Last Will and Testament

by Dahlia Adler

  I’m pretty sure Tyler’s relieved when a knock sounds on the door, forcing me to leave him alone to go answer it. Admittedly, I’m a little relieved too, at least until I see who’s on the other side.

  “Connor.”

  He holds up what I recognize as my paper on the Byzantine empresses Zoe and Theodora, though this is the first I’ve actually seen it with its new bright-red A at the top. “I thought you should have this. It’s a great paper.”

  “You’re making TA house calls now?” I raise an eyebrow and cross my arms as I lean against the doorpost, barring entry he hasn’t even asked for.

  He glances behind him in both directions. “Can we please talk?” His voice is so low I have to strain to hear it. “I can’t stand out here.”

  Reluctantly, I step inside and let him in, then close the door behind him. “Ty, can you finish up in your room?”

  “Wha?” Tyler looks up. “Oh, hey, Connor. I hope you’re here to tutor her in English.”

  “Smartass.”

  He sticks out his tongue at me as he slides off the couch and disappears into the boys’ bedroom.

  I wait until I hear the door firmly close behind him before turning back to Connor. “I’d offer you a drink, but I don’t want to.” My mother is definitely frowning down at me for my lack of Filipino hospitality right about now. “So what brings you to my doorstep, teacher?”

  He shoves a hand through his hair so hard I’m afraid he’ll yank it all out by his roots. “I can’t do this with you, Lizzie.”

  “You said that already this afternoon. Message received.”

  “Did you mean what you said?” he asks. “About dropping?”

  “I’m not sure yet.” No point in lying, especially to the one person who’s actually been helping me organize my thoughts. It’s not like I know I can get into another class this late, but I do know the idea of sitting in one with him is torture. And the truth is, it’s not just his class I’ve been thinking about leaving. The more of Tyler’s moodiness I observe, the more I wonder if Radleigh itself just isn’t the right place for us right now.

  “You can’t make me the difference between staying and going,” he says tightly, bracing a hand on the back of kitchen chair. He doesn’t meet my eyes, but instead watches his own knuckles go white from his grip. “That’s not fair.”

  I snort. “First of all, you’re talking to someone who lost her parents in an instant and became an eighteen-year-old mother of two, so if you want to compete about ‘fair,’ you’ve brought a fucking watergun to the Second Crusade.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Second of all, this isn’t a ‘boo hoo, the boy I like doesn’t like me back so I’m uprooting my life’ situation, okay? I need an A in all my classes this semester in order to keep my scholarship, which I need to stay here. Now my transcript is shot to hell. Honestly, it’d probably be better for both me and the boys if I stopped wasting money on my tuition altogether and got a full-time job instead. Maybe then I could actually afford to get the boys’ their own damn bedrooms.”

  “But you’re getting an A in the class….”

  “Maybe for now, but you think that’s gonna hold up without you tutoring me?” I all but growl, taking care to make sure the boys can’t hear me through the door. “You think I’m gonna be able to focus in class every day? Watching you hand out papers and remembering how those hands feel on my skin? I’m supposed to listen to you lecture and not think about how you said my name like I was a glass of water and you were dying of thirst?”

  “Lizzie, stop.” His knuckles are so white now I swear I can see bone through the skin. But I don’t care. I’m not done.

  “I can’t be around you. I’m sorry if that sounds crazy to you or whatever. But I need to focus, and I don’t see myself doing that when all I can think about when I see you is finishing what we started.”

  Connor swallows hard. “Even now?”

  “I threw myself at you earlier today, Connor. Just because your feelings go away with the snap of your fingers doesn’t mean mine do.” The humiliation of my admission burns in my face, and I gather up the remaining dishes with a clatter and stalk past him to drop them in the sink. When I turn back around, he’s standing in my face, so close I can feel body heat radiating from every inch of him.

  “You don’t really think that’s what happened, do you?”

