by J. L. Beck
“May I ask why? You’re green, but you’re a good professor, Madison. The students seem to enjoy your class despite it only being a general ed class. There’s been good feedback.”
“With all due respect, sir, I have my reasons.”
He pressed his lips together. “Hmmmm. I have half a mind to tear the letter up. What can I do so we don’t lose you?”
That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? And the answer was nothing. I wasn’t staying. Even if things didn’t work out with Gabe, this wasn’t where I belonged. It wasn’t what I wanted to do.
I shifted in my seat, leaning forward slightly. “I don’t think teaching is for me.”
“Ah, there it is.” He sighed. “I was wondering if we’d get there. I’ve known you since you were a kid running around your parents’ parties. When I brought this position up with your father, I was surprised you were available.”
I shook my head, unsure what I was hearing. “When you brought it up?” As my father told it, he had to plead my case to even get my resume looked at.
“Yes, a colleague of mine sent me your resume. Margaret Hardwick. She was one of the deans of your college and someone I’ve known for years. She told me to take a look because you’d make an excellent addition to our staff. All she asked was that I look. It was my decision to hire.”
I opened my mouth and then closed it like a fish. My dad hadn’t gotten me the job? I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“You mean you actually wanted me?”
He chuckled. “Of course. I don’t hire people to teach college students as favors. I hire the best people I can find. Don’t underestimate yourself, Addy. You’re going to be just fine.”
He stood and smoothed out the wrinkles in his suit.
I quickly got to my feet. “Thank you.”
He smiled. “This job isn’t meant to be a prison sentence. Some of us love it. Find the one you love.”
Through each of my afternoon classes, all I could think about were the dean’s words. Find the one you love. He’d meant it in the professional sense, but every image it evoked was far from professional.
Time. It could give you space, let you breathe. But it could also cause the world to close in around you, crushing everything in the process.
I didn’t want to be crushed. Not anymore.
I didn’t know what I was going to do past this semester if I didn’t find another job, but the image of a different life was becoming real. I could have a new reality This one didn’t have to be mine.
After my final class, I locked my office door and walked to my car as I pulled out my phone.
It rang three times before Gabe’s voice came on asking me to leave a message. I sighed and dialed the next number.
Brett picked up right away. “Hey, sis.”
“Is he with you?”
“That’s cold. I don’t even get a hello?”
“Hello, Brett,” I said with false sweetness. “Put him on.”
“No can do.”
“Don’t be an ass.”
“You’re the one who hasn’t talked to him in weeks, and I’m the ass? Oh, and in case you haven’t noticed from the sarcasm, I’m team Gabe now.”
“Figures.” I groaned. “Don’t be a fucker. Just put him on. I really need to talk to him.”
“Whatever life-changing thing you have to say is gonna have to wait. He’s already out on the field for practice. I’m about to head out there.”
I didn’t hear anything else he said as I hung up and started the car. They’d been practicing in the stadium for a few weeks now as the practice field was resodded and it was just on the other side of the small campus so I didn’t have long to think anything over.
Before I knew it, I was pulling into the parking lot behind the dressing rooms. Bleachers loomed above me as I jogged through the archway and across the concrete entryway. A coach’s whistle pierced the air as I stepped out into the sunlight once again and took in the field.
The team was doing suicides. I grabbed a railing to launch myself over it, not caring who saw me.
We had all the time in the world, and I suddenly felt like we had none at all. I was ready to say the words now and couldn’t stop myself before I lost my nerve.
Pain shot through my knee as my feet slammed into the concrete on the other side of the railing, but I paid it no mind as I ran toward the field.
I stopped at the edge, still unnoticed, and slid my sunglasses into my hair to scan the faces of the dead-tired rugby players as they took a break by their water bottles.
Brett was the first to notice me. He glanced back at his team nervously before jogging to meet me.
“Not the time, Addy,” he said. “You want the whole team to know?”
“Don’t they already know?”
He looked back once again, but this time, Gabe was there. His eyes bore into me from across the field. He wasn’t going to make the first move. I had to go to him.
The rest of the team had finally seen me, and were watching like the busybodies they were.
“Guess it’s too late now.” Brett pushed back his sweaty blonde hair and sighed. “This is so fucking weird. My sister and my best friend.”
My feet took me away from him. Gabe scrubbed a hand over his reddened face as I moved closer. The rest of the team parted to give me a clear path.
“Miss, this is a team practice,” one of the coaches said. I waved him away and stopped a few feet from Gabe.
“You couldn’t find a better time to chat?” There was humor in his voice, but it was colored by the weariness in his eyes. I’d put that there. I’d doubted him, doubted us every step of the way.
All I’d been able to think about was how wrong this was, and I’d missed how right it felt. Until now.
