by Jessa York
“They’ll make me tired,” she said, stifling down a yawn. “I can’t study when I’m sleepy.”
That brought a picture up of her in my mind. Her sweet, soft body lying on mine as she slept. My hand running through her long hair. Being surrounded by the scent of coconut. My cock liked that daydream, very much.
“Take it before you sleep then.” For someone who seemed so intelligent she really was crappy at problem solving.
“I don’t sleep much.”
Frowning over at her, I knew that was far from the truth. “Why do you insist on lying? Especially to me? I know for a fact you sleep well.” Granted, we hadn’t slept for long periods of time but when we did, she was out like a light.
“I don’t lie,” she said, making me laugh way too hard. “What? I don’t.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious. Okay so I lied about my name and my age. I’m not old enough to be in clubs. What did you expect me to say to a complete stranger? Hi, I just got out of high school, can you call the police and tell them I’m underage in a twenty-one plus bar?”
Lowering my voice, I looked out the front window. “No, but I would have liked you to tell me.”
I felt her eyes on me for a while before she spoke again, “Sorry, you’re right. I should have told you how old I was.”
“I didn’t even mention giving me Big Daddy’s number.”
“What?”
I peered over at her, giving her a quick once over. “Instead of your phone number, you gave me Big Daddy Steven’s.” Picking up my phone, I quickly opened my conversation with Big Daddy Steven.
As she read it and scrolled down, a gasp and loud shriek came out of her mouth. Paige dropped my phone on the floor, her hands covering her mouth.
That made me chuckle lightly to myself.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” she said, maneuvering down to pick up my phone.
“The whole age, name, and number thing I can understand. But honestly, why would you lie about—” I started but didn’t have the guts to continue.
“What? I didn’t lie about anything else. Oh, about where I worked? Well you lied about that, too. And really, I didn’t exactly lie. I do work in an office. It just happens to be in my bedroom.”
“Not what I meant.” I sighed, then kicked myself for not leaving it alone. This particular lie of hers had found its way under my ribs and stayed there.
“Okay, I have no idea what you mean.” Her hands rose up by her shoulders as she shook her head.
“About being a—” I swung my head to her. “Unicorn.”
Her mouth went into the shape of an O, unable to speak. Yeah, that one she didn’t have an answer for.
I didn’t push the issue of the painkillers. With the boot and crutches they gave her, I’m sure that foot would finally start healing. And Heaven knows I wasn’t going to be around every four hours to make her take the pills.
Back at school, we were parked behind Paige’s car in the lot. I helped her out and packed up the car—crutches, backpack, and all. As I was just about to close the driver’s side door, she caught it with her hand. “Jake,” she said, damn I loved it when she said my name in that breathy tone. Especially when she was underneath me. “For what it’s worth—not that it matters anymore anyway—” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “I was a—unicorn.” With that, she slammed the door then started her car. The rickety vehicle puffed out a cloud of smoke from the exhaust pipe. A strange thought came over me that I should get her a new, safer car to drive.
Standing there as she pulled out of her stall, I shook my head knowing that wasn’t my problem. As for the unicorn business, I decided not to think about that at all. Ever again.
21
Jake
“Hi, Jake here,” I said into my phone as I was about to turn out of the parking lot.
“Professor Richter, I’d like to see you as soon as possible. We have a small—matter to discuss.” I recognized the voice as the dean’s.
“Will tomorrow be all right?” I asked, hoping like hell he’d say yes. Waiting around for X-rays and results and more doctors was tiring. Then Paige had to be fitted for that goofy boot on her foot. I guess it’s better than a cast. Even though I wasn’t the one with the sprained ankle, I was still exhausted.
I’d had to cancel a class and two meetings. My evening would be busy making up for that.
“Afraid not. Come down when you’re back from your appointment, please.” Broaching no questions, he promptly hung up.
