anytime.” He smiled at her.

She tried to force a smile, but turned and hurried away. When she got to her room, she changed, then lay down in bed, wide awake. She kept seeing Lucas punch Matthew over and over, seeing the blood and his limp body. She closed her eyes, but saw her sister falling and Lucas at the top of the stairs, hands out. She didn’t sleep much that night.

W HEN SHE WOKE, she knew she had to do something. She couldn’t just go on wondering about Lucas, wondering about her sister’s death. She had to do some research and try to get answers. It was Monday, and usually, Isabella came to watch Jackson while Lucas went to work. It was just like any other day, she told herself. After she and Jackson had eaten breakfast, she got him dressed and drove to the library. She got him settled in the children’s section, playing with the puppets and other toys, then went to one of the computers and started searching. She began at a web site for violent offenders and entered in Lucas’s information. This site was supposed to tell her if he had ever committed a violent crime. Nothing came up. Though, he’d just done something violent to Matthew and no one knew about it, so that wasn’t enough by itself. It was a good sign, but it was only proof that he

hadn’t gone so far as to be charged or arrested for violence. She did some more searching on him, photos and articles, to see if anything was revealed that wasn’t in the criminal database, but she found nothing. Next was her sister. She went back over the articles in the paper at the time of Abigail’s death. But what she really needed wasn’t there. She needed to see a photo. To determine, if she could, the angle that she’d been pushed from, and to see if she had other bruises on her body. She knew on some level that a coroner would have found those things. But what she didn’t know was that if there had been proof that he’d killed her, if Lucas could have had it covered up by paying someone off. Lucas was powerful with his name and money. People did what he wanted. It seemed very possible that if something came up, it would have been hidden. Isabella thought that maybe she could contact the coroner herself. As Abigail’s sister, that had to get her the rights to some information, didn’t it? She opened her email and went back several years. She had kept every bit of correspondence from that time. It was in a folder in her inbox that she never looked in. But now she opened it and found the coroner’s information. She sent an email back from the latest correspondence she had.

“Hello Mr. Lane. I’m the sister of Abigail Reid, whose case you had five years ago. I’m looking for photos of her body and any reports you can give me on her death.” She thought she would need a good reason. Something that wouldn’t raise curiosity. Something that would make him want to cooperate. It took several minutes and many bad ideas before the lightbulb went off. She added, “There is a film company who wants to do a documentary on Lucas Reid, and they’re interesting in some visuals on her case. Any help you can provide will be greatly appreciated. They may also want to interview you, if you would be agreeable to that.” She sent the email. Hopefully, it would appeal to him as a possibility for some glimpse of fame. Most people went for that sort of thing. For the chance to be seen. For the hope that money would follow. It took three days for Mr. Lane to respond. She read the email standing in Lucas’s kitchen while Jackson ate apple slices for his afternoon snack. “Hello, Miss Jenson. I remember this case well. I’d be happy to be of any assistance to you or the filmmakers. I’ve attached her files, including photos. If you need a higher resolution print out, I have those available as well. Best of luck. I look forward to hearing from you again.”

So, it had worked. She made herself wait until she was alone. She wasn’t about to look at images of her dead sister while just standing here on a Thursday afternoon. That night, after Jackson was in bed and she’d told Lucas she couldn’t watch a movie with him because she was too tired, she went to her room and locked the door. She brought up the email on her laptop so that she could see everything better. She started with the report. Everything seemed to be normal there. It was as she remembered. No evidence of foul play. Cause of death listed as accidental. No charges filed. No further investigation needed. Once she read the report, there was one thing left to do. She took a few deep breaths, steading herself for what she was about to see. But nothing could have prepared her. She looked at her sister, still and waxy looking. Her eyes closed, her skin blotchy. She was still beautiful, even in death. Isabella looked at every photo he had sent. There were places of bruising, but they matched the report that said she’d fallen and hit her knee, then her hip before hitting her head. Those were the only bruises she saw. A photo that showed the stairs—in Lucas’s first house when he’d just started making money—and Abigail’s body at the bottom. But she couldn’t tell if the body was in an unnatural position or not.

She closed the laptop and sobbed. It was horrible enough to lose her sister, then to think Lucas might have killed her. But to see it. The still body of the person she’d grown up with, who she’d shared so much with. This was why they didn’t give the family these photos. It was too upsetting. She’d never be able to get those images out of her mind. And she still didn’t know if Lucas was responsible in some way or not. Most of all, she had no idea what to do about any of it.