  “I don’t know how else to explain it,” I counter, but all the fight’s gone out of my voice. He’s just too close. The heady scent of his aftershave is scrambling my brain cells.

  “I told you—because I’m your TA. And everything you just said is exactly why they forbid us from getting involved.”

  “Then why are you here?” I rasp.

  “Because I can’t not be.” He takes the last step needed to close the space between us and slides his hands into my hair, pulling me into a starving, searching kiss. His tongue sweeps my mouth as if he doesn’t want to miss a spot, and pressed up against him as I am now, there’s no doubt he wants me every bit as much as he did last night, if not more. Even when he pulls away, panting.

  “Tabarnac. Lizzie. I’m sorry.”

  “Oh God. Not again with this—” I break off, certain I’m going to scream.

  “It’s not okay! You know it’s not okay. You listed exactly why it’s not okay.”

  “I listed why I wouldn’t be able to concentrate if I didn’t have you,” I point out, hooking a finger into a belt loop on his jeans. “If I had you, that wouldn’t be an issue.”

  At least that makes him smile. Sort of. “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”

  “I don’t know what I believe.” I swing the loop from side to side for a second before sliding my finger out and bringing my hands up to rub my temples; I can feel yet another headache coming on. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you. I barely have the energy to get my ass to class. Both my sanity and my scholarships are hanging on by a thread, and if I can’t get my shit together, I’m gonna lose my brothers to foster care.”

  I step back and drop my hands, feeling utterly defeated. “So I won’t fight you on this. I can’t. I just don’t have it in me. I am too. Fucking. Tired.”

  Connor bites the inside of his lip, the first real nervous, contrite gesture I’ve ever seen from him. “I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. “I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

  The words sting more than I expect. “No one ever does,” I snap. “I’m just that incidental that somehow comes along with the ride. Well don’t worry—Trevor shook me easily, and so will you.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Save it, Connor. I was being selfish. You made me happy when I didn’t think anything could, and I’ve had a hard time letting that go. I’m supposed to be trying to turn myself around and obviously I’m still just the same idiot I was a month ago. My brothers deserve better, and so do both of us.”

  He shakes his head slowly as he walks to the door. “It’s fucked up that all I want to do right now is kiss that sad look off your face and then curl up in bed with you for the rest of the night, right?”

  It feels as if he’s reached right through my chest cavity to squeeze my heart, but I won’t allow myself to respond to it. “Very.” I press my lips into a firm line, because if I don’t, I’ll rise on my toes and kiss him, and that’ll be the end of this otherwise clean, decisive break.

  “In another life, maybe.”

  The squeeze settles into a far more permanent-feeling dull ache as I concede, “Maybe,” and close the door quietly in his face.

  • • •

  An hour later I have cleaned up from dinner, put Max to bed, and finished my mercifully short Russian homework, but I haven’t managed to banish Connor from my mind at all. My eyes keep drifting to my phone, as if there’s a snowball’s chance in hell he’d call me. As if even if he did, there’d be anything to talk about.

  I need some fresh air. I grab my phone and keys, tell Ty I’m going for a walk, and let myself out in
to the crisp autumn night. I’ve forgotten how chilly it gets in upstate New York in November, and in no time at all I’m regretting that all I’ve got on is my leather jacket over a thin dress. Still, I don’t feel like heading back to the apartment just yet, so I wrap my arms around myself and walk around the complex.

  It takes a couple of minutes to realize that what’s missing from this picture is a cigarette. Within a few months at Radleigh, I wouldn’t have walked five feet in the cold without one. But between Connor’s disdain for them and my natural inclination to keep them away from Ty and Max, plus that nasty-ass gum, I seem to have somehow kicked the habit.

  The realization is enough to make me want one.

  Unfortunately, I’m not carrying any, I didn’t grab my wallet, and a quick check of my pockets reveals I’m not carrying around any cash. Of course. That’d be way too neat. But no wonder I’m all high-strung. I haven’t smoked in weeks, haven’t had a drink in almost that long, haven’t had sex in…. Christ.

