Lover: A Student Teacher Romance (Court University Book 4)

by Eden O'Neill

  Well, fuck.

  But before I could fight her, she was guiding me back toward the chairs, telling me her life story and how nice this group was. She also said she hoped I’d participate and after literally walking me toward the front of the room, deposited me maybe a row or two behind Ramses.

  I plopped down with basically a plop as the woman smiled at me.

  “We’re about to begin,” she said. “Happy to have you.”

  I forced my own smile through gritted teeth. I was here now, so I obviously couldn’t leave.

  I placed my coat down as I watched the woman waddle her way up toward the front of the room, about to curse then growl when I noticed shaking shoulders ahead.

  I caught Ramses mid-glance as he faced forward, the jerk laughing and clearly at me. Call it a freaking feeling, his head going back as he crossed his legs then placed his hands on his knee.

  “Welcome to Coping with Change,” the woman who seated me said, grinning at the crowd. “This is a very easy going group, and I hope we can all help each other. We have a lot of new faces today, so let’s start by saying our names. How about you first over there? We spoke before. Would love to know a bit about who you are. Happy to have you.”

  All gazes navigated in my direction and Ramses, well, completely turned around. He’d also gone casual today, his band t-shirt cuffing hard over his shoulders as he rested a thick arm on the back of his chair. He actually looked his age today, a typical college guy in his well-worn jeans.

  He passed me that Ramses’s grin, dashing his eyebrows in my direction to tell these strangers all about myself.

  Shaking my head, I faced the room, making my name and occupation known but quickly. After that, they moved on and I didn’t miss those large shoulders shaking with silent laughter. Ramses got great satisfaction out of my discomfort.

  I shrunk in my chair.

  I tried not to the whole meeting, but all this was terribly awkward even if I hadn’t run into the guy I’d slept with, who was also my student and my friend’s son.

  I wrestled with my coat above a rocking knee, only partially listening to everyone going around and sharing. I found myself distracted by the guy not two rows in front of me, the one paying complete attention like he was in class.

  Ramses listened to everyone’s stories. He mentioned nothing about himself but did participate with the other’s in the group. In fact, he’d engaged a lot with them, in that social way and that gift of the gab he had. He was still doing the appeasing thing he did, clearly. I’d seen it on more than one occasion with myself. The last time he’d made me look at him. Just look at him to calm down.

  “Listen to me and get out of your head.”

  I heard his voice in a paraphrase circulating my brain, how I had come down from panic. He was really good at that, keeping others from panicking.

  “We’ll take a short break, everyone, and maybe those who haven’t shared yet can. Though, of course, you’re by no means obligated, as always.”

  I faced forward to find a woman’s eyes on me, the one who’d worn the beanie hat. She winked at me, acknowledging me before I rushed out of my chair and immediately went to get coffee at the group’s coffeemaker.

  Of course, I wasn’t the only one with thoughts to head there, and the guy at the brewer stood ready as if waiting for me.

  Apparently, he was. Ramses literally had two cups of coffee in his hands, one he gave to me the moment I got up there. At this point, he seemed to have his life together more than myself.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking it but not drinking. Something told me it’d go down in nothing but a lump.

  “No problem.” He eased out of the way for the crowd, both of us did. He tipped the cup in my direction. “So, Coping with Change.”

  “Coping with Change,” I mumbled. “Your mom suggested it.” Kind of a lie, kind of the truth. She’d actually suggested bereavement for me. My jaw moved. “I have a lot of changes. You know, being new here. I also just got divorced, so…”

  “Right.” He lifted his coffee again. I hadn’t told him I’d just gotten divorced, but he knew about it. He nodded. “So, I guess you’re not stalking me then?”

  “Not.”

  He appeared to be let down, feigning it before chuckling. “Mom suggested this to me. Texted me with the details about a week ago, but I’m finally getting off my ass to do it. Apparently, group therapy will help me with ‘my attitude.’”

