by Eden O'Neill
How did he have so much of my heart already?
It must have been infatuation only and a hell of a lot of good sex. Ramses was great at sex, great at oral sex. I lifted my hand off my neck, saying nothing, and this did get a full laugh on his end this time. Though, a clear hint of frustration weaved within it the way he smoothed his hand over his curls before setting back at his neck. I wasn’t going to give him anything. I couldn’t.
It would make all this easier. Cutting off ties was easier. Bracing his arms, he stared at me.
“Jersey girl…” He sighed before reaching and dipping two fingers in my robe’s belt loops. He hooked me over and though I didn’t want to, I did. His arms came to fall around my waist and though he sat, he still had to look down at me with his size. “I can’t change your mind?”
Since he couldn’t, I shook my head. “We had fun. Let’s not complicate it.”
The way I’d simplified last night, everything that went down clearly didn’t sit well with him, and he showed me that when he let go of me and picked up his fork. He started eating food that’d long gone cold, but that didn’t stop him from distracting himself from me.
“Yeah, fun,” he said, his tone dry, and I hated that I did that. He’d thank me for this later. He didn’t want any more drama in his life either, and he’d get a lot of that with me. It was like it always seemed to follow me.
Even if it hadn’t always been this way.
Chapter Eight
Bri
I ended up running late for my first seminar of the term, go figure. Apparently, testing my daily commute nearly two weeks before the start of classes meant nothing. The city of Maywood Heights had been gridlocked the entire way out of it, then my almost two-hour commute to campus the same. Queenstown Village, where Pembroke University and my new teaching job happened to be, had been just as much of a cluster fuck coming in so I’d been screwed either way.
The past two weeks had been me trying to get my life together as much as trying to forget about how it had basically started. I hadn’t heard from Ramses. Obviously. I hadn’t given him my number, nor had we exchanged full names. We hadn’t even been intimate before he left. We’d just left things.
And that was that.
Easier, I think for both of us, in the end. I could focus on my new life in Maywood Heights, and he could do whatever he was doing. He clearly did pretty well for himself if his choice of ride and the fact that he rented a condo out to his friend was any indicator. I rented myself at thirty-five and on a professor’s salary. He didn’t need the distraction of me in his life any more than I needed him in mine, and as I felt before, we saved each other from that with a clean cut-off.
We’d also given each other a night not to think about our own shit, and I’d had a lot of it. I’d chosen to move to Maywood Heights via a direction from my friend and support system, Evie. She also happened to be the dean of the history department at the university, so when it came to deciding being close to her in town versus my new job, I’d decided to rent in Maywood Heights. This was apparently pretty common for both students and faculty to commute. Pembroke was the closest university to the city, esteemed, and lots of money came out of Maywood Heights just to go into the university’s programs. At least, according to Evie. I guess even her family funded several programs in the campus’s rigorous curriculum.
“You’ll love working there,” she’d said to me, the pair of us getting coffee over the weekend before my first day. She’d apologized for basically ditching me at that wedding, and since I was hard-pressed for friendships as of late, of course I’d forgiven her. I also owed her a lot. She’d taken more than one phone call through the panic of my failed marriage and understanding of my quick need to get away from both the place and the person I’d been with. She’d gotten me this job at the university and heard all about my ex-husband, Alec.
At least, all the stuff I could verbally say out loud.
I’d had to sign an NDA in the end, customary since my ex-husband used to play sports for a very popular team. He was still a fan favorite, despite being retired for more than a few years. Had an image to protect.
I just wished he’d cared about protecting me more.
My ex-husband was an asshole, a pathetic, uninspired has-been who spent more time indulging himself in vices instead of trying to rise above the problems in this life. I suppose we were the same in that aspect.
No, you’re nothing like him.
No, I would never have done the things he did to me pre-divorce and definitely not after what had transpired to basically cause the divorce. We’d both been a mess, but at least I’d tried to handle things, keep my chin up.
Refusing to think about all that now on my first day, I peeled my Benz into the faculty parking lot of Pembroke University. The weather had cleared a little since that wedding a couple of weeks ago, but still, the evidence of slush and dirty snow remained. It packed onto my heels good upon sliding out of my SUV and nearly sucked me beneath my car like Alice into Wonderland.
On concrete, I scraped and slid around in my woman’s cigarette pants, a taupe-colored crop-style to go with my blazer. I didn’t want to be matchy-matchy today, so I went with a warm brown to complement my black top beneath. Honestly, the juxtaposition of tones reminded me of what I used to wear back in the days when I frequented dig sites in Egypt and other more remote areas of Africa. Of course, that’d been before I’d decided to become a sports star’s wife.
I grumbled in the wool coat I wore atop it all, trying to balance my coffee, bag, and purse. I managed to lock my car with a chirp, then glided through campus without killing myself. Faculty parking got me right at the entrance of the history department. My first class was early western civilizations. Definitely fitting since that was my background. I’d actually met Evie during my first early western civ class during my time at NYU.