6

L

ucas first sensed something was really wrong when he went to hug Isabella before leaving for work. They always hugged. But this time, she’d stepped away and waved to him as he said goodbye. He’d gone out of his way to go to her. It was his only excuse to touch her and he wasn’t going to waste it. He’d wrapped her in his arms and she’d stiffened. When he met her eyes, she looked away. In the evenings, he had hoped they would get to sit and talk, to spend some time together. Pretending they were together, even if they couldn’t be. But she was always tired or had something to do. She was avoiding him. When he tried to talk to her over dinner, she talked to Jackson, but she would hardly look at him and only responded with short answers. She refused his

attempts at real conversation. For the first few days, he thought she really was just tired. She did have unpacking to do and likely the thing with Matthew was upsetting her. They hadn’t been broken up long, and their encounter hadn’t been the best. Maybe she was upset at what had happened. He even considered that maybe she wasn’t happy about Lucas hitting him and hurting him. Maybe she had enough feelings for him that she was worried. But after a week, he had to do something. He had to get her talking and find out what was going on. He got home from work on Monday and they went about their usual routine. He walked in and found Isabella and Jackson reading a book in the living room. He hugged Jackson and looked at Isabella, but she avoided his gaze. He didn’t try to hug her. He put his things in his office and took a deep breath to steady himself. Then, he went back to the living room. “Can I talk to you for a minute in my office?” he said to her. She gave him a wary look, but followed him back and sat down on the couch. He sat on the other end after closing the door. “I know you’ve had a lot going on,” he said. “But something’s wrong here. You’re acting very differently toward me, and I need to know why.” She dropped her gaze and picked at her fingers.

“I’m sorry. It’s just been a lot.” “Right. I get that. But why aren’t you talking to me? Why won’t you hug me or even look at me?” She looked over at him as if to prove a point. “It’s not you.” “Bullshit.” Her eyes widened slightly. “I’m sorry,” she said, more adamantly. “I just called off an engagement, moved out of the house I lived in for over a year, and watched you beat the crap out of my ex.” “Is that it, then? You’re pissed that I hurt Matthew?” “No. I’m glad you were there, and I appreciate that you protected me. I mean, no, I’m not happy that it took you having to do that. I don’t want him to be hurt on purpose, but I saw him hit you first, so I know you didn’t start it. You were defending yourself and me. I’m not mad about that.” He blew out a breath. “Then what’s the deal? We had a great time at the wedding, and that was even sooner after you ended things. It seems like everything changed after that day at your old place, and if it’s not because I hurt Matthew, then what is the problem?” “It’s just settling in that this is my reality.” “Do you regret ending things with him?” “No.” “Do you regret moving in here?” “No,” she said. “I like spending the extra time

with Jackson. I just need time to adjust.” “Is there anything I can do to help or make it better for you?” She shook her head. “You’ve done a lot already.” “I hope you feel that you can talk to me.” “Of course.” She gave him a small smile. “We’ve always been able to talk about things.” “Until now.” She looked away and he felt that there was still something there that she wasn’t telling him. But he couldn’t make her talk if she didn’t want to. He’d have to just keep going on, doing what he knew to do and hope it got better. He was thinking of what else he could say when there was a knock on his office door. “Yeah?” he called. “Mr. Reid, someone is here to se you,” Lisa said. He wasn’t expecting anyone. “Who is it?” “Two police officers.” He shared a confused look with Isabella, then got up to leave the room. “Where are they?” “On the porch. I didn’t let them in yet.” “Thank you.” He went to the front door and stepped out, closing it behind him. “Lucas Reid?” one of the officers asked. “That’s me. What’s this about?” “We’ve received a complaint against you from

a Matthew Cole. He’s pressing charges for physical assault.” Lucas wanted to laugh and scream at the same time. “That’s funny because he hit me first. And I have a witness that was there and can confirm that.” “Who would this witness be?” “Isabella Jenson, Matthew’s ex fiancé. She’s inside if you’d like to talk to her. We were at their house, getting her things, and Matthew showed up drunk, verbally harassed her, and then hit me. Yes, I defended myself, and I believe it’s my right to do so.” The officer flipped through his paperwork. “He did admit to making the first move, but he’s claiming that you used violence beyond what was called for.” “By who’s point of view? He was drunk. I doubt he had any idea what really happened.” “Isabella is here, you said?” the officer asked. “Yes. Shall I get her?” “We would like to talk to her. Matthew didn’t mention that she was there.” “Convenient,” Lucas said. He opened the door and called for Lisa. “Could you ask Isabella to step out here, please?” Lisa disappeared and a moment later, Isabella opened the front door and joined them on the porch. The officers explained to her what had