  I frowned.

  “I’ve got my own changes I’m going through.” He shrugged. “Most recently, coming back home. I used to go to Brown University before Pembroke.”

  “Yeah, she told me,” I informed him, and when he blinked, I thought to say more as well. “Not the details, but that you used to go there. That you don’t now and that you maybe got into some trouble.”

  “Ah. Seems my life is an open book.” His brow lifted, not much humor there. Not like he usually had anyway. He took a sip of his coffee, but when he cringed, I laughed.

  That was until I tasted mine.

  It was freaking terrible, the epitome of, and seeing my face, Ramses took my cup.

  “Let’s, uh,” he started, making quick work of them both by tossing the paper cups in the trash. After that, he ventured over to his stuff. He slid those long arms into his coat, and when he popped his collar, I asked him what was up. He laughed. “I think I’ve had enough coping. I’m going to go get a real cup of coffee.”

  “You’re playing hooky?” I eyed him, being coy, something I never did. Well, before him.

  “Maybe. You game? I don’t see you trying to cope with a lot of change either.” He leaned in. “You know, since you basically almost ran me down trying to leave.”

  I shoved him and immediately noticed when my hand lingered. How it burned at even just a touch of him. He made it so easy to be in his presence, and though I definitely shouldn’t be ditching anything to go and be with him, I did notice my way of coping, feeling better, only seemed to happen as of late with him around.

  Bringing my hand back, I studied the room. “Promise not to tell Evie?”

  But he was already grabbing my stuff. He handed me my coat. “As long as you promise not to tell my mom.”

  *

  Ramses chose a donut place, one easy to walk to downtown. We hadn’t had to drive and made quick work of dodging the intensifying snow. We eased inside the shop like we had that night for pizza, but this time, he let me order for myself. Not that I didn’t want him to order for me. It just didn’t seem appropriate today.

  Things were different at this moment in time, the two of us acquaintances, and acquaintances ordered for themselves.

  Yes, that.

  Anyway, I got my favorite donut, a chocolate-covered long John. He’d chosen about half a dozen donut holes and black coffee. My bottle of water was good with my food after that terrible coffee at the meeting.

  We joked about that again as we sat down and after taking off our coats, found ourselves once again in easy conversation. I didn’t know what it was about this guy who was over a decade my junior. He was just freaking easy to talk to. He told me about his day of work after class, and I told him about my day teaching. It hadn’t been hard for either of us, and though I think we both had a few questions about how the evening began, we didn’t talk about it.

  At least, not at first.

  I saw the topic shift into something different quickly. How the easy stuff started to lull and the harder stuff poked toward that awkward silence. How the urge to find out something about each other besides the physical or the trivial stuff on paper was there, and really, that was when we had left together last time. We’d didn’t want to talk once we hit that point at the pizza place. We’d wanted to avoid.

  Because if we had, we would’ve had to look in each other’s eyes.

  We had to see each other, flaws and all. We had to reveal truths and the struggles of our pasts, and that night at the wedding, I didn’t think either one of us wanted to do that.
>
  We’d shown that in spades.

  “So, your mom thinks you have an attitude,” I chose to say, still easy and way more painless to endure than his eyes on me, searching me. I found myself avoiding their probe behind my bottle of water, the perfect way to avoid the seemingly endless press of his gaze.

  Perhaps, he noticed what I did there, turning the tables and topic in his direction. If he did, he didn’t call attention to it, wiping his hands on his napkin before leaning back. He once again filled the entire booth, a mighty titan and the world his tiny abyss. His smile lifted right. “I do have an attitude. Honestly, I find it hard to believe she hasn’t disowned me at this point.”

  Well, I found that hard to believe, this guy a perfect gentleman to the point I thought I should search for his robotic wires. I crossed my arms. “You’re messing with me.”

  “Not messing.” A chuckle as he tapped his cup. “I’m a smart ass and you yourself said I was arrogant.”