  Haven’t had sex since the night my parents died. Since the night I was with Trevor, in his room, at the party. Since the night the cops came knocking on his door.

  It’s not like I haven’t thought about that night a million times before, but the realization of just how many things have changed since then brings me to my knees right there in the grass surrounding the parking lot, hidden only by a couple of trees. It’s dark out, a beautiful, starry night interrupted by the faint sounds of TVs coming from the apartments above me and the crickets around me. And I have to go ahead and fuck up the near-silence with the sound of my crying.

  Once it starts, I can’t stop. I’m in a sitting fetal position, my arms grasping my knees to my chest, my face buried in my knees, and I’m soaking my skin and probably making a racket but I can’t shut it off. I can’t make it stop. I can’t. Undo. Anything.

  And then, “Elizabeth?”

  Oh, shit. I swipe at my eyes, my nose, everything. Push back and look up, bracing myself on my palms in the grass. “What are you doing back here, Connor?”

  He settles next to me on the grass and pushes tear-soaked hair out of my eyes. “I never went anywhere,” he says quietly, handing me a tissue.

  “You’ve just been sitting in your fucking car?”

  He shrugs. “It’s a nice night.”

  “It was,” I say bitterly. “Go home, Mr. Lawson.”

  His hands leave my face, dig into the grass, pull at the blades at his sides. “Don’t you think if I could have, I would have?”

  My eyelids flutter closed, and I take one last halfhearted swipe at my nose with the tissue. “I told you, I can’t play this game with you. What do you want from me?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well then I definitely can’t help you.”

  He huffs out a sigh, and I open my eyes. He might be annoyed, and as tired as I am, but he’s settled back against the trees now, and he’s obviously not going anywhere. “What do you want from me, Lizzie? Because I’m pretty sure what you need is more than I can give.”

  “Pretty sure, huh?” I don’t mean to sound flirty, but the thing is, even tired, and angry, and infuriating, Connor Lawson, in his stupid professorly attire, is still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. Especially in the moonlight. Especially when he’s sitting in the moonlight, next to me, because he actually gives a shit about who I am and what I need.

  His lips curve up in a smile despite himself and he shakes his head. “You are so…you.”

  My fingers find the soft, smooth back of his hand, trace it with their tips, slide into his in perfect interlocking formation. He doesn’t pull away. “Who else would I be?”

  For the first time since he got out of his car and found me in the grass, Connor looks up at me, into my eyes, and I can’t help wondering what it is he sees. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

  It’s a rare compliment from him, and I’m not great at those. “I’m an asshole, Connor. You just came to check on me because I was crying over my dead parents and I’m sort of hitting on you.”

  He smiles softly, squeezes my fingers. “There’s no right way to grieve, Lizzie. You are who you are, and you feel how you feel. As long as you’re getting through the day, that’s all that matters.”

  “What if I’m not?”

  “You are,” he says firmly. “You’re here. Your brothers are fed. They’re in your apartment. They’re safe. Your parents couldn’t have asked for better care.”

  “I’m not talking about my brothers right now.”

  “I know,” he says. “But if I talk about you I am going to say some things I really shouldn’t say.”

  “I can’t tell if that’s promising or threatening. Like?”

  He laughs wearily. “Sacrament. You’re going to be the end of me, Elizabeth Brandt.”

  “That sounds closer to promising.” And then, because he’s making me smile, because he’s making me forget, because his holy French-Canadian swear words are so cute, because he’s making me feel things that aren’t pain and death and despair and failure, I kiss him. His lips are soft and warm and yield to mine like they’ve been waiting all night for exactly this.

  Strong hands cup my face, gently cradling as tentative touches of tongues slowly become bolder in their explorations. And then I’m straddling him there in the grass, up against the trees, my dress pooling around my waist as his hands stroke my thighs, gently at first and then firmly, like the kiss, like my hands on his chest, like the erection rapidly hardening beneath me, so close to the right spot, yet so far away.