Knocking on Dean Miller’s door, I heard a sharp, “Come in.” For some reason, I felt like I’d been called to the principal’s office. In a sense that’s exactly what had happened. “Close the door behind you, please.”
Doing as I was told, he quickly added, “Sit down, Professor Richter. Let’s get right to the point of the matter, shall we?” he said, his reading glasses slipping further down his nose as he picked up the sheet of paper in front of him.
Lifting his head with a bit of an exaggerated shake, he said, “Have you even passed grade twelve calculus? I don’t think you’re cut out for this.”
The room felt like it was closing in on me. Leaning forward, I gazed down at the paper in his hand. It was Paige’s quiz that I’d marked up so badly it had more red ink on it than blue. “She’s having a great deal of difficulty, Dean Miller.”
“I see,” he said, taking off his glasses, setting them on his desk. “And is this how they taught you at Harvard to deal with students who were experiencing difficulties?”
Nope. They also didn’t recommend we sleep with our students. “No sir, I just feel that Miss Flores will not be successful in my class. No matter how much she studies.”
He leaned back in his oversized, overstuffed chair. “I see. And will you please bring me the crystal ball so I can also try my hand at predicting the future?” His hands crossed on his immense stomach.
“I see your point, sir. I really feel—”
“Yes, you seem to be very astute at expressing your feelings. Perhaps you could go down to the daycare center and discuss them with the children there?”
“Point taken.”
Bending forward, hands on his desk, he spoke again, “This,” he picked up the quiz then tossed it in my direction, “is not the way we treat students here. It goes against everything we at this university believe in. I don’t think anyone—including a fortune teller—would be able to accurately tell each student on day three, Professor Richter, whether they would pass a class or not.”
“Therefore, in order for you to understand the gravity of what you’ve done, I’m proposing two things. First, you need to apologize to Miss Flores. I’m told by several witnesses that she stormed out of your classroom in humiliation. Well, as much as one can storm with an obvious leg injury.”
“I can do that.”
“Good,” he said, picking up his glasses, putting them back on. “Secondly, I want you to tutor this young woman, personally. Free of charge.”
All breath left my lungs. “With all due respect, Dean Miller, I’m much too busy to tutor students. If she wants to stay after class, I can surely go over—”
“Let me put this more clearly. Either you tutor her, for free, or there will be other—consequences for you. Trust me, Professor. You don’t want those.”
Fine, if the old coot wanted to force me to tutor Paige, I’d do it. He didn’t say how well I had to tutor her, though. “I completely understand. Thank you for your—” I said, beginning to get out of my seat.
“Sit down, Professor. One more thing.”
There couldn’t be one more thing. He’d already threatened my job. What more could he do?
“At the end of the term, Miss Flores will take her final exam, just like the other students.”
“Okay,” I said, not understanding what he was getting at.
“She will take that final from Professor Lee. He will grade it himself. If Miss Flores fails to pass, I’m afra
id you’ll be asked to leave your position. Permanently.”
22
Paige
The only good thing about this stupid boot was the fact that I could at least take it off to shower. Thinking of having to wear a heavy, sweaty, cast grossed me out. It’d only been a couple of days, but I was already getting around better than before.
My crutches were a godsend when my ankle would start screaming. But for the most part I was surprisingly functional. So much so that my mom was currently begging me to come help with a dinner party her bosses were hosting.
“Mom, can you see the thing on my leg?” I responded, going for the sympathy card. I’d do whatever I could to get out of this.
“Oh, you’re getting around good now, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like you’re walking there.” She flipped the dishtowel over the handle of the stove in one quick swoop.
This was quite the contrast to when she came home and saw my crutches and boot. The tears didn’t stop all night. Mom didn’t leave me alone except to dial another member of our family to inform them—in her fast-talking, hysterical Spanish—of the great tragedy that had befallen our household.
Who was the drama queen?
“What use am I going to be? It’s not like I can help serve.” I shook my leg for emphasis.