  He was, sometimes. I eyed him. “Why on God’s green Earth would Evie,” I stopped when I realized I was talking about his mother. Dumb, I knew. “Why would she think you have an attitude?”

  “Because I push. I push her. She doesn’t get me sometimes, and when she pushes, I push right back. I’m stubborn that way.”

  He stole a drink of his coffee, cold at this point, but then the guy behind the counter came over and filled him up.

  Ramses grinned. “Thanks, Charlie.”

  He passed a bill Charlie’s way. Not quite a hundred but way more than the dollar and a half that brew had cost him.

  “I have no idea how I didn’t know you were Evelyn’s son.” I uncapped my water, taking a drink. “She’s very generous too.”

  Not to mention, he looked quite a bit like her. They had the same smile and same eyes, despite the color. There was that other part, though.

  I tilted my head. “Where is your dad from? Well, I guess I mean his heritage.”

  I, too, had a few in there: Mexican, Puerto Rican, and a myriad of others that made me tick quite a few checks on the European spectrum in addition. I sort of knew the breakdown since I did one of those cheek swab things about a year ago. I didn’t do much with it after that, since I started getting notifications about distant family members wanting to connect with me. One of them had been one of my high school teachers and that had just been friggin’ weird.

  Ramses hadn’t said anything after my question, adjusting himself in his seat. He angled his neck back and forth before popping his fingers and I wondered if I said something.

  “He’s Syrian.” Gruff, rigid before he took another sip of coffee. He put his cup out. “You? You said at dinner those tamales were your mom’s recipe so…”

  “Mexican. She is and some Puerto Rican. Dad is Caucasian. A bunch of stuff there. Though the breakdown is a little unclear.”

  He seemed to stop listening to me at this point and that so didn’t seem like him.

  I tilted my head. “Ramses?”

  “Yep?” He jerked his attention in my direction, and I laughed.

  “You okay?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” Another stiff drink of his coffee. He pulled it down. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.” I spun my half empty water bottle on the table, catching it with my fingers. “So how about some truth? What? You don’t talk with your dad?”

  I knew his parents were divorced from Evie. Not much more than that, though. I didn’t know if he lived in town or whatever. I assumed he did since their family’s businesses were here.

  “I do not.” He said this with a smile, but it was false and didn’t reach his brown eyes at all. “Not in over four years, and as far as I’m concerned, not long enough time has passed.”

  Ouch, and definitely, not like him. “Ram—”

  “He’s in prison, Brielle,” he said, and my eyes twitched wide. He frowned. “You didn’t know that? Mom didn’t tell you… that?”

  She hadn’t, just that she was divorced. I shook my head.

  “Damn.” A shake to his head before he looked at me. He lifted his hand from his cup. “Sorry.”

  “No. I didn’t know.”

  “Even still, I shouldn’t have bit your head off.” He drew fingers down his face, and I finally noticed how tired he looked. He had a darkness under his eyes I definitely hadn’t noticed in my office.

  I guess I hadn’t been looking for it.

  I’d been too busy trying to shove him out of my life once again. I eased forward. “Want to talk about it?”

  “Not really.” His laugh was dry before he gazed down at me. “But I guess that’s why I probably should have been at Coping with Change tonight.”

  And here I thought it was whatever his issue was at Brown.

  Or maybe they were one and the same.

  Wow.

  I’d pegged this guy completely wrong, thinking all his issues had to do with his friend, feelings for her. Maybe those were there, but there were clearly other things going on too.

  His throat worked. “I told you I have an attitude problem.”

  “But you don’t.” He was just hurting, clearly hurting.

  I started to reach for his hand across the table, but I hesitated.

  Don’t do that. Don’t comfort him, console him.

  It was so easy to want to, indulge in his pain if only so I didn’t have to feel mine. We really were the ultimate distraction for each other.

  I slid my hands into my lap. “I’m sorry you’re going through things.”