happened. She hugged herself and nodded as they spoke. “Yes, I was there and saw what happened,” she said. “Matthew hit Lucas, and Lucas hit him back.” “We’d like to take a statement from you,” the officer said. “And perhaps we could talk with Miss Jenson a few minutes alone?” The officer looked at Lucas expectedly. “Sure.” He nodded at them and went inside. As soon as he was out of eyesight, he pulled out his phone. He wasn’t too worried about police interaction. He knew enough people on the force and gave them more than enough money to have this whole thing go away. But it pissed him off that he even had to. Who the hell did Matthew think he was to try and get Lucas charged? He shot a text message to Joe, telling him that the police had come and he needed the contact information for the police chief of the city. He’d met him last year at a benefit, but couldn’t remember his name off the top of his head. He’d get this thing dropped quickly and quietly. If he was lucky, he might even be able to get Matthew on falsifying the situation. Make Matthew pay for both attacking Lucas and for trying to get charges brought on him. He went to find Jackson and watched TV with him until Isabella came back inside. She looked upset and was still hugging her arms around her

middle. He got up and went to her. He wanted to hug her, to find out what was going on, but he resisted. “I’m sorry,” she said. She looked ready to cry. “Come back in here a minute.” He gestured her into the office and handed her a tissue as she sat. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” “It’s my ex. I should have gone over there alone and dealt with it.” “No way. Don’t you dare apologize for him being an asshole. I would hate to think what would have happened if I hadn’t been there. He might have attacked you.” “I don’t think he would. He was never violent before.” “Did you think he’d hit me?” “Well, no,” she admitted. “But he was drunk.” “So who knows what he might have done to you.” She was quiet for a minute. Then asked, “Are you in trouble? What’s going to happen?” “I don’t know if the charges will even stick after you told what you saw, but I’m going to talk to the police chief and get this all cleared up before the media can get a hold of it.” “The media?” He laughed once. “Oh yeah. They watch for things like this. If I step one foot over the line, they let the world know.”

“Have you had that happen before?” “Oh sure. Business deals that seem unfair, or if there’s a hint of me not being ethical. They try to make a story out of anything.” “But there’s been nothing else violence related?” “No. Most people know better than to mess with me. I have security systems and can have security guards at a moment’s notice if need be. I’m not afraid to defend myself with force if I have to.” “So, you’ve never committed any sort of violent act before?” It seemed like there was more behind her question than just what she’d said. “Not really. I may have gotten in a few fights here and there in my teens and early twenties, but I have no need for that now.” She nodded slowly. “Ask me the real question,” he said. She looked at him in surprise. “The real question?” “There’s more.” She didn’t answer. He waited several long minutes before asking again. “Isabella. It’s okay. Ask me anything. What did you really want to ask?” She pulled in a slow breath. “Seeing you like that… it scared me. I never thought you could be like that, do something like that. I started to wonder

if I really knew you at all. And then I started to think…” “You thought I might hurt you?” She shook her head. “Not exactly. I started to think that… Well, what if Abigail’s accident wasn’t completely an accident?” She went on, spilling all her words in a rush. “People get mad and lose their temper and I get that. I’m not saying you did it, but it could have been an accident. You got mad and pushed her, not realizing the stairs were there or something. Or maybe you really are that violent and you did mean it. I don’t know. I tried to find out, but I couldn’t tell anything from the photos and now I don’t know what to think.” She cowered away from him like he was going to react violently toward her. He sat there, staring across the room for a long time. At least that explained why she was suddenly so cold toward him. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed and he saw tears running down her face. “I never wanted to think anything like that about you. I never did before, I just saw you and… honestly, what the police said was true. You kept going when the danger had passed. He was down and not moving and you kicked him several times. I do think you went beyond self defense.” He felt both hands tighten into balls and his jaw started to ache. “Did you tell the police that?”

“No,” she whispered. “I told them he hit you and you defended yourself and that Matthew had always been jealous of you and that he threw things in the past when he got mad at me.” Lucas nodded stiffly. “But what you really believe is that I’m so violent I would throw my own wife down the stairs and kill her?” “No, I don’t think that. I don’t know what to think.” “You looked into. You must have believed it enough to go that far. You got photos?” “From the coroner.” “You went as far as contacting the coroner? That’s how much you believed I was a murderer?” She shook her head. “I was trying to convince myself that it wasn’t true. I wanted to see that it really had been an accident and that the Lucas I know is the real Lucas. I didn’t want it to be true.” She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. “I did not murder my wife,” he said sternly. “Her death was a tragic accident that still haunts me. I would have done anything to save her, to protect her. Like I protected you.” “I didn’t really think you killed her. I know you loved Abby. I know you did.” “I still do. But you believed it enough that you had to look into it. You had to find proof to convince yourself that I’m not a murderer. I don’t

even know what to say to that.” A silence fell and was broken by a small voice coming from the open door. “Daddy?” They both looked up to see Jackson standing in the doorway, his small face ashen and shocked. “Was Mommy murdered?” Lucas and Isabella both jumped up and went to him. Isabella reached him first and was already saying, “No, no, that’s not what happened.” Lucas took Jackson from her arms. “I need to talk to my son alone.” Isabella dropped her arms and hurried off upstairs. Lucas sat Jackson down on the couch and put his arm around him. “There was just some confusion. Mommy died in a horrible accident. No one hurt her. No one would ever want to hurt her. I loved Mommy very much and I still do. You know that, right?” Jackson nodded. “But why did Aunt Izzie say that? That she didn’t think you killed her?” “Well, because she knows I would never do such a thing.” “But does she think someone did kill her?” “No. We were talking about something that happened with Matthew.” “Oh.” “You want to finish watching what we were watching before?”