I passed her office on the way to mine. Her light was on. Odds were, she was in there doing her own work, but I didn’t have time to say hi since I had maybe thirty minutes before my class started. This may seem like a lot of time for the students, but since I was a professor, I needed to prepare a bit.
I dropped my personal items inside my office, still packed with boxes and other personal items I’d moved over here. I still had a lot to do regarding getting the place together, but obviously didn’t have time this morning.
A sip from my coffee and my coat hung, I dashed out the door with my messenger bag, thankful I didn’t have any overly eager students already in there. I appreciated that, but not today, embarrassed enough since I was already what I considered late.
I turned on the overhead projector, then logged on, hitting the lights while the computer booted up. I also got my syllabus out as well, stacking them at the front, and by the time the computer came on and I had my presentation on screen, I sorta kinda looked like I had it together. I always found it funny how I believed my professors in school and teachers in high school always had things together. I was definitely not a great example of that.
“Morning, professor.”
“Morning.”
A few students chirped as they filtered inside, and I passed a wave in greeting to them as I finished setting up. This was an undergraduate class, a general elective for most, so odds were, it’d be mostly freshman in here today. Sometimes an occasional junior or senior would make their way in as well, waiting until the last minute to get their gen-eds in and all that. I smiled at the small group. “Go ahead and grab syllabuses before you sit. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
Today should be a rather easy day. Usually, the first week or so was pretty easy. I’d let the class read the syllabus today, then as the weeks progressed, we’d get to the more detailed stuff regarding class work. By week three, the class had usually thinned out pretty good and long gone were the days that I took offense to that. Especially when it came to undergraduate classes. Early western civ wasn’t for everyone, and it wasn’t a course I let my students sleep through. They had
to do the readings and the work, and some found they could get by with an easy art or media class instead.
The students took my direction while I worked my jacket off, already hot from rushing around. I fanned myself out behind the podium, leaving my arms bare in my black dress tank. I probably wouldn’t stay the whole period that way, but it worked for now.
I drew my hands down my face, before lacing my fingers together and greeting each new student in with a smile. I gave them all the same direction, take a syllabus before sitting and they did, the room filling up quickly. Before I knew it, the whole classroom was filled aside for a few seats.
I closed the door promptly at the top of the hour. Literally the most annoying thing to me in the world was to start late, and the second, late students.
In the center of the room, I stood. “Good morning, class. My name is Brielle Whitman-Quintero. Doctor. But you can just call me professor.” I put my hands together. “And this is History 275, Early Western Civilizations.”
Making my way to the podium, I flicked to a slide about myself and my credentials before coming around and hitching a seat against the table up front.
“First thing’s first,” I said. “I’m pretty laid-back, but I abhor lateness. In all forms. I don’t start late. I don’t like late. I promise I’ll show up for you guys, on time, and I expect the same in return. I respect you guys enough to not waste your time, so I just ask that I get that from you too.”
A general consensus with their nods, so it seemed like we were clear, but then, the door creaked open and the gates of chaos and trickery unfurled its wicked mischief directly into my classroom, a man in sharp black gliding in with a brown leather cross bag strapped to his broad chest. He wore all black down to his suede shoes, laced and immaculate beneath the cuff of his twill pants, his dress shirt left a button or two open and hugging his tapered frame. The entire room directed their eyes to him, just like me, but unlike them, they got zero of his attention.
That, well, was reserved for me.
He stopped on me, almost like he’d been looking for me, but clearly, he hadn’t, his steps slowed, his mouth parted. He even looked around to make sure he was in the right place.
I had the feeling he was.
I had a feeling someone hated me, had to because no way was he in there right now.
No way was he in my class.
But sure enough, even from the back of the room, those thick curls swayed in their awesome way, those eyes danced and that smile ticked right as the seconds passed. Out of the periphery, someone tapped him with a syllabus, making room when he took his attention off me long enough to take the handout, then the seat they offered. He sat right in the back, fingers laced and popping his focus in my direction. That smile never left.
And I was dead.
Ramses
Dude.
What the fuck?
But there she was, right there at the head of the class like some slow-reeling fantasy, a wet dream in her tight pants, ankle strap heels, and a black top that glided easy silk over her glorious rack. She nearly peeped side boob out of the side of it, fucking hot and had me seriously about to adjust my shit right under this damn desk. I almost hadn’t even made it into class today, a scheduled board meeting with my name on it. It was my first one, and I hated to move it, but I had class and the board had been accommodating. There’d been more than one moving piece to make that happen though and I literally had to wait until confirmation this morning before hopping in my ride and huffing it to class. The board agreed to get me in tomorrow, so I made it here today.
In front of Brielle, apparently.
Brielle, my professor, with her gorgeously matte lips and firecracker personality. I was about ninety percent sure she’d been chewing out the class before I walked the hell in here. I caught the tail end of it as I opened the door and the class had been silent. I questioned turning around at the sound of a spiel about being late but figured I could take the handling. I wouldn’t let it happen again and would apologize to my professor for the error.
My professor.