She threw her hands up in the air, looking straight up to the heavens. “God, I give everything to this child I grew inside me. I labored for four days, not eating a thing the whole time. And this is how she treats me?”
Always with the four days of labor. Even so, no amount of guilt tripping was going to convince me to go. If Jake happened to be there I’d die of embarrassment. “I haven’t been to their house in ten years. Honestly, I just don’t feel comfortable going.”
“Oh well, certainly, then. If you’re not comfortable. I was not so comfortable during the four days I labored with you. And the twenty-seven stitches they used were not so comfortable, either. So goodness knows, I’d hate to put you out.”
“Mom,” I said, rolling my eyes, shaking my head. “Can’t you call Lucy? She always helps you.” Lucy had been with the Richter’s for years as well.
“Lucy is not so comfortable at home with pneumonia. But you’re right, I’ll call and tell her to come to work and cough all over the food.”
That’s when the stare-a-thon began. It was this thing we did since I was a kid. She’d stand there, feet shoulder width apart, arms crossed, staring down at me. I would sit there, arms crossed, glaring up at her.
She knew I could only take so much. “I refuse to serve them. I’m not walking around with this thing on my foot for anyone to see.”
“Who asked you to? I just want an extra set of eyes on the stove so nothing burns.”
“Nobody sees me?” I asked, wanting definite, absolute confirmation of this fact. Otherwise I might have to fake a flu.
“Zero. Not even Mrs. Richter will come in the kitchen. She’ll be too busy entertaining.”
It was like a flashback to another time when I stepped into the Richter’s kitchen again after all these years. Looking around, not much had changed. I think the countertops might be new but I couldn’t be sure. I was all of eight years old when I last saw them.
“Over there. Sit,” Mom said, jerking her head toward a chair at the table. She carried in a few large trays of food, setting them down on the island.
“I can help—” I said, before her booming voice cut me off.
“Sit. That was our deal.” Then she motored around in such fluid motions sometimes I wondered if she even had feet. I’d brought some schoolbooks with me, so I started on a bit of homework until Mom called for me to move closer to the stove.
She pushed one of the stools and a chair over for me, then I plunked myself down, assuming my stirring duties. There really was no reason for me to be there. I hardly did anything while Mom arranged and served and prepared. Mostly I just felt like a lump.
Any time I offered to help she’d cut me off and order me to keep my eyes on the stove. Good grief. Any idiot could do that.
About an hour into the shindig, I was feeling fairly confident nobody would see me in the kitchen when mom came back with the oddest of looks on her face.
“Paige, come follow me,” she said, waving for me to walk to her.
“Why?” I asked, lowering my book, suspicious of what she wanted.
“Stop with the questions. Just come,” she said, backing up to the door between the kitchen and the dining room.
“That’s okay, I’m good,” I said, turning my face back to the stove.
“Paige,” she said in a weird whisper yell. “Now. Please. I, I, I told Mr. and Mrs. Richter that you were here.”
“No, you did not,” I whisper-yelled back to her. All she did was nod, a frightened look on her face. “I’m not going.”
“Please, Paige, they are excited to see you.”
I’d never seen my mom look like this before. She really needed me to do this to save face. “Why did you tell them I was here?”
“It slipped out.”
“Gah, is anyone I know there? Besides Mr. and Mrs. Richter?” I didn’t want to specifically say Jake’s name. If I did that, Mom would wonder why I didn’t want to see him.
Her eyes looked to the ground for a moment. “No, no, just people you’ve never seen before.”
Phew. Then there was no danger in saving my mother from public humiliation. Maneuvering down off the stool, I decided to leave my crutches and go slowly. The dining room wasn’t that far away. Besides, I looked pathetic enough as it was.
Mom opened the door for me, a big smile on her face. “Here she is,” she announced as if I were some kind of celebrity.