He nodded and Lucas felt relieved that he was able to stop the conversation so fast. Jackson hadn’t heard the whole thing, hopefully, and even if he had, Lucas had set it right. He just hoped it wouldn’t bother him, and he wouldn’t think about it again. He didn’t need to be worrying like that about his mother’s death. The truth was all he needed to know. That his mother loved him and her death was a tragedy.

7

I

sabella sat on the edge of her bed, crying. How could she have been so careless to say something like that and not make sure Jackson wouldn’t hear? How could she have even thought it was true in the first place? Lucas wouldn’t really do anything like that. And to say that him, to accuse him of something so terrible was just wrong. She felt horrible through and through. She didn’t know how to fix it, either. At least she had defended him to the police. She wanted to tell the truth. What if someone else had seen and the truth came out and then she would be charged for lying? Maybe the severity of the beating was subjective. Maybe if it came up, she could say it didn’t look like he kicked him hard. Make it seem like she hadn’t lied. She couldn’t think about that now. She was

done talking to the police and if anything came of it, she’d deal with it then. Hopefully Lucas would just get it all cleared up and it would be over with. She skipped dinner and stayed in her room most of the night, trying to resolve what she’d done in her mind and trying to figure out how to make it better with Lucas. She didn’t think she’d sleep much that night, but she dressed for bed anyway. She brushed her teeth and walked back into her bedroom to a knock on her door, followed by Lucas’s voice. “Can I come in?” She opened the door and stepped aside to let him in. She looked up and down the hall, then closed the door behind her. “Is Jackson in bed?” He nodded and crossed his arms as he faced her. “I don’t appreciate you making my son question his mother’s death.” “I am so sorry. I feel terrible about it—” “You should. You know better than anyone how terrible that time was for all of us. Then you’re going to sit there in my house and ask me if I did it? If I killed the woman I loved, the love of my life, the mother of my child?” She swallowed hard. She hadn’t figured out how to make this better, and now she had no more time to think. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what else I can say.” “You can start by telling me what made you

think that.” “You were so angry. So… violent. I didn’t think you were capable of being like that. I wondered what else you were capable of.” “And your mind jumped to murder.” “No.” “But it didn’t take you long to get there.” Isabella let out a long sigh. “I don’t know what else I can say to you. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have thought that about you. All of it was upsetting and I just kept seeing you kicking him over and over and…” Tears ran fresh down her cheeks. The image in her mind was horrible. She wanted to erase it, but couldn’t. “I was protecting you,” he said. “I know. But you went too far.” “Do you want him to show up again, to come after you next time? To maybe hurt you or kill you? I wanted to make sure he understood that he was not come near you again. It takes some people more pain than others. I’m not a murderer!” She looked behind her, paranoid now that someone might overhear them. “Keep your voice down.” “You weren’t too concerned about that earlier, were you? When you told my son I murdered his mother?” He took a step and stumbled. She looked at him more closely. “Are you drunk?”

He glared at her. “Why? Would that make you afraid of me?” She was a little afraid if she was being honest. She hadn’t seen him drunk much, and she’d never seen him drunk and angry. “I would never say anything to Jackson that would make him think anything bad about you or the way Abby died. Him overhearing was an accident, and I feel horrible about it. I think… I think I should go to my parents for a while. Give us all some time apart.” He didn’t say anything, but kept glaring at her. “I just need time to think and figure things out, and I can’t do that if I’m here, seeing you and Jackson all the time.” “You’re not even going to come watch him during the day?” “I don’t think I should. At least for this week, maybe longer. I’ll… let you know.” He stood frozen in one spot as she tossed some clothing into an overnight bag. He didn’t move to stop her or help her. When she had the things she’d need immediately, she paused before leaving the room. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “About everything. Jackson overhearing, thinking awful things about you. I’m sorry.” She closed the door softly behind her, then dashed down the stairs and got into her car, pulling

away from the mansion before she could change her mind.

