by Evelyn Kiss
“You didn’t tell them?”
“And sign her death certificate?” I glance down at her and notice her swatting a tear from her cheek. “She left me and Hannah, but that doesn’t mean I hate her enough to want her dead.”
“Hannah did.” Keeping this from the Council is dangerous. “Your dad does.”
“But I don’t.”
My heart softens at the defeat in her voice. Both of us know the moment word gets out about Rosalie’s return, it’s only a matter of time before a body is found. Her father has made it his personal mission to get revenge on his wife. Hannah feared her. She thought Rosalie could charm her way back in and have her crimes against the North Dragons pardoned.
“What are you going to do, Tee? You can’t keep this from the Dragons forever. If you spotted her, it’s only a matter of time before someone else does… and if they find out you were lying… There’s going to be consequences.”
“I know. I just need some time to figure things out. I’m hoping the situation at Vonwest will keep Dax and Ace entertained while I do some digging. If she was following me, then she has to want to know something, right?”
“I don’t know why she was following you. But either way, it’s dangerous. You don’t know what she wants. What if she wants you out of the way?”
“Dax and Ace would never let that happen.”
“They aren’t with you all the time, Tee.”
She rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. “They kind of are now.”
“What does that mean?”
“We are sharing a suite. They are everywhere, all the time.”
I find the agitation in her voice amusing but stifle my smirk. “So, it’s harder to hide things from them,” I warn.
“She’s my mother.” She pauses to consider something. “I choose to believe she wouldn’t harm me. But if she is here to do that, then I can defend myself.”
“I don’t trust your mother, Teagan. I know you don’t want to hear this, but Hannah told me a lot about things that went down when you were younger. What makes you think she’s suddenly maternal?”
Teagan shrugs. “She wasn’t a good mom, but she wasn’t a bad mom either. She actually hugged me every once in a while and acknowledged me. That’s more than any other Blackwell has done.”
“Let me help you find her.”
“I can’t ask you to do that, Santi. Helping me get the drugs is enough, being at Vonwest is enough. I’ll find my mother on my own.”
“Can I at least ask who we are helping?” Twisting my upper body to the side, I check the premises, making sure no one is sitting in the parked cars, watching us.
“Isabella Santini.”
My head whirls around at the mention of her name, plastering an incredulous expression on my face. “Are you shitting me? The Chicago Rebel? The chick who lit St. Theresa’s church on fire?”
“That wasn’t her. It was a set up that brought her back home and away from Luca Cabrali.”
Fucking women and power. They always lead with emotions. I shake my head. “Dax and Ace are okay with you interfering with Santini territory?”
“I wouldn’t say they are okay with it. More like dealing with it.”
“Dealing with stealing drugs from some of the worst Mafiosos in the country?”
“Yep. We need to be in Chicago by Tuesday.”
“Going behind the Council’s back is unwise. And keeping the truth about your mom from Dax and Ace is a bad idea.”
“No, it isn’t. They don’t like my mother, and if they saw her, they’d report her to the society. I need to talk to her first and find out why she hid her sister from us. Why did she leave? And… she knows where the blackmail folders are.”
The society has folders on every influential person in the country and some international politicians. They have ways of making sure what they need to happen, happens. “Why do you need those?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Tough shit because I don’t need you to believe me.” All humor evaporates from her tone, and she’s not biting her lip or looking meek. She’s not the same baby mouse I remember from a year ago.
Maybe I’m not the same guy either. If I were, I’d keep my mouth shut. “I care about you, Tee. And for that reason, I’m going to tell you like it is.”
She presses her lips together but listens.
“All of this is to find your dangerous psychopath of a mother, who you think is alive and for some damn reason want to create everlasting moments with. It’s not valid, and it’s definitely no worth rescuing your life over.”
“She’s not psychotic!”
“No, just a killer. Your sister had to inherit it from someone.”
Teagan grits her teeth together and blows out the air from the tiny spaces in between them. “My mother is my business.”
And that’s the end of that.
“Your business is the Chicago pick-up and distribution at school. Don’t confuse the two.”
“Fine, boss.”
“Don’t call me that, Santi. We’re friends. I already feel like shit for bringing you into this.”
“Don’t.” I reach out and wrap one arm around her and hug her. “There will be plenty of things for you to feel shitty about. Not me though.”
She backs up from my embrace. Before I can respond, Aysen is marching toward us, and Teagan is rolling her eyes. “Here we go.”
Turning on her heel, she holds a hand in the air, stilling him. “I am ready to go.” Ace gives her a menacing side glance that I recognize all too well.
I chuckle as I lean in to whisper in her ear and test out my theory. Her back is turned to me, but I can see the jealousy in Ace’s face.
Aysen couldn’t resist sending me a warning. “Chains?” His voice is low, threatening, and enough to answer my suspicions.
She gently elbows me in the stomach, and I back up just a smidge. I already had my answer, though.
“You two? Damn, it was only a matter of time.” I whisper in her ear and step back even further. “See you later, Tee.”