  I shift just an inch until I’m perfectly situated for an iota of relief, and Connor hisses in a breath as I do. “Criss, Lizzie.” I roll my hips again, and again, desperate for relief, desperate for some of this tension sapping all my strength to leave my body. Connor slips my jacket down my arms and bites my shoulder to keep from crying out. The tiny bit of pain is so perfect, it brings me right to the edge.

  “We need to stop,” he whispers, even as he continues to thrust upward, fucking me through way too many layers of clothing.

  “You asked what I want from you,” I remind him, keeping my voice low, dropping my hands down to his belt. “This is what I want.”

  He grabs my hand, traps it in a vise. “No, Lizzie, we actually need to stop. I don’t have…protection.”

  The magic words. Just like that, I release his belt and let myself fall off his thighs and onto my back on the grass. “Of course you don’t.” I shake my head, and laughter bubbles out of me. Connor looks down at me as if I’ve gone a little crazy. Which I might have. “Fuck. Of course you don’t.”

  Connor sighs. “Lizzie?”

  I stop laughing. “Yeah?”

  He rolls over, straddling my knees. “Shut up.” And then before I can get out a single indignant word, he leans in and presses his mouth to mine, swallowing my moan of surprise as he slides a hand down my beyond-soaked panties.

  My hands grip his hair, keeping his lips on mine to cover the sounds threatening to emerge as he gently caresses me for a few moments before slipping a finger, then two, inside. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, made worse by my inability to cry out, but then he focuses on kissing me, not just keeping me quiet, and the feeling of his tongue and fingers keeping the same pace makes my entire body tremble in the cool air.

  I’m so close I can feel it, just out of reach, but then, without warning, he pulls back. And takes my underwear down with him. Then he lowers himself down between my legs and takes a long, firm stroke with his tongue, ending with a swirl around my clit that radiates out of every nerve ending in my body.

  “Fuck! Connor—”

  “Another time.” His voice is slightly muffled, given that his mouth is very, very busy. “Just relax.”

  I give up and let my head drop back against the tree, my eyelids fluttering closed as I give myself over to the sensation of Connor’s mouth licking and sucking and nipping. Only as I feel myself building back up to a crescendo do I realize I’m a
fool to be missing out on the sight of him. I open my eyes to see that he’s watching me too, his dark-blue eyes downright predatory.

  A moan escapes my lips, and I quickly shove my hand in my mouth to muffle the sound. There’s protection behind the trees for sure, but we’re still outside, still in public, and “Oh, fuck.” He’s returned his fingers, and it’s getting impossible to stifle my reactions, to stop my body from writhing against his lips and tongue. I can feel Connor smile smugly against my clit right before he sucks it into his mouth, curls his fingers, and makes me explode.

  He’s relentless with his dual erogenous assault, and waves of bliss rack my body in what feels like a never-ending ocean of orgasm. Weeks and weeks of stress and tension and misery come floating out of every extremity, fading into the night air on the chirps of crickets. When I finally can’t take it anymore, I manage no more than a whimper to declare as such, but it’s enough, and Connor pulls back.

  We’re both silent and still for a minute, just watching each other as we catch our breath, when a cool breeze swirls in and reminds me that I’m lying half-naked in half public. I push the skirt of my dress back down and ball up my underwear. I’m about to shove it in my pocket when in a burst of evil inspiration, I ask Connor, “Want ’em?”

  He snorts. “I’m horny, not depraved.”

  Same old Connor. I can’t help smiling as I shove them in my pocket. “Did you mean it?”

  “Mean what?” he asks, subtly wiping off his mouth on his sleeve.

  “When you said we’d fuck another time.” I know I’m smirking, but I’m on such a high right now, I feel like I can say or do anything. “Because I’d like to make an appointment.”