B Y THE NEXT MORNING , her thoughts had only cleared a little. She could think clearly, but she still didn’t have enough answers. What she did have, though, was a way to get them. She wasn’t nearly as rich as Lucas, but she had some money stashed away. Enough to get real answers. She met with a private investigator that afternoon and told him both what she knew and what she needed to know. On her way home from the meeting, she stopped at the police station. After what had happened with Matthew, and the way he’d tried to press charges against Lucas, she was still afraid. She filed a protection from abuse, saying that Matthew had to stay 150 feet away from her at all times. Hopefully, it would get through to him and he would abide by it. When she got back to her parents, she was full of anxiety. She’d done all she could to get answers and be proactive, but now she had to wait. She didn’t know how long it would take the PI to find something out. She went for a run to ease the anxiety, and it was enough to help her sleep. Over the next three days, she had run a lot. It was helping, but she still wasn’t sleeping well, and

now that she wasn’t watching Jackson, she had too much time on her hands. She decided to get out her workout equipment and lift some light weights to a video. After searching all through the things in her parent’s basement, she realized she’d left them at Matthew’s. The weights had been in the basement with all the workout equipment and since most of it was Matthew’s, she’d forgotten to look through it for anything that was hers. After deliberating for a while, she picked up her phone to text Matthew. “I have some weights in the basement that I need to get. You should have been served with my PFA by now, so you know that you’ll have to leave for me to come get my things.” “I got it,” he texted back. “So what, now you’re banging that rich asshole? Did you cheat on me with him, too? Stupid slut.” She wanted to tell him off, but thought better of it. Best to just get done what needed to be done and move on with life. “When will you be gone so I can get my things?” “After 6:30.” Good. He’d let everything go and gave her an answer and that was that. She had to wait around for several hours until she could go over there. She used the time to read, which she rarely made time for usually. She had actually managed to get into

her book when her phone rang. The number was the PI. “I have some news for you,” he said. “This was actually a pretty simple case.” “Really? Okay good.” “There’s enough evidence in the photos to prove it, but I have something more. A surveillance video from Lucas’s home.” “Really? I don’t remember the coroner report saying anything about that.” “No, it wouldn’t. The police report would have, but there were no charges and no investigation done.” “What does it show?” she asked. “That Abigail tripped and fell down the stairs, breaking her neck in the fall. You can be assured this was just an accident and not a murder. The video clearly shows no one around her at the time she fell.” Isabella breathed out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thank you. I didn’t want to believe it was true. Can you send me a copy of the video?” “It should already be in your inbox.” “Thank you so much.” She watched the video four times, each time feeling more and more relieved. After the first time, she stopped it when Abigail started to fall. Seeing her sister fall to her death once was more than enough.

Isabella put her face in her hands and cried for several minutes. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she told Lucas that the Matthew thing had taken a toll on her. It wasn’t easy ending an engagement, and though they hadn’t done a lot for their wedding, she did have to cancel bridal magazine subscriptions, unsubscribe from email newsletters, and cancel the date they’d reserved for the reception. It hadn’t been easy, and having him show up drunk and say awful things to her, then attack Lucas had made it all worse. After thinking that Lucas might be involved in Abigail’s death, she didn’t know what to do with her thoughts and feelings. She still loved Lucas. Maybe more than ever now, knowing how he’d defended her and having absolute proof that he hadn’t been involved in Abigail’s death in anyway. She’d have to talk to Lucas. Apologize again and profusely. And maybe now she could finally tell him the truth. That she loved him and it tore her up to think of him in a negative way. She never wanted to feel that again. Even if he didn’t receive it well and nothing came of it, he had to know. She couldn’t make things much worse between them than they already were. When 6:30 came around, she waited several more minutes before leaving to drive over to Matthew’s. His car was gone. She unlocked the door, realizing she should probably give back the

key, and went to the basement to get her weights. They were too heavy to box up, so she carried out the first set of dumbbells, just three pounds each. She had the set of eight-pound weights in her hands as she walked back outside to her car and saw Matthew stumble out of the bushes. “What are you doing here?” she said. She put the weights in her trunk, keeping her eyes on him the whole time. “Oh sorry. Forgot you had a piece of paper to say you hate me now.” He stood a few feet from her. He didn’t seem as drunk as he’d been the last time she’d seen him, but he still didn’t seem completely sober. “Right. And that means that the police will charge you for being here. You’ll be arrested and taken to jail.” “Not if you don’t call them. I only want to talk. Just talk to me.” “We have nothing to talk about. I have more things to get.” She turned away from him. “Isabella!” She hurried back inside and as soon as she was in the basement, took her phone from her pocket. At first, she planned to call the police. They’d come and arrest him, sure. But they might take too long on a call like this. He hadn’t done anything or threatened her, so they had no reason to hurry if there was something more critical going on. There