“I’ve taken enough time,” I said softly. For a moment, he didn’t react, and I thought my words had been carried away on some phantom breeze. Then he shifted. I wouldn’t have noticed if I wasn’t studying him so closely. A light entered his gaze, and I realized what it was. Hope.
“Harris,” the same coach as before bellowed. “Tell your friend to skedaddle so we can get on with our lives.”
“Give me a minute, Coach,” he pleaded. “Because I think this friend is about to change that life I want to get on with.”
The coach backed off, but the eyes of the team were on us. Some of them were my students, all of them knew who I was. I no longer cared.
“Did you just come here to look at me, Addy?” he breathed. “Or do words actually come out of that pretty mouth?”
“I thought you said my mouth was filthy, not pretty.”
There was laughter behind us.
“You’re killing me here.”
I inhaled deeply and let the words spill out. “I quit my job today. Well, technically, I won’t be done until the end of the semester. I’ve spent the past few weeks sending out resumes and working up the nerve to resign. I haven’t heard back on any jobs, but something will come eventually. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but—”
He stepped forward and clapped a hand over my mouth. “Stop talking.” He lowered his voice until it was almost a growl. “I’m going to kiss you. That’s what’s going to happen. And then I’m going to kiss you tomorrow and the day after that. I’m going to kiss you when you find a new job and when I’m starting at a new grad school, because yes, I’m going to get in, but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m going to kiss you, always. Everything we do, wherever we go, is only a means to an end, and that end is for me to be with you.”
I whimpered against his hand and only then did he seem to realize he was still covering my mouth. As soon as he took his hand away, I grinned. “Then what are you waiting for?”
He glanced back at his team.
“Just fucking kiss me.” I grabbed his shirt and pulled him against me.
As his hungry lips claimed mine, I knew he was right. A means to an end. This end. Cheers erupted behind us, punctuated b
y Brett’s fake puking sounds.
All of that faded into the background as I wrapped my arms up around his neck and leaned my head back.
“I’m kind of madly, infuriatingly in love with you.”
He gave me another quick kiss. “That’s strange. Because I’m passionately, endearingly in love with you.”
I laughed and pushed away from him. “You’re also incredibly sweaty.”
He grinned. “I don’t remember you being scared to get sweaty.”
Laughter broke out on the field amidst catcalls and more grossed out noises from my brother.
I leaned in close so only Gabe could hear. “I had to come today because I thought I’d waited too long. You could barely look at me, and—”
“I wasn’t lying,” he said.
“Huh?”
“I love you. I would’ve waited as long as I had to.”
“Alright, lover-boy,” the coach called. “Back to work.”
He dipped his head one final time, and my lips seared a promise into him.
The promise?
That this was only the beginning.
Time was no longer for waiting. It was for living, for loving, and for a whole lot of filth.
Epilogue
My stomach churned to the point where my morning coffee wasn’t appealing. I leaned back in the wooden chair and shoved the cup away. Even the smell made me nauseous.
The soft clap of feet slapping against the ceramic tile brightened the moment. I leaned my head to the side as his warm, woodsy scent filled me with a slight reprieve.
“Mmm, that feels good,” I said when Gabe’s firm hands kneaded the bound stress in my neck muscles.
“Baby, don’t be so stressed. You’ll be fine.”
His backpack sat on the floor, leaning against the kitchen wall. I’d told him a million times in the past week to pick it up, but he constantly placed it there when got home from graduate classes at UCLA. Of course, our small studio flat didn’t allow for any private space. We had a desk, but it was small. He preferred working at the kitchen table. I couldn’t say I blamed him. One day, after he graduated, we’d have enough money to actually afford a larger apartment. Or maybe a house. But that day wasn’t today.
“I know. But I really want to kick the shit out of a ball right now.” My usual stress release was tucked in a tote, yet to be freed. It’d only been three weeks since we moved to Los Angeles.
“Today’s my short day. I’ll scope out some nearby fields and find the soccer ball.”
That brought a smile to my face.
“That sounds incredible. I need that.” He rubbed small circles toward my shoulders and upper arms. “What time do you need to be at work?”
“Nine. But I wanted to be there at eight-thirty.”
My new job. The reason I couldn’t eat. Don’t get me wrong, I was excited. I finally found a corporation that was a perfect fit. They were looking for an anthropologist to conduct research for marketing to reach a new segment of the population. I happened to excel in research. But my nerves teetered on the side of self-doubt whenever I tried anything new.
“You know you’re going to be great, right?” His hands had now slipped to my chest. As good as it felt, I slapped away his hands. His laugh resonated through me as he shifted away and grabbed a cup of coffee. He leaned against the counter and stared at me. “I’m serious. You will be great.”
“Thanks.” I blew out a deep breath. “I have a lot riding on this. First of all, our income, but I want to prove to my parents I can do this.”