She walks toward him. He places his hand on the small of her back and leads her to the passenger side, and then whispers something to her before planting a soft kiss on the side of her head. He waits for her to slide into the seat, eyes plastered on me. As they drive away, I note the huge smile on her face.
Hannah had that same smile, I think, as I get on my bike.
My heart bursts again and the pieces sink down to my feet with the weight of her memory. When I release the clutch and the engine purrs to life, the pieces levitate back in place. Being on my bike and feeling the rush of wind against my face, temporarily blows away her memory. I must say, there’s nothing like hitting pavement on two wheels to help ride out the sorrow.
5
Psychology of Love
Lexi
I love Psychology, but I hate early morning Monday classes, especially since lately I can’t seem to sleep in my own dorm room. It’s not because of my roommate, she’s barely ever there, it’s because all of it reminds me of my ex. He helped me pick out most of the things in there. The comforter, the posters, the desk lamp, my computer, even my shower shoes. Then there’s the memories on the carpet, the desk chair, my roommate’s desk… the walls. For something so small, there are plenty of places to have sex.
It all seemed like a good idea at the time, now all of it just serves as a reminder of how stupid I was. All his creative positions were probably things he learned from the many girls he cheated on me with.
Ugh. My whole body shivers with disgust. At least I had to give Steven one positive thing, he always used protection. There were times where I wanted to see what it was like bare, but he would shoot that down real quick.
I thought he was just being cautious, refusing to risk a pregnancy that would change our lives, but honestly, I think safe-sex wasn’t exactly his kind of thing with other girls. After we broke up, I heard about one of h
is pregnancy scares.
One of. There were multiple ones, and that was just in high school.
My friend, Jonah, says I should take that as a compliment. He didn’t want to infect me with anything he caught fishing in lady pools. All crap. Nothing about Steven is a compliment. I’m pretty sure it was self-preservation on his part. If I caught something, I’d figure out he cheated on me.
He talked to me every day, lied to my face for years, and made a fool out of me. Our whole relationship was an insult. Every good moment we spent together was nulled by all the random girls. If he truly loved me, like he said he did, he would’ve been faithful to me.
I had plenty of opportunities to cheat on him but never had the desire to be with anyone but him. For a straight-A student, I was a complete idiot. He blatantly flirted with girls in front of me. I thought it was just his charming personality, now I realize it was nothing more than him being an asshole who enjoyed making a fool out of me.
Not that I usually care what people think, but damn, how did I turn into the blind girl who couldn’t see what was right in front of her? Love is blind. That’s what my bother always used to say. Well, I’m changing it to Love is stupid or Love is only temporary.
Temporary love? That sounds about right. That’s why this class topic is absolutely ridiculous. The Psychology of Love is not something I am interested in, and listening to my professor go on and on about love is making me want to regurgitate the breakfast I shoved down my throat on my way over here. Obviously, he’s under the notion that he’s in love, or he wouldn’t be smiling like a freaking idiot while he explained the history of love analysis and how, over the years, it could be divided into different groups.
And then he stops right in the middle of explaining some old man’s theory on love and asks us, “Let’s take a moment to define love. What do you think love is?”
All the girls, who stupidly think they are dating the one and only loves of their lives, raise their hands, and the professor calls on some pretty blonde bimbo sitting to my left.
“Love is security. It’s commitment, attraction to someone who understands you on a fundamental level. It’s looking passed flaws by accepting them and adjusting your life to them.” She takes a deep breath, sighing heavily in the process, and takes hold of the guy’s hand next to her. “It’s a connection that links you together.”
I roll my eyes and mumble, “Please.” I thought it was low and inaudible, but the blonde’s eyes snap to me. Lifting my eyebrows, I shrug my shoulders. What does she want me to say? Her answer is full of shit. It will all change when he breaks up with her because he wants to link his dick to another woman’s vagina.
“Ms. Hartman?”
Great. I address the professor, “Yes, Doctor Ferguson?”
“You seem to have a different definition of love than your classmate. Care to elaborate?”
Not really. But, it’s not like I had a fucking choice when forty-percent of the grade is participation. Cradling the pencil between my fingers, I bite the bullet. “I think everyone’s definition is going to be different, depending on the status of their romantic journey.”
Not taking a stance on a very debatable topic is a good choice when my body is freaking sore, and I’m exhausted. Santiago definitely gave me a very intense workout, and my mind is still reeling from all the male attention this morning. That, and I still smell like a mixture of his cologne and him. I sniff myself inconspicuously and let the scent of amber, leather, and sex lure me into memories of our mingled bodies together.
My recollection is cut short by my professor. “As much as I enjoy your politician’s answer, Lexington. How about you take a stance. This is a seminar, debating is part of my lesson plan.”
I force a smile and sit up straighter, reminding myself that this is why I took this class. Jonah told me it was all about healthy discussion, and he guaranteed it would be worth the early morning wake-ups. On most days, he was right, but today I had the urge to punch him in the nose.
“Well?” The blonde next to me raises her nose at me. I’m surprised I don’t see remnants of her powdered breakfast around the nostrils.