was one person who would come to her rescue fast, though. At least she thought he still would. She texted Lucas, “I’m at my old place and Matthew just showed up. Help!” She dialed 911 after sending the text. “This is 911, what’s your emergency?” “I have a PFA against my ex fiancé and he just showed up and—” The phone was snatched from her hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Matthew said and ended the call. She couldn’t lie. He’d heard her. “I have a PFA for a reason Matthew,” she said, shaking. She hadn’t gotten to the weights yet and stood with empty hands as he balled his into fists. Would Lucas come? Had the dispatcher heard enough to send someone? She thought they had to send someone if the call ended like that. Didn’t they? She just had to stay out of harm until someone could get to her, whoever it was. “Go outside, Matthew. The police are on their way.” “Why would you do this to me? You break my heart, then bring your new boyfriend over here, and now you want to call the police on me? How could you be so cruel?” “You came after me, attacking me. I got a PFA and you still showed up. I’m just trying to protect myself.”

“You didn’t have to do any of that.” “Clearly, I did. Look at you. You’re drunk again, and you just ripped my phone from my hand. Why don’t you give me the phone back and leave, and then maybe the cops will go easy on you. You can tell them you wanted to talk and when you saw I didn’t want to, you left. That’s the truth, isn’t it?” He narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to her. “You think I’m going to let you make a fool of me?” He reached out and grabbed a fistful of her hair. She screamed and heard footsteps thundering on the basement stairs. She wanted to feel relieved, but it was hard when he was pulling her hair so hard, wrenching her neck to pull her closer to him. “Let go of me!” she cried. She couldn’t see behind her and didn’t know who had come down the stairs. It could be one of Matthew’s friends for all she knew.

8

L

ucas stared at his phone in shock for an entire second before jumping into action. “Lisa!” he called as he ran upstairs to get his gun. “I have to run out for a little while.” He tucked his gun into the back of his pants and grabbed a full magazine. Hopefully he wouldn’t need all that, but he had to be prepared for anything. And if Matthew had showed up again and things had gotten so bad that Isabella had texted him, then who knew what he would try. Lucas ran back downstairs, made sure Lisa was with Jackson, then hopped into his car and drove as fast as he could over to Matthew’s. While he drove, he tapped the speakerphone button to call the police. This time, Matthew was going to go away for what he’d done. He saw Isabella’s car in the driveway when he

pulled in, but no sign of her. He walked inside and heard her scream from the basement. He dashed down the stairs, his gun out and ready, and pressed it to Matthew’s head. “If you move, I will shoot you,” Lucas said. “Get the hell away from me,” Matthew hissed. “I’ve called the police,” Lucas said. “Now take your hands off her or you’re going to make things a lot harder for yourself.” Matthew slowly let go of her and dropped her phone. Lucas put his other arm around his neck in a strangle hold. “Isabella, go outside and wait for the police,” Lucas said. She snatched up her phone, then scrambled past them and up the stairs. “I will make sure you never touch her again,” he hissed in Matthew’s ear. “You picked the wrong woman to mess with.” “And you picked the wrong man to assault,” Matthew said, his words strained through his compressed throat. “I will make sure everyone know you killed your wife.” How the fuck did he know anything about that? Had Isabella said something to him? Lucas laughed. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Isabella has proof. I saw it when I went to her house.”

“You broke into her house, too?” Oh man, he should have been recording this conversation. “I had to get something on you to destroy you.” Matthew laughed. “And I got plenty.” Lucas didn’t have time to worry about it. The police stormed down the stairs and Lucas moved away from Matthew as they stepped in to cuff him. He tucked his gun back in his pants and watched them drag Matthew out. He followed them out and found Isabella talking to the police. He waited for her, making sure she knew he was close and there for her. He didn’t have many questions to answer, but he did talk to the police briefly and made sure to let them know what Matthew had confessed about breaking into Isabella’s parent’s house and going through her things. Now that he had time to think about it more, he wondered what exactly Isabella had on him and how much this would take to undo. He had PR people for this sort of thing, and if Matthew was in jail, that would make it easier, but it was still a hassle he didn’t want to deal with. Maybe he’d just call the police chief back and alert him of this, too. Once the charges had been dropped on him, he thought that’s all there was to this situation with Matthew, but apparently not. Maybe he could get slander added as a charge. Isabella walked over to him after a long while,

once the police were done questioning her. “Thank you,” she said. “I didn’t know if you would come after everything, but I’m glad you did. The cops were fast, but they might not have been fast enough.” “Of course I would come. I’ll always do whatever I can to protect you.” She wiped away tears and stepped close so she could lay her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around her tight, enjoying the closeness of her touch. The moment ended too quickly and she stood back up, but stayed close to him. “The police said that Matthew had broken into my parent’s house,” she said. “I didn’t even know.” “Matthew told me. And he said he was going to use the proof you got that I killed Abby to expose me.” She gasped. “What? No! But there never was any proof! I just got a video that proves you didn’t. He can’t do that!” “What video?” Her face turned red and she looked down as she answered. “I needed answers. I had to know for sure. I didn’t want to think of you that way, and I couldn’t live with not knowing. I hired a PI to look into it. He said there was lots of proof that you didn’t, and there was a video from your surveillance cameras showing her fall.” He’d forgotten about that video. Having that