Plastering on the fakest of fake smiles, I tromped in, looking around for the hosts. Almost immediately my eyes found Jake’s. To say the look on his face was one of shock would have been an understatement. He really didn’t put two and two together until now.
My head swam with dizziness, but I refused to show it. “Paige, look how you’ve grown,” Mrs. Richter said, standing up as she set her napkin down on the table.
As she started toward me, I said, “I don’t want to interrupt your dinner.”
“Nonsense,” Mr. Richter said, “You’re like family, come tell us what you’re up to?”
Mrs. Richter made it over to me, giving me a quick hug. “Oh my, your leg,” she exclaimed, hand to her mouth. “How did you do that?”
All on their own, my eyes traveled back to Jake. “I’m still clumsy,” I said, not going into detail.
“You poor thing,” Mrs. Richter said, arm around me now. “How nice of you to offer to help your mother tonight despite your accident.”
I smiled at my mom as she nervously began to clear the plates. “Do you remember our son, Jake? He’s a professor at the university now, you know. Maybe you two will bump into each other on campus someday?”
“Yes, hi,” I said, gazing at him briefly. A slow flush traveled through my body when our eyes met again. My stomach fluttered as my fingernails dug into the palms of my hands.
“And beside him is his fiancée, Melanie,” she said, pointing to the gorgeous woman beside Jake. Melanie did a cute little wave.
My legs felt weak and I think I began to wobble as Mrs. Richter introduced everyone else at the table. Not that I could hear a darn thing. The roar of blood pulsing in my brain was nearly deafening. Fiancée? I had to get out of there. And soon. “So nice to meet you all. Enjoy your dessert, it looks fantastic.”
Backing away briskly, I prayed I’d get through the kitchen door before falling over. I had enough injuries to deal with.
Hobbling to the stove, I took a deep breath as I hoisted myself up on the stool. Holding onto the counter for support, I sat for a second to get my bearings. Mrs. Richter had indeed said, fiancée. Hadn’t she?
An alarm rang in my brain. The likelihood that Jake had met a woman, fallen in love, and asked for her hand in marriage—all in the last week and a half�
�seemed impossible. Breathing became difficult as I choked down my anger.
That meant when he’d slept with me, he’d also been sleeping with Melanie. That was her name, right? Which also meant he’d cheated on her. With me. My head spun as the ramifications of that hit me like a truck.
Jake Richter was a lying bastard and I had slept with an almost married man.
I was a freaking home-wrecker.
“There’s nothing to stir, go sit at the table so I can clean here. Go,” my mom said, shooing me away. I’d been oblivious to the fact that not only was the stove off, there were no longer any pots on it.
“Okay, okay,” I said, sliding down off my perch. Luckily by then I wasn’t quite as dizzy anymore. Realization had set in. I was officially a slut. Gosh, what if Melanie found out? What if Jake was telling her about us right now?
My brain came to a halt so quickly I almost heard a screeching sound. No way would Jake ever tell his fiancée he’d slept with me. In fact, I’d bet I was far from the first girl he’d cheated on her with. That made my stomach begin to roil. Oh God, I’d have to make an appointment at the free clinic now to get tested for whatever that manwhore could have given me.
“You all right? You seemed woozy out there,” Mom said, handing me a steaming cup of tea. Hovering over me with a curious look on her face.
“It’s just my foot,” I said, grabbing the cup. “Thanks.”
“Did you eat anything?” she asked, turning back to her work. The mountain of dishes to be done and food to be packed away overwhelmed me. I don’t know how she’s managed to do this day after day.
“Umm,” I said, picking up my pen, pretending to do work as my brain exploded with what I’d just found out. “I don’t think I did.”
She shook her head at me, speaking in Spanish. When Mom was mad, she spoke even faster than usual making it tough to understand. All I could make out was something about learning to take better care of myself. Whatever. After seeing Jake and his intended there was no way I felt like eating anyway. In fact, it was probably a blessing to have an empty stomach.