  He tipped up a large shoulder. “Poor little rich boy, right?” he stated off a chuckle. “Tale as old as time. The world is my oyster, and I still manage to find shit.”

  “I think you’re simplifying things.”

  “I don’t.” His lips turned down. “It’s reality, but I guess it’s a good thing that at least I’m aware of it.”

  I guess.

  I played with my bottle again. “So that had to do with your issue at Brown?”

  “Mom seems to think so, yeah.” He nodded. “She may be right. I hold a lot of resentment for my dad. He did some bad things. Hurt our family pretty bad.”

  I wanted him to talk to me about it, share with me but it wasn’t my place. I cuffed my arms. “And here I just had a divorce.”

  Now, I was simplifying things, readily aware of that.

  As if calling me on the carpet, Ramses shot daggers at me. At least, they felt like daggers. He gave me a look that said nothing but “Yeah, try again” and I laughed.

  I opened my hands. “It maybe was more complicated than that.”

  Ramses landed his big fists on the table, eyeing me, and I knew I had to give him more than that. I did, but…

  I worked my jaw. “I can only say so much, but things got intense.” Physical. I forced out a breath. “He put hands on me.”

  I think it was the first time I’d said it out loud. Though I wasn’t allowed to technically say it out loud. I’d signed a long paper that said I couldn’t. Not that my husband had beaten me within an inch of my life or anything. But he had hurt me, enough to put bruises on me, and made it so I couldn’t show my face in public for weeks. My ex-husband was a pretty powerful man, popular in his sphere, even post-retirement, and that couldn’t get out.

  And here I simplified things again.

  The beating had been the end result of something else and actually only happened once but was enough to make me see things were done. That we couldn’t heal, and it was actually easier to talk about than prior traumas.

  In fact, a lot easier.

  Ramses’s expression shifted at that point, a darkness hitting his eyes I’d never seen before. His fingers worked on the table, and I wondered if he’d actually flip it over.

  And he hadn’t said anything.

  Not a word.

  But that didn’t mean none of them flashed across his eyes, that there were so many things he wanted to say but just didn’t know how to say them. He simply kept them to himself.

>   “Coping with Change and Emotional Stressors,” he growled, saying the full title of the class. That was one of the reasons I’d decided on it.

  I’d had a lot of emotional stress.

  Ramses dragged his fingers down his face, his mouth pinched tight and his brow furrowed. “How long ago was this?”

  I shook my head. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “How long ago?” It was like he needed to know, like it did matter. “Brielle?”

  “Not long.” I wished it had been longer. “I moved for a fresh start. He’s a public figure, and technically, I’m not supposed to talk about this. I signed an NDA.”

  “An NDA?” His laughter was thick and throaty before he forced down more coffee. “How much of a fucking coward could this guy be? What’s his name?”

  “I told you. I’m not supposed to talk about it. This is a breech, me even talking about it now.”

  Why the fuck had I talked about it?

  Goddamn it.

  I started to get up, but he grabbed my wrist. I shook it off. “No, Ramses. I have to go.”

  “Why?” He got up too. “Bri—”

  “I tell you too many things,” I shot out, definitely getting others’ attention if they’d been there. Fortunately for us, there was just the donut shop owner, and he must have been in the back somewhere since I didn’t see him. I faced him. “I talk to you about things, and I’m not myself. I don’t trust who I am with you.”

  “You don’t think I feel the same way?” he asked, angling himself in front of me. It wasn’t hard to do. He towered over me, an unyielding force of male and body. His lips pinched tight. “You don’t think I tell you shit I don’t want to say? That it’s not driving me freaking crazy?” He forced his hand through his thick curls. “If anything, that’s why we should be friends.”

  “Friends?” I frowned, shaking my head. “Ramses, I cannot be friends with you.” Like I said, I didn’t trust myself around him, not at all. I was like a walking drunk with him in the air surrounding me. I squeezed my arms. “We’d be horrible friends.”