“It shouldn’t matter what they think, but they’re proud of you.” He sat down next to me and grabbed my hand. “They know what our future holds.”
“Yeah? What is that?” I asked even though I know.
“That you’ll be taken care of for the rest of your life because you’re marrying the best available bachelor.”
“Oh my God, you’re still cocky as ever.”
He chuckled then grew serious. “I’m a cocky bastard that’s in love with you.”
The corners of my lips raised as warmth flooded my cheeks.
“I’m in love with you, too.”
The End
About the Authors
Michelle Lynn
Romance is only one of the genres Michelle has found inspiration in. She also writes fantasy and has written dystopian in the past. She feels like there’s so much to learn from each. Growing up, books were a much-needed escape from an ever-present illness. Now in her late-twenties, that illness has turned into a disability and writing has become the dream that keeps her going. She loves far off worlds and great adventures, but most of all, she loves to fall in love and believes that’s what the greatest stories do for us. They make us feel.
Read more from Michelle Lynn:
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Kimberly Readnour
Award winning author, Kimberly Readnour lives in the Midwest with her husband, two children, and a very fluffy cat.
Kimberly worked as a Registered Nurse for fifteen years before hanging-up her stethoscope. When she isn't running her own business, you can find her tucked away writing.
Read more from Kimberly Readnour:
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Stealing Hearts
Rachel Shane
Stealing Hearts © copyright 2017 Rachel Shane
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Stealing Hearts
She sets out to steal from him, but he might just steal her heart instead.
Liliana Stratford dons a new alias and a short skirt in order to pull off her biggest con job to date: exacting revenge on billionaire bachelor Colby Carver. He’s the jerk who purchased her precious family heirloom for mysterious reasons at an auction after her deadbeat mother pawned it off. Without the funds to buy it back, she decides her best course of action is to infiltrate Colby’s life, find the brooch, and swipe it out from under him the same way he unknowingly did it her.
A personal chef’s job for Colby provides Liliana with exactly the right opportunity to snoop behind his back. As she grows closer to finding the brooch, she also grows closer to Colby himself, bonding with him despite her conscience telling her what a bad idea this is. The chemistry between them crackles and soon she finds exactly what she wasn’t looking for: love. But how can she fall for him when she’s planning to rob him blind?
1
It’s time to get revenge on Colby Carver for a crime he doesn’t even know he committed against me. I don my shortest skirt, fluff my newly dyed blond waves, and spruce up my cleavage by adjusting my push up bra. A swipe of my shiniest gloss makes my lips glisten like the diamonds I plan to steal. I take one last look in the scuffed mirror and give myself a satisfied nod despite the dim lighting in this shitty motel. He won’t recognize me like this. It’s the perfect disguise.
I fly to my laptop and curse under my breath as it lags and wheezes in an attempt to connect to the crappy Wi-Fi. I’m stuck in this shit hole until I get what I traveled over three hours from backwoods Florida to luscious Miami for. The Craigslist ad for a Personal Chef pops up and I jot down the address, ignoring the part that says to call to set up an interview. I can’t put my fa
te in the hands of an anonymous phone screener. In person, I can disarm Colby with all the charms.
I head twenty minutes in the wrong direction to a gourmet market with a five star Yelp rating and prices that make me want to gouge my eyes out. Wooden walls and dim lighting give the place an authentic rustic vibe. The forty dollars weighing down my purse has to last me through the next few days. I bite my lip and inhale the heavenly aroma of peppery basil, crisp maple bacon, and grilled salmon fresh from the ocean. My stomach grumbles at the very sight of the food I won’t get to eat.
Still, I load up separate environment-friendly cardboard containers with perfectly grilled lamb chops doused in mango chutney. Char marks create a crisscross pattern on the mouth-watering meat. Truffle risotto fills the second container, releasing a scent so intoxicating, it takes all my will power not to dip my finger in and slurp down an expensive bite. Colorful yellow and red tomatoes roll on top of crisp arugula greens sprinkled with a light citrus vinaigrette. I top it all off with a decadent slice of chocolate cake dripping in gooey caramel drizzle.
I wait off to the side, balancing the heavy tray in my arms. Men and women jostle me for prime access to the self-serve bar. Women carrying gourmet salads stream onto the check out line, but I hold out until I spy a group of men in business suits moseying toward it. With a hustle in my step, I time my approach perfectly, reaching the line entrance at exactly the same time as them.
One of the guys flourishes his hand toward me like a gentleman and I give him a polite smile in thanks. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice all three eyeing me from top to bottom. Thank you, short skirt.
“Sixty-eight dollars and seventy-seven cents,” the cashier says, already reaching for the next guy’s items.
“Wait what?” I blink in mock horror. “I’ve only got a twenty.”