Here we go. Brutal honesty. “Love is nothing more than a transient state of emotion that dissipates over time. An influx of endorphins that stimulate your heart into beating faster, so it can pump hormones through your system. The concept of love, or rather endorphin rush, is not something that differentiates us from animals, it’s a physical connection linking us to them.”
My cheeks are slightly flushed, and from the sound of the crowded room, a lot of people agree with me, which elates my professor. “Are you suggesting there is no difference between love and sex?”
I take a moment to consider this answer. “I guess so. I mean, would you love someone forever if sex was out of the equation?”
“Yes,” the blonde says vehemently, but the way her boyfriend’s head tilts to the side speaks a different story. Luckily for him, she doesn’t notice.
However, the professor does.
“Interesting.” Ferguson scratches his beard. “Why do you not believe in the existence of sexless love?”
“It’s not that I don’t believe in it. I mean, there are platonic relationships that don’t have sex as a requirement, but that’s a different story. If we are talking romance, then sex is a requirement.”
“Tyler,” the professor calls out the blonde’s boyfriend. “Do you agree with Ms. Hartman?”
Tyler untangles his fingers from his girlfriend’s and leans forward, looking at me for a moment. I get a feeling he’s wondering if he should lie, but his body language answers Ferguson’s questions. “I know this is going to sound like an asshole thing to say. But I mean, if you aren’t having sex, you are thinking of when you are going to have it. Waiting periods depend on different things, but I guess Lexi is right.”
The blonde clucks her tongue and crosses her arms in front of her chest.
Before Tyler can smooth things over, Ferguson rolls with the idea, “Waiting periods?” Ferguson smiles and rounds his desk to stand in front of it. He takes a seat, making himself comfortable. Between his spread legs, his hands curl around the edge of the desk as he balances back and forth. “Tell me more about this time interval. What does it depend on?”
Tyler runs his hands through his thick hair. “Professor Ferguson, are you trying to get me in trouble with my girl?”
The young professor smiles.
My head whirls around to the swoon around me. The eye roll that follows if completely involuntary. Triggered stimulus, undoubtedly.
“Just simply curious. I think the rest of the class is also, but if you don’t feel comfortable answering…” He lets his words trail off, bating Tyler.
“I know what he means,” I save the dude, because I pity him right now. “There’s a difference in how time is perceived here, but it all comes down to one thing. The waiting period is a test on how into her the guy is. If he waits longer, then he respects her more. I guess it’s what segregates physical attraction from emotional attraction.”
“So, there is a difference in attraction?”
“Half these girls are attracted to you, Professor,” I quip. “But are they emotionally attached to you? Or just daydreaming about being spread on the table.”
No flinch. “Careful, Ms. Hartman. Imagination is a powerful thing in psychology class.” My throat closes up as his eyes linger on me just a little bit longer than usual. They flicker over the auditorium before they land back on me. “Let me pose the question to you: at what point is an emotional attraction achieved?”
Good question.
“Are there triggers that lure someone into a connection on an emotional level. Because,” he uses both hands to animate his conversation. “Don’t you have to talk to someone to find out what they are like emotionally?”
Why can’t the professor just leave this alone? I gear myself for another discussion when someone in the back of the room answers, “Depends on what kind of langu
age you’re speaking.”
I swivel my head around to see Teagan, my bestie, coming to my rescue. She comes down the stairs.
Ferguson’s frown is apparent. “You are twenty minutes late, Ms. Blackwell.”
She takes a seat next to me and places her book down on the desk, taking her time to answer. Knowing Teagan, she probably has some snarky comment in the back of her head because Ferguson didn’t actually pose a question, he just made an observation.
“Well? So you also believe there’s a difference between physical and emotional attraction, or should I wait until you get yourself situated?”
She pulls her long straight hair away from her eyes, and looks directly at the professor, as if intimidation doesn’t work on her. A few weeks ago, she would never be this bold. The stare down lasts a little longer than it should, until she finally speaks up. “I think it’s pretty obvious what the difference is, Professor. One involves sexual activity, the other doesn’t. I think it’s the combination of the two that brings about the aspect of love. And as for the emotional attraction, body language speaks louder than words.”
At the mention of body language, the professor uncrosses his arms and relaxes his shoulders. “I see you have at least done the reading.” Something I have not done in a while. “I think that’s enough discussion on what you think love is.”
My jaw might have dropped a little. Professor Ferguson isn’t known for dropping topics. He could go a whole period with just having us discuss, then teach from those topics.
“Put everything away.” His voice is not as playful as it was before. In fact, it’s uncharacteristically harsh. “Since you all seem to think my assignments are optional, I have prepared a pop quiz based on the assigned reading. You will have the rest of class to finish it, but know this will be fifty percent of the allotted assignment grade. I’m sure you all know how to do the math, so I suggest you try very hard to do your best.”
Fucking shit. Our assignment grade was a big chunk of our final grade. I suck at math, but I guess that means there’s a lot riding on this. When blonde-haired, love-sick girl hands me the test, I scan it quickly. There are names in there I have never even heard of before. I don’t even bother to bullshit my way through this. I couldn’t answer any of these, and giving him half-assed answers will just make me look like an idiot. So, I put my name and date on the top, and then write: “I didn’t read.”