Fucking gorgeous and in awe of the situation just as much as me. She hadn’t said anything when I’d come in, and since I’d been surprised to see her myself, I merely took my seat before letting her continue. She did, albeit, after a beat. She flicked a lock of that silky black hair of hers, taking the time to pull it around like she could ever, in her life, cover up how awesome her chest was. In the end, she opted to return her jacket on, flipping out her hair over its boxy shoulders. She looked like a real professor up there, a doctor apparently. She had her presentation all up on the projection screen and with a hurried urgency dove right into it without addressing me or our situation at all. At the present, she was going to act like it never happened, like we never happened, and since we were in a room full of her students and my, well, classmates, I didn’t blame her.
How had I found you again?
She’d been slippery, slithered right away out of my life, and I’d allowed that to be divine intervention. We’d gotten together in a weird way, a given, and I was going to let the universe do whatever the fuck it wanted. I’d tested Mother Earth enough to know better than to fuck with her again. If Bri didn’t want to see me, cut this shit off, I was going to let it happen and be at peace with how the cards ended up falling. I really was busy and didn’t have time either and honestly, really had no business getting involved with a woman. Not right now, not at all and here one continued to fall into my lap.
I pretended to follow along with the syllabus, listen to her with the rest of my classmates, but there wasn’t a moment where I didn’t follow her mouth to the rest of her, to that banging body, thighs all thick and supple beneath her tight pants like they were made for squeezing hands, my hands. In fact, the moment I knew I started to drift into creeper territory was when my focus did go back to what she was saying, and the fact she was doing everything in her power not to look at me. Typically, in these first classes the professors either had us read the syllabus ourselves or take turns reading out loud while the professor followed along. But this allowed room for silence and wandering eyes, clearly, on Brielle’s part. Reading herself kept her busy, kept her eyes off me, because the moment she slipped up, whether from fleeting attention or stumbling across a word, our eyes immediately clashed. We were back in her home.
We were back in her bedroom.
She was back with me while I made her moan beneath her sheets or in the middle of her empty living room. I idly wondered if she had furniture now, envisioning licking her clean on her sofa, coffee table…
“All right. I’ll see you all later in the week.”
My gaze flicked up to see her packing, quickly, while students squeaked their chairs out and exited swiftly in manner. A second flick gave me the wall clock and the fact we’d wrapped after only twenty minutes of lecture wasn’t lost on me. That was a new record for a first day’s class, leaving ten maybe fifteen minutes early not unusual for the first day.
Yeah, she was trying to get out of here.
But seeing as she had a lot more stuff to put away and shut off than the rest of us, not right this minute. I scooped up my syllabus, shoved it in my bag, then helped her, grabbing extra syllabuses left behind.
I sauntered up to the front of the room after that, no one surprised more than me to find my heart racing as the seconds before our impromptu reunion disappeared along with the space between us.
What is she doing to me?
Something, my grin easy as I came to a stop in front of her. She had herself tucked away behind the podium but had to step around to get the extra syllabuses left behind. Seeing I already had them, her heels squeaked back on the tiles, nearly stumbling, but I had her covered there too.
My hand shot out with precision, those reflexes from playing ball in the past good for something.
I grabbed her, had her, and she returned to me with an easy accuracy, her body warm and that close when her lapels grazed my chest and her flow
ers touched my nose. My whole suit had smelled like her after we’d parted, and I’d left it out, still hanging there on the other side of my walk-in’s door. I told myself because I needed to get it dry-cleaned.
Unsure now as my blood heated, hovering above her as my body instinctually wanted to glide over her. I was painfully aware of how suddenly uncomfortable my pleated pants were, needing to go into the office today after my classes. I planned to work Monday through Friday, or more. Classes be damned. I was still my father’s son, more than one thing instilled in me unfortunately. Just because the firm had my name on it didn’t make it mine. It was still his, his until I took it.
That was something he’d reminded me every day before he went away, that I wasn’t entitled, nothing could be mine until I’d earned it. Took it. My father was a fan of tough love as much as making bad decisions, but even if he wasn’t, I was going to show up. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of anything else, the first to think me weak if he ever got the chance. He’d never say it, of course, too proud to put weak and his son in the same sentence, but that fact wouldn’t stop him from thinking it.
Honestly, I didn’t know why I cared and didn’t in this moment now, roses and wild flowers misted in a spring rain surrounding me. Hell, a monsoon assaulted me, as equally torrential as this woman was soft. That was Brielle Whitman-Quintero, as tough as she was pliable. She didn’t take shit, and now, I knew she was a doctor too.
My professor.
I saw that completely in her eyes, what I was to her, what she was to me. Whatever the case, I probably wasn’t supposed to have my hands on her, her body stiff, her hands stiff. She had them curled and embedded in my shirt. I believed to keep from falling.
I righted her, and she let go, backing away. She straightened her top before tugging the jacket. “Thank you.”
My response was handing her extra syllabuses, for which she thanked me too, before I pocketed my hands. “No problem.”