had ended all police investigation immediately. Maybe he’d blocked it from his mind since it was the most horrible video in existence. “I’m so sorry I could ever think that about you,” she said. “I’m sorry I needed the proof.” “Can we go home now?” She nodded and wiped her eyes. “I’ll drive you and have someone get your car. Was there anything else you needed from here?” “Just a few more weights in the basement.” “I’ll make sure someone gets them.” He got her into his car and drove her back home. After checking in on Jackson and getting him settled with a movie, he took a cup of tea that Lisa had prepared up to Isabella’s room. He handed it to her and sat on the bed. “I have to tell you something,” he said. He’d decided on the drive back that he would come clean. That he would tell her everything, no matter the outcome. “I have to tell you something, too,” she said. “But you first.” “Okay. I know I have a violent streak. It used to be worse. I got into fights a lot. When I started making more money, a lot of what I used to fight about went away and my business became more legal, but it was there. Abigail hated it. It scared her. She worried about Jackson and what would happen if he ever saw me. She never said she was

scared I might hit her or Jackson, but I could see she was. So, I stopped. I made a vow to only use fists to defend. That’s what I did with Matthew, but I did take it too far. I’m sorry for that. And it won’t happen again. I’ll make you the same promise I made to Abby.” He held up a fist. “Only for defense.” “Thank you,” she said. “It means a lot to hear you say all that. And—” “I wasn’t done. There’s one more thing I have to tell you.” He moved closer to her and took the mug from her hand to set it on the bedside table. He put his palm to her cheek. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you for years. Sometime after Abigail’s death when you were there for me and Jackson and you became so important to us, I fell for you. I haven’t been able to tell you because I didn’t want to ruin things. I didn’t want to drag you into my lifestyle and put you in a bad position. I know this might ruin everything and make things horribly complicated. I almost told you many times, and I just couldn’t let it go anymore. I love you, Isabella.” Her mouth popped open and new tears ran down her face. “What?” “I said I love you.” He laughed. “It’s not that hard to believe, is it?” “But… but…” She shook her head and laughed. “That’s not fair.”

“I’m sorry if this makes things awkward. It’s why I went so long without telling you.” “No, that’s not what I meant. I said I had to tell you something, too.” She looked up and gave him a playful smile. “You stole mine.” “What do you—” “I’m in love with you, too, Lucas. I was even before Abby died. And then after, I didn’t think it would be right to say anything. Like I was trying to replace her or something. I even planned to marry Matthew because I didn’t think it could work between us.” “Are you kidding me?” Lucas said. “All this time, I’ve been thinking you didn’t feel that way for me and that telling you was going to ruin everything, and this whole time, you’ve felt the same way?” “I guess so.” He growled in frustration. “All that worrying for nothing.” “So, now what?” He pulled his mouth into a half smile. “We stop wasting time.” He moved closer to her until his lips touched hers. At first, the kiss was gentle. A little hesitant as a first kiss often is. But then, the love they’d felt for so long ignited in them and the kiss became a desperate passionate longing, finally fulfilled. She tangled her fingers into his hair and he slid

her onto his lap. They tried to devour each other with tongues and lips. He wanted to strip her naked and take her right then, but he didn’t want to be hasty. Better to take things slow and make sure they could make this work. He pulled back to end the kiss, but stared in her eyes. “It feels so good to finally say it.” She nodded. “It does. And you know what else would feel so good?” She straightened up and pulled her shirt over her head. Then she lay back on the bed and looked at him expectantly. All his plans from two minutes ago flew out the door. If she wanted to and was going to lie there with no shirt on, then he was not going to waste another minute not being with her. He climbed over her, then pulled off his own shirt. “You’re sure? We don’t have to rush it.” “Rush it?” She laughed. “We waited years to say ‘I love you.’ Do you want to wait more years before we do anything about it?” He laughed, too. “Absolutely not. I’ve wanted you for so long.” “I’ve wanted you longer.” He leaned down and kissed her again, stroking her hair as she lay under him. But she refused to let him take his time. She unhooked her bra, then wiggled out of her pants. Her lacy panties covered little.

He took a long moment to appreciate her body. Gorgeous and everything he’d imagined. He ran his hands over her skin, starting with her neck, then her breasts to her stomach, letting his fingers sink below her panties. She moaned when he parted her and slid in a finger. She was wet already. His cock would burst if he didn’t free it from his pants. He slid his finger back, then tore off his jeans and boxers. He leaned down, sliding her panties down inch by inch, teasing her as she moved her hips, begging him with her body. “Wait.” She sat up suddenly. “Did you lock the door?” After what had happened, he wasn’t taking any chances either. He locked the door, then returned. He let her panties hit the floor, then explored her labia with his tongue. With every flick and suck, she moaned and tugged on his hair. He wanted to pleasure her longer, to make her come all over his face, but he couldn’t wait that long. His dick throbbed. He kissed back up her body until he reached her lips. He bit along her neck, kissed her again, bit her earlobe. “Why are you doing this to me?” she breathed. “What am I doing?” he asked, skimming his lips over her nipples. “Driving me mad!”

He grinned and hovered above her, drawing things out even longer. She wrapped a leg around his waist, then took his cock into her hand. She positioned him, then thrust her hips up to pull him inside her. He held her hips still for a moment, feeling her warm wetness. Then, he pinned her leg back and slammed hard into her. She cried out so loudly, he put his hand over her mouth. Jackson was downstairs, but still awake. He didn’t want any interruptions. He pounded into her harder and faster, making her bite her lip to keep from screaming again. She pushed up onto her elbows. “Don’t come yet.” She pushed on his shoulder to sit him down, then climbed into his lap facing him. She slid him back inside her and pressed her body against his. He ran his fingers along her cheek and jaw and looked deep into her eyes as she grinded against him, pushing him in deep with every thrust of her hips. He pulled her hips in harder. She started to move faster, rubbing her clit against him as she pushed him farther inside her again and again. He grabbed her hips, pulling himself in harder. “Come with me,” he said. He sped up and she pushed back until he was coming and groaned long and loud. She grinded on him faster and then she,

too, groaned, biting his shoulder to keep from crying out. He wrapped her tight in his arms and lay her back down on the bed. He looked over her body glistening in the low evening light. “I will love you forever.”

9

A

fter spending a year with Lucas, she couldn’t have dreamed life could be any better. She kicked herself repeatedly for not telling him sooner. They could have been happy together for years. Telling her parents hadn’t been nearly as difficult as they thought, either. They admitted they saw something in the way Lucas looked at Isabella long ago. “I’ve been waiting for this moment,” Michelle said when they told them. She kissed Lucas and hugged Isabella. “I thought you didn’t want me to date anyone after Abby died,” Lucas said. Michelle gave him an odd look. “You never tried to fix me up or mentioned me finding someone like you did to Isabella,” he said.

“Oh.” She laughed. “That’s because I sensed you’d already found someone. She just needed to wake up and realize it.” She winked at Isabella. “I trusted you with my first daughter,” John said, “So, I don’t see why I shouldn’t trust you with this one.” John hugged Lucas, then Isabella. They’d left her parents stunned. “That went much better than I thought it would,” Lucas said. “Me too.” That had been months ago. Isabella had moved back in after their night together and resumed caring for Jackson during the day. The difference was, now when Lucas came home, he kissed them both, and they did things together as a family. Jackson had even made comments about Isabella being his mommy now, and they’d had to carefully explain to him what them dating and living together meant. The Matthew situation had been dissolved easily enough with a few phone calls. He didn’t really have anything on Lucas, it turned out, and even if he had, there was a whole plan in place if anything should try to make waves. But today they weren’t thinking about any of that. They stood in the graveyard, looking at Abigail’s tombstone. They did this every year on the anniversary of her death. They talked to her and held each other and cried.

Later that night, sitting in their living room, the three of them cuddled up watching an old romance movie that Abby had adored, they still each felt her lose and said it, but they also felt the new completeness they’d found in each other. “Jackson, can you go get the thing?” Lucas said. Jackson looked at his dad, confused. “The thing in the kitchen that we got?” Lucas nodded his head toward the kitchen. “Oh!” Jackson scampered off, then returned carrying a box. Inside was Isabella’s favorite cake from a bakery in the city. She gave Lucas a confused look. “This is great, but why…?” “None of us will ever forget this day or what happened. I wanted to find a way to put a good memory on top of the bad one. To make something good from the bad that happened so many years ago.” Jackson stood in front of Isabella, his hands behind his back, shooting frequent looks at his father. Lucas slid to the floor and knelt in front of Isabella. “I’ve known you and loved you for so long, you’ve felt like part of our family a long time now. I want to make it permanent and official. Join our family as my wife, as Jackson’s step mother and not just his aunt. Make us complete again. Will

you marry me?” Jackson held out his hand and a gold ring sat in his palm, shining. Isabella put her hands to her mouth. “Yes, of course, yes!” Lucas kissed her and slid the ring in place on her finger. “I love you, and I’ll never deny it again.”

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